The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [54]
“Well, hello, Miss Lavinia. Come on in.”
“Thank you,” I replied, following him inside; I waited for him to raise the hinged section that allowed him to go behind the counter, although I had to reflect how easily I could have passed beneath it! Then I reached up and handed him my letter, along with thirty cents for postage.
“All the way to New York?” Mr. Jones looked at the address. “Phineas Taylor Barnum? Who’s he—not that humbug feller, I hope?”
I sighed. I should have realized that of course Mr. Jones would make it his business to see where my letter was going; of course he would end up telling my parents or my brothers or my married sister or whichever member of my annoyingly large family he might encounter. Which he was sure to do.
“No, of course not,” I said with a sniff, as if to indicate I was insulted he might suggest such a thing. “This is about some unfinished business of mine, from out west.”
“Oh.” Mr. Jones pulled on his chin, lengthening his already sorrowfully long New England face—sharp nose, suspicious eyes, permanently ruddy complexion. “Yes, that business out west of yours. Well, we’re glad to have you back here safe and sound. I reckon you’re glad to be back, too. Don’t like to think of a little lady like you out there consorting with those types of people.”
I simply smiled and watched as he took my letter and placed it in the leather mail pouch. Then I asked after his children (who had been students of mine), thanked him, and asked him to open the door for me.
I began my walk back to the farm, after first stopping to purchase a stick of peppermint candy for Minnie, who would be anxious for my return. So would Papa and Mama. They would welcome me home with loving eyes, kind hearts, open—yet stifling—arms.
My thoughts returned to the letter I had just posted. I wished that I could give it wings.
INTERMISSION
From Harper’s Weekly, March 22, 1862
The crisis which the war has reached imparts fresh interest to the war-pictures which are appearing in every number of Harper’s Weekly. We have now regular Artist Correspondents, to wit:
Mr. A. R. WAUD, with the army of the Potomac; MR. ALEXANDER SIMPLOT, with Gen. Grant’s Army; MR. HENRY MOSLER, with Gen. Buell’s army; MR. THEO. R. DAVIS, with Gen. Sherman’s army; MR. ANGELO WISER, with Gen. Burnside’s army; besides a large number of occasional and volunteer correspondents in the Army and Navy at various points. These gentlemen will furnish us faithful sketches of every battle which takes place, and every other event of interest, which will be reproduced in our pages in the best style. People who do not see Harper’s Weekly will have but a limited comprehension of the momentous events which are occurring.
From The Defiance Democrat, Defiance County, Ohio, May 31, 1862
THE NEW MORMON COMPLICATION
Brigham Young has been inaugurated as the Governor of the New State of Desert, and Mr. Ashley’s bill for the punishment of polygamy has passed the House of Representatives. Here is a conflict at our doors at once. The Mormons have organized their state government with polygamy as “the corner-stone” just as slavery is the corner-stone of the Confederates.… Brigham’s wants, like his wives, are many.
[ SIX ]
At Last I Meet the Great Man Himself
OH, GOODNESS!” MAMA EXCLAIMED AS SHE OPENED HER reticule and removed a clean yellow handkerchief, which seemed to turn to a sooty gray before our eyes. “The dirt! Vinnie, my chick, however did you manage on those trains out west with all this dirt?”
“I didn’t,” I admitted, bouncing about on the uncomfortable wooden seat, barely able to see out the window to my right, but it didn’t matter; it was smeared with the same sooty gray as Mama’s handkerchief. “I was filthy when I got to the boat.”
“These contraptions are no place for a lady,” Mama muttered, pressing the handkerchief to the inner corner of her eye,