The Quintland Sisters(44)
He surprised me tonight by asking after Ivy.
“Is she enjoying her travels down South?”
I feel her absence like a wound that won’t knit. Her radio program has ended and she’s written only the once. Fred brought news of her from his trip to see her over the holidays. Some newspaper friends of his took them to see jazz music in Harlem, which is a part of New York City that is almost all Negroes. I’ve never seen a Negro in my life. Fred also told me that Alexander Dolls, which are made in Harlem, have released a Nurse Leroux doll and Ivy got to meet Madame Alexander herself. Maybe I need to order myself a Nurse Leroux doll.
“I miss her so much,” I said softly.
I was blinking back tears so turned to look out the window. After several weeks of clear skies, we had fresh snow today, inches of it lining the roofs and fence posts like icing on a cake. Even the trees looked surprised by the weight of it in their branches. The wheels of the truck made a shushing sound in the fresh snow, and the moon was painting the road and fields with a soft blue wash. Warmer lights streamed from the windows of the neighboring farms, smoke curling from their chimneys. Everything looked so calm and quiet, quite the opposite of summer’s honk and hubbub. How strange it must be for all these hardworking folks, tending their sleepy farms for all these years, now having to contend with a crush of cars, buses, and strangers making their way out to see the quintuplets.
“These farmers must be glad in winter, when all the tourists leave these roads,” I said. Lewis cocked his head. “That they must,” he said. Then, after sorting out his words, he added: “There’s n-not a farm on this stretch that hasn’t taken to renting rooms in the summer, though, and that—that’s been a big help for families. So winter brings both good and bad.”
We drove in silence for a minute or two, then Lewis cleared his throat and said:
“You and Nurse Leroux, you are the only ones who’ve been with the babies since they were born, is that right? You—you are like mothers to them, I’m sure. It must be hard on them too.”
I turned to look at him. Everyone knew Ivy had been with the quintuplets since the day they were born, but almost no one tended to remember that I’d been there too. That I’d been there from their first halting cries.
“They miss her very much,” I said.
“So much coming and going, it can’t be good for them,” he said gruffly as he pulled up outside of Mother and Father’s. “Don’t you up and leave them now.”
I opened the door and stepped down. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Unless of course you forget to fetch me tomorrow morning.”
His lips twitched a fraction, then he tipped his hat, and said, “See you tomorrow, miss.”
January 9, 1937
Miss Emma Trimpany Dafoe Hospital and Nursery Callander, ON
Dear Emma,
Greetings from frigid New York. I hope you are staying warm and dry.
I think your latest batch of sketches is very good. You are trying something different with the eyes, I see. The big beautiful eyes on those girls! They aren’t easily captured with charcoals. Are you using the watercolors at all? Send me some of those if you can. I think being able to nuance the colors more subtly might help you get the effect you are looking for.
I’ve been following with interest the big corn syrup debacle up there. Would you believe it made the New York Times? That’s how much Americans love the Quints. One of my first portraits of the girls was purchased by the Bee Hive company, whichever one that is—I can’t keep them straight. I’m sure you’ve seen the ad: the girls gathered around a daisy in the garden. I’m very fond of that series. It did make me think of your earliest drawings of the babies—remember the sketchbook you showed me when I first met you at the nursery? I recall very clearly the pencil drawings you did of the babies in their first few days of life, how you captured their tiny alien forms, yet also somehow conveyed their preciousness, if that’s not too trite to say. Surely there was a series of sketches you did with the corn syrup tins and the eyedroppers? Did those drawings, perchance, include the detail on the syrup tins? I mostly remember that everything seemed wildly out of proportion, the babies were so very small and the droppers looked like turkey basters. You’ve come a long way since then, my dear. None of my business, of course, but I wondered if you’d thought to look back at those drawings. Perhaps they hold the clue!
I look forward to seeing your latest, Maud Tousey Fangel
145 East 72nd
New York, NY
January 11, 1937
Dr. Dafoe asked me to come to his office this morning while the girls were having their midmorning snack, or “Nourishment” as Miss Beaulieu insists on calling it. I know the doctor is under a good deal of stress these days as the wretched corn syrup suit drags on, and the prospect of being summoned to appear before the court must be weighing on him. Even when he’s with the girls, his mind is elsewhere, despite them tugging at his white coat and dragging him this way and that, badgering him with questions in their mix of French, English, and Quintuplese, as Nurse No?l has started calling it, her several chins wobbling in disapproval. Today the doctor twice confused Yvonne and Cécile, which he hasn’t done in a long time. We’ve started dressing them in different colors: Annette in red, Marie in blue, Yvonne in pink, Cécile in green, and émilie in a creamy white. Even Miss Beaulieu has no trouble telling them apart now, unless they are in the bath.