The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [24]
“Why, Colonel Wood did, of course.” I turned around and frowned up at Billy; he had an amused look in his light blue eyes, pale against the streaky black of the burnt cork smeared on his face.
“Barnum never heard of our dear Colonel, I’d bet my a—, er, hat on it.”
“No, that’s not what he told me; he said he’d worked with him in New York!”
“Maybe he swept the street behind the Museum.” Billy grunted. “But Wood never worked with Barnum. He must have told you that to make sure you’d sign.”
My heart sank; I turned and looked at the stage. Suddenly I saw that the red-velvet curtain, which had looked so glamorous, was patched, the scalloped shades of the footlights were cracked, and the floorboards on the stage itself were warped. Colonel Wood was standing to the side in a bright green jacket with a checkered vest, his curls now as blackened as his mustache, but under the glare of the chipped gaslights, both were beginning to run, inky black streaks appearing on his forehead and around his mouth.
What a fool I was! I’d heard only what I’d wanted to hear and ignored everything else. Why, I knew now he’d never even heard Miss Jenny Lind sing, let alone been given a private performance. At that moment, I had no idea what on earth I, Mercy Lavinia Warren Bump of the Massachusetts Warrens, was doing on this shabby boat, in this shabby dress that had seemed so glamorous, but now I saw that the fabric was as thin and gaudy as cheap wrapping paper.
I had no idea what Sylvia was doing here, either, if it was true she’d once performed at the American Museum. The American Museum! Even in two short weeks on the river, I’d learned that everyone on this boat aspired to appear at the American Museum someday. How odd that Sylvia had never once mentioned she already had!
I tried to look at my friend through different eyes, she who had been nothing but kindness itself. She had comforted me that first awful night, had listened to my weepy recitation of my family’s wonderful qualities, had suffered much to make room for me in our cramped stateroom, her giant body perpetually folded up like a retracted telescope. Every morning she helped lace up my corset, which was not easy with her thick, fumbling fingers. And I spent half an hour each evening brushing out her long brown hair, which seemed to soothe her, for she was always in pain; her joints and bones constantly ached, and her feet suffered excruciatingly from carrying about her mammoth weight. All this contributed to her perpetual air of discomfort and sadness.
I loved my new friend dearly. But try as I might, I could not imagine her passive, lugubrious form on the same stage that dainty Miss Jenny Lind and nimble General Tom Thumb had graced.
Sylvia’s shoulders slumped as if she was endeavoring to disappear within that ungainly body. She was now concealing an entire newspaper behind her gigantic hands, to oohs and aahs from the crowd. Colonel Wood was standing onstage, pointing to her and reciting her particulars—height, weight, the color of her eyes—as if she were a slave to be auctioned off.
“Why on earth doesn’t she do something, so that he doesn’t have to resort to such a display?” I whispered to Billy as irritation stirred in my veins, irritation at both myself and Sylvia. Myself for believing Colonel Wood; Sylvia for letting him poke and prod her with his walking stick while she merely stood, obviously humiliated.
A brisk slap of applause startled me; Sylvia was now lurching offstage, pushing through the shabby curtain. My stomach fluttered as I rushed to meet her.
“Are you ready, Vinnie?” A fond smile pushed away the anguish on Sylvia’s face.
“Of course.” I nodded calmly, as if I wasn’t suddenly unable to hear over the roaring in my ears. Then we were walking through the curtain together, and Colonel Wood was introducing me as “a new sensation, a miniature chanteuse, a living doll—Miss Lavinia Warren Bump!”
He was only a lime green blur in the corner of my eye; the footlights in front and the gaslights along the sides of the stage were so brilliant and hot that