The Quintland Sisters(27)
Mr. Davis has a reporter’s nosiness, Ivy says, and he may be able to sniff out the reason the Captain has left us so quickly. In the meantime I’ve asked Dr. Dafoe for her forwarding address, which he gave me stiffly, with reluctance. I would like to write to her to thank her for taking me on last year, when she could have chosen anyone to help during those difficult days.
The upside of all this is, I’ve been asked to move into the dormitories at the Dafoe Nursery full-time. I think Father and Mother will be glad to have the house to themselves again—they got used to me being away when I was at St. Joe’s, I imagine. Father has little to say to me these days, his nose buried in the news from Europe. And Mother seems a bit low. Allergies, she says, making her feel poorly, but she has dark circles under her eyes and no energy for the garden, which she usually loves this time of year. I can’t help but worry. Most mornings she’s still in bed when I set off for the nursery on my bicycle. By the time I’m home at night, she has already retired for the evening.
August 18, 1935
THERE ISN’T A single hour in the day when I have time to pick up my paintbrush or jot down a few things here. Ivy has been visiting her sister in Toronto these past two weeks, her first proper holiday since the quintuplets were born, and that’s meant more responsibilities for me and little time for myself. I’ve loved every minute of it.
If I take up my pen these days, it is only to note the daily measurements for the babies. Dr. Dafoe is now working with Dr. Blatz, a scientist from Toronto who visits regularly and who has explained how marvelous it is to be able to monitor the progress of five identical girls. We now follow a strict schedule for toilet, dressing, nourishment, and indoor and outdoor play, and we must make note of their moods, activities, and interactions, their height, weight, bowel movements, and any outbursts. Annette and Yvonne now weigh twenty-two pounds each. Cécile is slightly less, but has six teeth, two more than any of the others. Marie and émilie were nineteen pounds, eight ounces, at today’s weighing, and twenty-eight inches tall. Yvonne, Cécile, and Annette crept past thirty inches today.
“We are making an important, an unprecedented contribution to science, ladies.” That’s how Dr. Blatz put it to us, with Dr. Dafoe by his side staring studiously into the distance and swaying forward and back, his hands clasped behind his back. “It is an honor and a privilege to be a part of this historic work.”
The babies were highly agitated for the first few days of Ivy’s absence, nattering at me in a language they alone can understand. Presumably they want me to explain where Ivy has gone and when she’ll be back. They will be overjoyed when they wake tomorrow to find her bustling about their cribs. I know Mr. Davis has also felt the sting. I’ve noticed he spends scarcely half the time with us to take his photos each morning as he does when he’s got Ivy here to tease and impress.
The latest nurse to join us on staff is Nurse Inès Nicolette, who hails from a small town near Quebec City. She is very devout and has made a special point of trying to teach the girls to put their wee hands together for the Lord’s Prayer. Cécile is the only one who seems to understand this is not a lowly game of patty-cake, donning a serene and studious expression and moving her mouth in silent imitation of her new minder. The Dionnes approve of Nurse Nicolette greatly, partly, I’m sure, because she speaks not a word of English. They have invited her to Sunday dinner tonight, which is absolutely unheard of.
Last thing: Mother is pregnant! I don’t know what to think. This explains why she and Father seemed so out of sorts when I was staying at home in the spring. They are over their surprise and worry now, it seems. I haven’t seen them looking so happy in years. It is a tough time to bring a child into the world, but my salary here at the nursery will be a big help, and there is no talk these days of the Callander post office closing—the sheer volume of mail arriving for the quintuplets, the doctor, and the Dionnes alone could keep the doors open.
When I was little I was desperate for a brother or sister but assumed that Mother and Father feared having another child who looked like me. It certainly never occurred to me that my parents might actually have been hoping for another all those years.
I haven’t been able to get home to see them in weeks, but Mother and Father came out on the bus last week to share the news. You could have knocked me down with a feather.
“I won’t be taking a pebble when I leave this time,” Mother said, gesturing at the souvenir stones in the baskets by the gate, winking at Father as she said it. I wanted to slip through the slats of the porch! Even the papers are now reporting that these stones bring good luck and fertility. I’d thought it was harmless nonsense, until now. The stones are wildly popular with all the tourists, however. Dr. Dafoe has hired the Cartwrights, father and son, to bring in new stones from the lakeshore by truck each morning, having cleared the nearby fields of all pocket-size rocks.
Dr. Dafoe was already crouched at his desk when I summoned the nerve to knock, his funny egg-shaped head wobbling over his papers, his glasses sliding down his nose. He has started decorating the walls with framed photographs of himself with the quintuplets as well as some of the glossy advertisements that have aired in the past few months: “Why Colgate Dental Cream is Dr. Allan Roy Dafoe’s Choice for the Dionne Quintuplets.”
“Yes, Emma?” he said and pushed his glasses back into position with a stumpy finger.