The Quintland Sisters(61)
I took Miss Tremblay to task over this today, and she was cold as ice, blinking at me sideways and twitching her beaky chin up and down like a sparrow, saying I must have misunderstood what she’d been saying.
On the other hand, when M. and Mme. Dionne visited this afternoon—the first time they have done so since the Virgin Mary’s rescheduled Feast Day—Miss Tremblay put on a great pantomime of enthusiasm and happiness at their arrival, working the girls up into bewildered excitement. Nurse No?l was actually nudging Em and Marie to go and give their mother and father a hug and a kiss. It is terribly confusing for all of them.
January 23, 1938
Miss Emma Trimpany Dafoe Hospital and Nursery Callander, ON
Dear Miss Trimpany, Happy New Year to you and everyone else at the Dafoe Nursery. I’ve spent the past month trying to think of something interesting to tell you about Montreal. The plain truth is, I haven’t had much spare time to explore the city, although I’m quite taken by what I’ve seen so far of the architecture. I’ve never visited Europe, of course—not yet—but I’d say some of the buildings here have the same grace and grandeur as those in Paris.
I do miss home. I miss the bright white of the fields and the fresh sprawl of the open land. We had a foot of snow here yesterday, but it turned to sooty slush in the city streets within a matter of hours. And the cold here is worse than the cold back home. The bitter wind funnels around the city buildings like it’s being chased by winter himself. There is a church on the corner that serves a hot supper in the basement every evening, and you can’t help but feel for the folks lining up around the block while the wind slices through like a knife.
It’s been a real change of pace, sitting at a desk again with paper and instruments. These are skills I feared I’d lost. My current project relates to landing gear—those are the wheels used when a plane takes off and lands again. I dreamt last night of wheels that can retract like the legs of a falcon when he tucks them tight to his stomach, or perhaps trail behind, like those of a stork. Something to make our plane more streamlined and aerodynamic. Can you picture it? I can.
I’d wager this is going to be a lonely city for an Anglophone, although the men at work are a mix of French and English and seem a decent, if serious, group of chaps. I hope you’ll write.
Yours truly,
Lewis Cartwright
11 Rue Saint Ida
Montreal, Quebec
January 27, 1938
I love to be in their bedroom before the girls wake, listening to them sleep. Yvonne and Cécile have started snoring sweetly, something Dr. Blatz naturally feels needs to be thoroughly investigated. émilie is an early riser these days, like me, but she simply lies looking up at the ceiling nattering to herself. I can’t understand a word of it, but occasionally one of her sisters will wake and answer her in the same lilting sounds and syllables. It’s only when they try their private language on us, the nurses and doctors, that it lets them down, and unless we can swiftly guess their meaning they’ll start stamping their feet, incredulous at our stupidity. Dr. Blatz disapproves of their strange language and scolds them when he hears it, insisting that they speak in “proper” French or English. I like it. Whatever they are discussing softly at first light sounds happy and soothing, like a burbling brook. I’ve even picked up the odd word: ba-ba-bah for crying, shoh-shoh for soft, le-lay for milk.
By 6:30 A.M. I’ve got them all up and to the toilet. They still soil their diapers at night, but they are getting better and usually produce something for Dr. Blatz’s charts during the first morning toilet visit. For months now he’s insisted that they no longer wear diapers by day, which has led to a lot more laundry and a few “accidents” on the playroom floor, which fortunately is linoleum. Miss Tremblay disapproves of Dr. Blatz’s methods in general, but she is particularly put out by the seven daily scheduled trips to the bathroom. She supervises the 8:15 and 10:30 visits, but does so with much harrumphing and ill will.
From the toilets, they head to the bath. The littlest three go in the one tub and Annette and Yvonne in the other. I usually am finishing up the notes for the morning toilet visit, so Nurse No?l and Miss Tremblay take charge of the bathing and I don’t pay too much attention to the screeching and splashing.
Today Marie came scampering out of the bathroom, naked as a jaybird and dripping wet, while I was seated in the charting area. I could hear the other girls calling after her and assumed it was some new game, so I snatched her up and started to carry her back to her towel. Miss Tremblay, as it turns out, was in hot pursuit and took Marie from my arms, none too kindly.
“Naughty girl!” she said, giving Marie a very angry look. “Very naughty. Naked! That’s dirty.”
It was absolutely preposterous. I followed them back to the bathroom and was met by all the girls grabbing for their towels and trying in vain to cover themselves up in some charade of modesty. “Very naughty!” Annette parroted Miss Tremblay. “Dirty girl!”
“Don’t be silly!” I tried to say to Annette, but little Cécile was already hustling over to close the door behind me while the others scurried around the corner to their dressing room.
Nurse No?l turned to me, her chins quavering indignantly. “The girls are learning modesty, Nurse Trimpany. They know it is not right for them to be dashing around unclothed.”