The Quintland Sisters(53)
July 3, 1937
MISS EARHART’S PLANE is missing in the Pacific and with it that strange woman who so recently left such an impression on me. I can’t imagine how that would feel, to be adrift in the vast ocean, sharks circling, my radio batteries growing fainter and fainter. Battleships, destroyers, and airplanes have been sent out to search for her, but they can find no trace of the plane. She was here so very recently, perhaps the most alive woman I’ve ever met, so sure of her own mind and her own intentions. How can she no longer be of this world?
Sylvie wouldn’t stop nattering about the missing plane in her ringing voice, layering one awful speculation on top of another until I told her I had a booming headache and needed some peace and quiet.
July 15, 1937
ANOTHER HEAT WAVE and tempers are flaring. The girls bicker with one another at all hours of the day. Yesterday Annette tipped a full bucket of water over émilie’s head in the pool, then all of the girls joined in on the water fight. We could hear the people behind the screens in the viewing corridor laughing and clapping. The girls, of course, could hear it, too, and this made them monkey around even more. Dr. Dafoe keeps insisting in the papers that the girls are unaware of the public in the viewing area. Baloney. That’s what Ivy would say.
More than fifteen thousand visitors came during the weekend showings—that’s what Dr. Dafoe told us today. I can’t get my mind around this number, but Sylvie prattled on about it as if she herself is part of the draw. Perhaps she is. I’ve never asked her who she was with when I saw her that day at the souvenir stand. She likely has a number of friends in the area if she grew up nearby, and no shortage of suitors. Nurse No?l has muttered disapprovingly that Simon, one of our policemen, is “too familiar” with Sylvie, but I honestly can’t imagine how she’s reached this conclusion. Tonight Sylvie was wearing a necklace I’ve not seen before, something sparkly. I saw it catch the light when she stooped to tuck Marie into bed after supper.
August 6, 1937
EM HAS BEEN sick all week with a sore throat and a fever, so we haven’t permitted her to play with her sisters in the “big” playground as they call it. The newspapers are blaring about infantile paralysis, but how could émilie have come in contact with the polio virus? The girls meet no other children. Even their own siblings have not been over the street to play since the winter—they are too busy on the farm. Maman and Papa, too, I presume, since they’ve been scarce this last month.
Meanwhile Mr. Sinclair has been snowed under with letters and telegrams wishing émilie a speedy recovery, including one from a woman in England. “I would have thought people on the other side of the Atlantic would have more important things on their minds these days than these five children,” he said, shaking his head. He has quite a bit to learn, I’d say, about our little girls.
August 7, 1937 (Toronto Star)
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éMILIE’S PLEADING FACE WINS RELEASE, AND WHOOPS FILL YARD
CALLANDER, Ontario—The most noted sore throat in many a day was adjudged better today and émilie Dionne whooped for joy as she joined in the fun of Quintuplet play hour. Kept apart from her sisters for five days, émilie pressed her nose against the glass door of her room when Dr. Allan Roy Dafoe called this morning.
“I couldn’t resist that pleading look in that little face,” Dr. Dafoe smiled. “I opened the door and sent her out to play with the others. She wasn’t scheduled to join the forces till Monday.”
Joy was unconfined in the yard of the Dafoe nursery when émilie scampered out and was greeted by Yvonne, Annette, Cécile, and Marie who threw their arms around the middleweight Quint. The babies had never been separated for more than a few hours until émilie took sick.
A crowd of more than 1,000 tourists watched the reunion and then saw émilie conducted around the yard by her sisters who helped her locate her playthings.
Used with permission.
August 10, 1937
All of the girls are down with émilie’s flu, complaining of sore throats and kicking their blankets from their hot limbs as they sleep. Not a one of them is ill enough that she wants to rest all day, so we’ve had lots of subdued playtime indoors. Today, at least, Dr. Dafoe canceled the public showing, which is as much a relief for the staff as it is for the girls. Something is eating at the doctor. When the girls take ill, even with the sniffles, he treats it as both a personal failure and a national calamity.
Today he asked to speak with me in private. I assumed he might have news about my painting of the girls that the candy company purchased—the Baby Ruth ad should be out any day, I’m told, and I’ve received a very generous payment. Instead the doctor seemed reluctant to meet my eye, asking me a stream of questions. How well was I getting on with Nurse Dubois? And with the other staff? What do we do in our free time? Do we spend it together or alone? Do the nurses tend to stay on the property or leave it, after hours? Did I keep in touch at all with any former staff? His questions went on and on.
I answered as best I could, but I was mystified by the whole exchange. If anything, he should be asking our observer in chief, Miss Beaulieu, and I said as much. He ducked his round head up and down like a ball bobbing in the pool and said yes, yes, he would be speaking with all of us. But he sent me back to the nursery shortly thereafter, and, minutes later, I spied his car leaving through the front gates.