The Quintland Sisters(46)

Mr. D. L. McCarthy, defense attorney for the St. Lawrence Starch Company, is surely the only person who could have enjoyed himself today. He strutted around the courtroom like a peacock, badgering Ivy with questions and pestering her for irrelevant details, all of which delighted the mob crammed into the public gallery. Ivy sat so tall and poised, meeting his eye and ignoring the whistles and catcalls from the gawking crowd, everyone frantic to get her attention. I was so proud of her I could have burst.

“Miss Leroux, can you please remind the court, in brief, about the state of the health of the five Dionne babies when you arrived at their place of birth?”

For Pete’s sake. There wasn’t a person in the province of Ontario who didn’t know how dire things were those first few harrowing days.

“They were born two months premature and were extremely frail,” Ivy said evenly. “They had tiny arms and legs, no thicker than my thumb, and relatively large heads and abdomens. Several were having trouble breathing. Expectations for their survival were very low.”

“Tell me . . .” Mr. McCarthy paused for effect, nestling his chin toward his chest. “Is corn syrup generally considered an important component in such cases?”

Ivy, I could tell, was trying not to roll her eyes. “I do not believe so, no.”

Mr. McCarthy then took his line of questions along a wide and meandering path: where did Ivy train as a nurse? When did she arrive at the farmhouse that fateful day? How did corn syrup come to be used? How had it been given? How much was used?

Ivy explained that Dr. Dafoe had provided a specific formula of water, cow’s milk, and corn syrup, to be given by dropper because no breast milk was to be had. When she explained that a mere ounce or two of corn syrup had been used, the crowd in the courtroom started hooting with laughter again, so that the judge had to bang his gavel. I can well imagine what everyone was thinking: what a tremendous waste of time, money, and newsprint for two lousy ounces of syrup.

The lawyer then asked Ivy whether she had recorded the brand of corn syrup in her nursing notes. This time Ivy gave him a withering look. She was thinking the same thing I was: that we, summoning every ounce of energy to keep the girls alive through the night, would never have dreamed of jotting down the brand of corn syrup in the nursery records.

“Let the record note that Miss Leroux says she did not make note of the brand of corn syrup in her nursing report,” Mr. McCarthy chirruped. “Now, Miss Leroux, you signed an affidavit December 20, 1936, stating that you had no recollection what brand of corn syrup was used on the day that the mixture was prepared and given to the Dionne quintuplets. Is that the case today? You have no recollection of what brand of corn syrup was used?”

Ivy held his eye. “The brand of corn syrup was Bee Hive.”

“Bee Hive brand corn syrup, produced by the St. Lawrence Starch Company of Port Credit, Ontario?”

Ivy glanced down, and I didn’t hear her response.

“Can you please repeat your answer more forcefully, Miss Leroux? Do you believe the corn syrup used in the formula fed to the Dionne quintuplets to be Bee Hive brand corn syrup, produced by the St. Lawrence Starch Company of Port Credit, Ontario?”

“Yes.”

A loud rumble erupted around the courtroom as if set loose from a cage. The judge again called for order.

Mr. McCarthy now sounded positively jubilant. “Miss Leroux, can you explain why your testimony today contradicts your earlier affidavit of December twentieth? What has jogged your memory?”

Ivy’s voice was soft but firm. “I’ve recently been shown evidence that Bee Hive brand was the brand used.”

“Evidence?” Mr. McCarthy raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Can you be more specific?”

Ivy was trying not to look at me, I was sure of it. “Another nurse—actually, a nursing assistant—who was helping to care for the quintuplets: she did several sketches of the babies in the first week after their birth. One of the drawings includes the tin of corn syrup.”

“A drawing of a tin of corn syrup?” he repeated, and the courtroom roared with laughter.

“A pencil sketch of me, giving one of the babies the formula from an eyedropper, but a tin of corn syrup and a bottle of milk are also pictured in the drawing.”

Mr. Payne, the attorney for Canada Starch Company, had been chewing angrily on his lower lip, his mustache twitching. Now he sprang up from his seat, the words spraying from his mouth. “Objection! Your Honor, this is hearsay evidence. No such drawing has previously been produced or cited in the course of these proceedings.”

The judge glowered in the direction of the defense. “Mr. McCarthy, can you produce these drawings?”

“Your Honor, I can.”

I sank as low as I could in my seat while Mr. McCarthy approached the bench and, with a flourish, deposited the page I’d torn from my scribble book. The judge pushed his glasses up his nose and gazed at it for a long minute before growling: “Mr. McCarthy, proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Miss Leroux, were you aware that these sketches were being done at the time you were feeding the babies this formula? Do you have any recollection of those sketches at the time?”

Ivy’s voice was subdued. “Yes, I do.”

“And the artist, your assistant, who was responsible for these sketches, what is her name?”