The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [161]
Then I turned to go, before I could see the effect my words had on him. I didn’t want to be late for my train.
THE TELEGRAM ARRIVED AT MR. BLEEKER’S HOUSE THE NEXT morning. We were having breakfast in his niece’s narrow dining room; it was odd, just the two of us. I wasn’t sure we had ever taken a meal alone together before.
Mr. Bleeker’s sad face was even sadder; it was only now, with his wife gone, that it was obvious how much warmth and light she had given him. But he was not like Charles; he did not live in the past. He was doing his best to enjoy life with his niece, who had two small sons, and for the first time, I wondered why he and Mrs. Bleeker had never had children of their own.
“Julia couldn’t,” he said frankly, over toast and eggs. “I think that’s why she enjoyed traveling with you all, even though she did long for that farm. But you and Minnie, especially—you were like daughters to her. You were our family.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” I sipped my coffee—the cup was large for me, so I had to use two hands.
“What is?”
“We all pretended to have children we didn’t, in a way. Except for Minnie. She wasn’t like us; she wasn’t content just to pretend.”
“Yes, except for Minnie. She would have been a wonderful mother.”
“I know. It’s been five years,” I said softly, wonderingly. “Almost exactly—it was July, I remember it so well. Five years, too, since I last spoke—well, five years.”
“Vinnie, what happened between you and Barnum?” Mr. Bleeker asked, and I was reminded that no matter how sad his face was, his eyes were ever sharp, ever perceptive. “I’ve always wondered. Goodness knows plenty of people have fallen out with him over the years, but I never thought you would.”
“I—that is, it’s hard to put into words. We both said things that hurt, and—that whole baby business.” I shook my head. “It was the one thing my parents warned me about when I first met him. They warned me not to get caught up in one of his humbugs. Well, I did, and I brought Minnie along with me, and see what happened? Minnie’s gone. I can’t forget that.”
“Just like I can’t stop thinking that I was responsible for Julia,” Mr. Bleeker whispered. “How do we live with that? How have you gone on?”
“By being so angry with Mr. Barnum, I sometimes forget to be angry with myself,” I replied, smiling ruefully. “But ever since the fire …” I stirred my coffee and shrugged.
Ever since the fire, I had not stopped thinking about him.
That horrible moment when I thought I was about to take my last breath and form my last thought—it had been of him. I knew I wanted to see him one more time. I knew I wanted to tell him things—just what, I couldn’t say. But inside my soul, in addition to the great burden of guilt I carried with me about Minnie, was a greater burden of things unsaid.
“Ever since the fire?” Mr. Bleeker prompted.
“I’ve been thinking it would be good to see him again.”
“He is in Bridgeport now, I understand,” said Mr. Bleeker, ever the organizer, ever the manager.
“I was hoping he was,” I replied, wondering if I should wire him that I was going to stop on my way back. Or should I simply surprise him? He always did like surprises. Maybe I could stop into a shop and buy a stuffed elephant to bring him—he would like that; he would laugh, throwing back his head, and then motion for me to pull up a chair and sit with him.
Or maybe I should wire, after all. What was the best way to end a rift like ours? I smiled, thinking that if it were left to him, he probably would take out an ad in The New York Times proclaiming his apology and selling tickets to our reunion for twenty-five cents each.
And so it was that I was thinking about someone else, his moods, his quirks; wondering how I might reach out to him again over the morass of all the years, memories, and misunderstandings—
When the telegram arrived informing me of the death of the man whom I constantly had to remind myself to think about. The man whose name I eagerly took but whose heart I had never wanted, in