The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [50]
Yet for all I could see, nothing was as grand as how I’d imagined it. Nothing was as big as my dreams.
“You can put me down now,” I told Sylvia, whose blue eyes were full of tears, huge tears—tears as big as her heart. She did, and then she grabbed her two valises, which looked like toys in her hands. I waved as she lumbered along the narrow wooden platform. I knew I would never forget her.
Turning, I made my way to my own platform, after paying a porter to carry my trunk and stand by to lift me onto the train. I was back home by the next morning—dreaming my big dreams in the comfort of my own dear feather bed, my sister’s happy, contented face nestled into my shoulder, her arms tight around me, binding me to her. She whispered that I was never to leave her again.
But I knew, even before I drifted off to sleep, the grime of travel still upon me like a second skin, that I would.
INTERMISSION
From Godey’s Lady’s Book, September 1860—Sara J. Hale
This year the last Thursday in November falls on the 29th. If all the States and Territories hold their Thanksgiving on that day, there will be a complete moral and social reunion of the people of America in 1860. Would not this be a good omen for the perpetual political union of the States? May God grant us not only the omen, but the fulfillment is our dearest wish!
From Harper’s Weekly, January 19, 1861
SECESSION OF MISSISSIPPI, FLORIDA, AND ALABAMA
The Mississippi State Convention on 8th adopted an ordinance providing for immediate secession from the Union. Reports from Jackson, the capital of Mississippi, confirm this news. On 10th, Florida seceded by 62 to 7. On 11th, Alabama seceded by 61 to 39.
[ FIVE ]
Another Brief Interlude of Music
and Tender Reunion
VINNIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“Nothing!” I whisked the paper off my desk and tucked it inside my apron pocket, placing the pen in the ink bottle so forcibly the ink splattered. Then I massaged my hand; no pen was small or light enough for me to use easily, and my fingers and palm often ached when I wrote long letters. Turning to greet my sister, I smiled broadly. “Just writing to an old friend! What do you want, Pumpkin?”
“Mama said to come down for dinner,” Minnie said with a scolding frown; I couldn’t help but smile at her. How serious she had grown in my absence! She was now twelve, almost a young woman, although her body had not filled out as much as mine; she still looked quite childish, even in long skirts, and she came up to only my chin. This impression was not helped by the fact that she continued to play with dolls. But her manner was much more serious, even as her deep brown eyes retained their incongruous twinkle. Her thick black brows were often drawn over her nose in a suspicious frown. Papa joked that Minnie was the family inquisitor, judge and jury all wrapped up into one—although her distrust reminded me more of a child’s resistance to change.
“Are you sure that was what you were doing?” she asked, folding her arms suspiciously across her flat chest; I decided I ought to introduce her to ruffled corset covers. Carlotta had taught me that trick.
“Absolutely—just writing an old friend!” I slid off the cushions of the chair, pushed it back toward the writing desk, and followed Minnie out of our room.
“Then I don’t know why you’d try to hide the letter, Vinnie. Why would you?”
“Why, I didn’t! Would you like to read it, if you don’t trust me?” I tucked my hand inside my apron, as if to show it to her.
“No, no, I didn’t mean that!” Her eyes grew big with remorse as her face paled. “Forgive me, Vinnie! I’m sorry! I do trust you, more than anyone in the world!” And her little rosebud lips trembled as she fought back tears.
I put my arm about her as we made our way down the narrow back stairs—more shallowly spaced than the front stairs, and so the ones that Minnie and I used the most—and into the kitchen. My dear, simple little sister! Every mood so fleeting yet so obvious; there was no mystery to Minnie, none at all. She