The Greatest Showman: March One-Shots

A Bitter Reality

Hey everyone! So, this was my research-paper-meets-historical-fiction-paper that I wrote earlier this month for my American Lit class about P.T. Barnum's Museum! I only got a 90, so it obviously wasn't the best 😅 I didn't think so either, but thought I'd share it with ya'll here anyways!

Let me know what you think, maybe?

Will warn you that there is some racism (psh, nope, totally wasn't inspired by Anne Wheeler, what are you talking about??....) 😜

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It was a cold night in November 1854 when I was approached by a man named John Greenwood. I had just gone down to the gate to make sure it was secured for the night when I saw a figure walking down the dirt path leading up to my family's farm. He was visibly shivering, his hands stuffed in his suitcoat pockets. The bright moonlight illuminated his clothes, so I could instantly tell that he wasn't from around here: his long suitcoat with its wide sleeves and low collar, as well as his slightly baggy trousers, seemed to be on the opposite side of the attire spectrum. I timidly wrapped my arms around myself, staring down at my striped apron and checkered, multi-layered dress, knowing right where this man was headed. There wasn't another farm for miles down the road either way, and, plus, when he happened to catch sight of me hiding behind a fencepost, he began to quicken his pace toward me. I felt my palms moisten, but, for some reason, wasn't afraid.

He didn't waste much time for proper greetings or introductions. Though my memory is hazy now, after all those years, I'm able to remember this one question that he had asked me, a bright smile adorning his face: "How would you like to come back with me to New York City and be part of P.T. Barnum's American Museum?"

"P.T. Barnum's American Museum?" I had repeated, incredulous. I thought he was kidding. The thought of just simply traveling out of the country was so foreign to me, never mind the idea of getting to work for P.T. Barnum: the kind of man that everyone in Sweden dreamed of meeting, ever since he had discovered Tom Thumb and Jenny Lind and made them world-famous in the blink of an eye. One day, while out shopping in the square, I had even overheard others talking about how Ms. Lind had already become a "household name in America," and she hadn't even left Europe yet!

So, naturally, I couldn't have been more excited. Mr. Greenwood explained to me that he was "Mr. Barnum's manager and talent scout," and that he often traveled overseas to seek out new acts for the Museum. When I inquired him about his knowledge of me, he said that he had come across a section in the newspaper with my name, picture, and description. I blushed. I had only submitted that per my father's suggestion, though I strongly disagreed myself; there's no way I would have thought that someone like Mr. Greenwood would have discovered it!

"You're very talented, Elisabeth," he had told me. "And such a... mysteriously wondrous spectacle. Just what Mr. Barnum and I are looking for to add to the Museum."

In reality, I was just some dancer-acrobat trying to figure herself out, but I was careful not to say this aloud.

My family was very supportive and proud of me, and they made me promise to write them every week. After some heartfelt and tear-filled goodbyes—my father had tear tracks staining his dark cheeks—Mr. Greenwood and I boarded a ship to New York City.

Once I arrived in my new home, I quickly became accustomed to city life, and fell in love with each and every part of the Museum. From the larger-than-life fish tanks, dioramas, and cases of butterflies, to fortune tellers, Ned the Learned Seal, and a collection of many different species who all somehow lived together in harmony, and right up to Mr. Barnum's collection of "human curiosities," I instantly felt both welcomed and intimidated by the sheer disbelief and unworldliness of the place.