The Quintland Sisters(58)
As best as I can tell, she didn’t quit—Dr. Dafoe and the other guardians asked her to leave. She was summoned to Dr. Dafoe’s office this morning and that was that.
December 5, 1937
THE NEW TEACHER’S name is Claire Tremblay—God, I miss Ivy. Miss Tremblay is quite strict and formal, a very devout Catholic, as she managed to inform me within the first thirty seconds of her arrival. The Dionnes no doubt approve. She comes all the way from Trois-Rivières and speaks almost no English. I am frequently acting as translator for George and Dr. Dafoe when they wish to ask her a question, or when she wishes to address one of them. She has taken the girls’ French education in hand and is particularly hard on Marie, whose speech is the weakest. Whenever anyone fumbles a verb or an article, or pronounces something incorrectly, Miss Tremblay pinches her shoulders back and thrusts her chin in the air, then takes a deep snort through her beaky nose so that the nostrils collapse inward. She looks like she’s trying to turn into an arrow. The girls are all a little afraid of her.
December 17, 1937
MY LAST DAY of work before Christmas—I have the week off and won’t return until after Edith’s birthday. Dr. Dafoe is visiting New York, which allows George to go on leave until the New Year. Miss Beaulieu will go back to Toronto for the holidays, and Fred is leaving soon to visit Ivy in Florida. It would be nice to stay at the nursery during this quiet time, but I, too, need a bit of a break. I’m sorry to miss Christmas with the girls, but of course we celebrated last week before Dr. Dafoe left on his holiday. He dressed up, as usual, in his red Santa suit and emptied his sack of toys as Fred took photo after photo. The Dionnes did not make an appearance. Perhaps Miss Tremblay will invite them all over for Christmas—she’s organized for Father Routhier to give Mass at the nursery. Needless to say, she has settled in quickly.
Lewis is coming to fetch me tomorrow morning after he’s plowed the road. I’ve been working in the evenings on a watercolor of Edith—a surprise for my mother and father. I’m not sure how I’ll manage to smuggle it into the house without them knowing.
December 18, 1937
EDITH FELL ASLEEP on my lap, a hand clamped to my waist, as I was reading her a bedtime story. I waited until I was sure she was really and truly out for the count before wriggling from underneath her and tucking her in under the covers. It’s not so comfortable trying to write in my cot in this dim light, but I don’t much feel like going back downstairs and getting caught in a political discussion with Father.
Lewis gave me some news which I can’t stop thinking about. He’s leaving Callander and starting a job next month at Canadian Car and Foundry in Montreal. I’d never heard of it, of course, but that’s no surprise. He says it’s a company known for automobiles and trains, but that they are expanding into aeronautics and taking him on as a junior engineer. He’s obviously thrilled—I don’t think he stumbled over a single word the whole time he was talking, his hazel eyes dancing. I’m happy for him, of course—of course—and I said so. But I will miss him. He’s been like a brother to me, a sounding board for some of the strange twists and turns at the nursery this past year, with Ivy gone. Now he’s leaving too, heeding the call of the big, wide world.
“What does your father think?” I asked.
Lewis’s smile dimmed for a minute, but not by much. “He’s pleased for me, and proud, I know he is. But he’s also worried, particularly because of the tensions in Europe.”
“Have you told him you won’t be flying any planes? That might reassure him.”
I don’t know why I said that.
Lewis turned to look at me, a flicker, then turned his eyes back to the road.
“No,” he said. “No, I haven’t. I can’t promise him that.”
When we reached Mother and Father’s place, I said again that I was very pleased for him and wished him a merry Christmas, his father and mother too.
“You’ll have to keep in touch,” I added brightly. “Write and tell me all about Montreal. I’ve never been.” How brash! I realize now. How presumptuous. I think I made him blush.
“I’ve never been east of Ottawa,” I babbled on, trying to sound light. “Plus I love getting mail and Ivy doesn’t have much time for writing anymore.”
Now he had trouble finding his tongue again. “In fact, I was going to ask if perhaps you could write to me with news of how the quintuplets are getting along,” he said at last. “Could you do that? I want the real story, not just what I can deduce from Fred’s photos in the paper.”
We laughed about that, which was a good way to part. But Lewis flying planes. Such a strange thought. When would that happen, I wondered. How often? I have an inkling now of why Mr. Cartwright would prefer Lewis spend his days stuttering in front of a noisy classroom rather than cutting a swath through the skies.
December 30, 1937 (Toronto Star)
* * *
WON’T EXHIBIT QUINTS DESPITE $500,000 OFFER
CALLANDER, Ontario—An intimated payment of $500,000 from directors of the 1939 World’s Fair in New York has failed to convince the guardians of the Dionne quintuplets that the five babies should be taken to the exhibition a year from now.
“Nothing doing,” Dr. A. R. Dafoe and Judge Valin, two of the Quints’ guardians, said today.