The Quintland Sisters(30)
“As you know, last year’s guardian agreement provides for the babies to move home with their parents at some point in the future.” He paused again, his chin dimpling as his lips drooped downward. “In my professional opinion, this is not in the best interests of the children, and I will do everything in my power to ensure this does not happen until such time as we can be assured that it is what the girls themselves want to do. This, however, will put increasing pressure on our funding efforts.”
This is something I hadn’t spent much time wondering or worrying about—how everything we want or need for the nursery simply materializes, no effort spared, even in these lean times. I had assumed the government was paying for it, but of course this is the same government that has cut back on relief payments and levied stricter rules as to who qualifies for help. I don’t know why I hadn’t worried about this earlier.
As if he could read my mind, Dr. Dafoe continued: “The government, as you know, paid for the construction of the Dafoe Hospital and Nursery. Operational costs currently are managed by the guardians based on revenue raised through various endorsement and publicity materials.”
Dr. Dafoe gave a brisk cough, his small hand curling like a snail shell and hovering briefly in front of his mustache. Such topics pain him. “It is Premier Hepburn’s request that some of these funds be spent in the coming months on alterations to the Dafoe Nursery in order to accommodate the mounting numbers of visitors, without unduly influencing the normal development of the children.
“It is my strong belief that the girls are reaching an age where displaying them on the patio may be increasingly confusing and upsetting for them. Upon consultation with Dr. Blatz and the guardians, we are moving forward with the construction of a more private play park, where the nurses and babies can peacefully enjoy the sunshine without the distraction of hundreds of tourists waving from the fence line. We are working on a design that allows visitors to watch them from an observation area, but screened from the babies so they will be unaware of any visitors.”
I shot a glance at Ivy, whose expression mirrored mine. The girls would be getting a new playground, but one where the public could watch? I couldn’t picture it.
Dr. Dafoe looked sternly from my face to Ivy’s, tucking his chin to his chest. “The aim here is for the girls to have a safe and fun outdoor space that they can visit several times per day, safe and secure and free from any germs, and where they can be observed without being disturbed.”
He unfolded his fingers and spread his hands wide as if to help us embrace the concept. “You understand, I think, the extent to which the world has fallen in love with our girls, every bit as much as we have? To deny visitors a chance to see them, when there is so little else that brings joy to the common man, is something that the government refuses to consider.”
I cast a look at Ivy and could tell she was summoning the right words to phrase the same question I had, with her usual delicacy. I was already blurting it out.
“Will we be charging admission?”
“Absolutely not.” Dr. Dafoe managed to look offended at the suggestion. “And every effort will be taken to make sure that the quintuplets remain unaware of the visitors—I think this is an important first step to normalizing their lives.”
I thought of my own childhood, no brothers and sisters, no playground, little time, in fact, for such a thing as play. The bright, clean, safe world in which our five girls were so quickly growing up was like nothing I’d ever imagined, and surely it was just as unreal for all the people following their lives in the papers and newsreels. The thing is, I want this for them. I want their lives to be special and cherished.
“What do the Dionnes think?” Ivy asked.
Dr. Dafoe gave a long sigh. “M. Dionne is the one who believes visitors should pay a small fee.” He grunted. “No doubt with a hefty share of the proceeds paid to the Dionne family.” He shrugged. “We would never do that, of course. We will do everything to protect the girls from exploitation, even if it means making nice with Dionne and enduring his bullying.”
He glanced up at us and paused, as if he was about to say more, then didn’t. After a moment, he stood up to indicate that the discussion was over. We got to our feet and stepped toward the door. Dr. Dafoe got there first and put his hand on the knob, then hesitated.
“I understand Nurse Nicolette has become quite friendly with the Dionnes,” he said. “I would remind you that our discussion today is not to be shared with anyone outside this room.”
Once again, we nodded mutely and scurried down the hall.
“How can they afford to build this play area if they are not charging admission?” It seemed extraordinary, given the harsh economic times affecting our part of the world. Nearly 70 percent unemployment in North Bay, according to the Nugget.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Emma!” Ivy laughed. “The quintuplets themselves are paying. Fred says their trust fund will be paid one hundred thousand dollars for their motion picture, The Country Doctor—can you imagine? Plus the revenue from all of the products they are supposedly eating or drinking or enjoying daily. These are the richest babies in Canada. Why on earth do you think the Dionnes are fighting so hard to get them back?”
February 17, 1936
SOMETHING EXTRAORDINARY TODAY. First we dressed the girls in their new hockey jerseys—custom-made and very sweet, each one “playing” for a different team with matching miniature hockey sticks. But when Fred was finished with his photos, instead of having me help with the daily measurements, Dr. Dafoe asked me to accompany him back to his office. The doctor rummaged around for a bit in a big pile of mail and papers and finally found what he was looking for. It was a postcard of the quintuplets issued for Valentine’s Day that pictured three girls standing and peering through a wreath of red roses, with two others seated below. Not a photograph, but a painting. I recognized the style right away as that of Mrs. Fangel, but the babies really didn’t look much like our girls. There was something strange about their noses, and their hair was curling in funny directions, plus none of them had their tiny distinguishing characteristics.