The Quintland Sisters(31)
Dr. Dafoe was watching me sternly over his glasses. “What do you think of it?”
I was instantly flustered and could feel my face heating up. I had suggested to him that Mrs. Fangel visit us again, to see how the babies were coming along, but I’d regretted it. It sounded like I was only raising the issue for my own selfish reasons. I’d long ago run out of the paint Mrs. Fangel had left for me, and the pastels, which I admit I find a good deal easier to use, I’d worn down to stubs.
“It’s very sweet,” I managed to say and lifted the card to my face, pretending to study it closely in the hope he wouldn’t see me flushing beet red.
“Do you know,” he said, “we sold more than fifty thousand of these cards this month, and those aren’t the final numbers.”
I couldn’t help myself, my mouth fell open. Fifty thousand! Living here, with the babies, and watching them grow day by day, you forget the outside world to some extent, especially in the winter, when the deep drifts keep the visitors at bay. But fifty thousand people bought these cards? It boggles the mind.
“But what do you think?” Dr. Dafoe continued. “Does this look like the babies?” They were hardly babies anymore, but all of us still called them that. “Which one is Yvonne, do you think? Which one is Marie?”
This felt like a trap. I didn’t know what to say. Dr. Dafoe watched my face, his own expression giving nothing away.
“I have a proposition for you, Emma. I’ve discussed it with the other guardians, although Dionne, as usual, was absent. We’ve agreed to provide you with the supplies you need in order to paint or draw the girls yourself, plus some dedicated time in your workday to do so. Would this be agreeable?”
Dr. Dafoe, for all of his medical wisdom, could be such a stick-in-the-mud about regular human interaction. I laughed about it later with Ivy because I was simply mute in disbelief. Here he was offering me the most wonderful thing, yet his round face was flat as a pancake, as if he truly had no idea how I’d respond.
When I could finally pull myself together, I said that of course I’d be over the moon and would do my very best, but that I could by no means produce portraits as beautiful as Mrs. Fangel’s, and that there was so much I didn’t know, but that I was ever so grateful and on and on.
Dr. Dafoe dismissed all my bumbling gratitude with a flick of his fingers.
“In fact, it is Mrs. Fangel who suggested we do this,” he said. “She has been working off of the photographs of Mr. Davis, but she says it is impossible to capture your subject unless it is living and breathing in front of you. Is that the case?”
He looked at me intently, but I found myself unable to answer, my birthmark pulsing. He shrugged and reached for the postcard. “Going forward, Mrs. Fangel will work off of the portraits you provide, either adapting them as needed or more likely producing her own work with yours as her base subject.”
“Will she not visit herself?” I asked, finally finding my voice. This seemed to me to be by far the more sensible solution, although I hated to suggest that I wasn’t overjoyed by the plan he’d outlined.
“She may do so, yes, at some point, but not in the foreseeable future. She has offered to provide you some feedback on the work we send her, if you would find that useful.”
It was clear from his tone that he had no idea what would be useful to me or not, or to Mrs. Fangel for that matter. I didn’t care. This was such an extraordinary offer.
“You will need to provide the guardians with a list of the supplies you require, and then we shall discuss with Nurse Leroux a suitable schedule so that you have several hours in the week to devote to this task.”
I was bursting to tell Ivy. She was absolutely delighted for me, standing and giving me such a hug when I told her the news. I had dashed back to the playroom straight from Dr. Dafoe’s office and found Ivy in a corner, playing blocks with Annette and Marie. They watched Ivy and me embracing and immediately pulled themselves up and threw their little arms tightly around my legs as well, burying their faces in my skirt.
Later that evening, when the girls were finally down for the night and Ivy and I had a few minutes to ourselves, she asked me what I’d be paid for my work. I hadn’t even thought of it. I’m already well paid, as far as I’m concerned. Ivy sat up and thwacked me gently on the arm.
“Fiddlesticks! They are paying you for your talent, that’s not the same thing as paying you to change diapers and spoon mashed carrots into little mouths. Look at Fred. He’s paid handsomely for his photos.”
We hashed this over at some length and agreed that she would speak with Mr. Davis and see what he thinks. I simply can’t imagine standing in Dr. Dafoe’s office and asking for more money, after everything he’s done for me. But I admit I’m curious as to what Mr. Davis will say.
Most of all, I’m over the moon that Dr. Dafoe even thinks my art would be of some use to the babies. And if Mrs. Fangel would actually give me some pointers? Wouldn’t that be something!
February 29, 1936 (Toronto Star)
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DR. DAFOE “VERY PLEASED” WITH THE COUNTRY DOCTOR
Witnesses Private Screening in New York of Movie Starring Famous Dionne Sisters
Dr. Allan Roy Dafoe, O.B.E., is to be a guest of honour at the world premiere of “The Country Doctor” at the Uptown theatre in Toronto Thursday evening next. The occasions on which this distinguished man, who is a legend even in his lifetime, may be seen are few and far between because of the fact that he remains, despite his fame, what he was before fame found him out, a true country doctor.