The Quintland Sisters(75)
Ivy forgets that almost no one remembers I’ve worked at the nursery as long as I have. I’m not in any of the newsreels or newspaper photos. I don’t appear in any of the motion pictures; I’ve not once, to my knowledge, been mentioned in the papers.
“And I like it this way,” I reminded her.
That sent her down her next favorite theme, which is my marriageability and eventual motherhood. Honestly, Ivy is worse than Mother.
“But you must be meeting so many nice young men who come by to meet the girls and Dr. Dafoe?”
I grimaced and shook my head. She said she’d heard from Fred that George has become quite the charmer at the Dafoe nursery, and that made me blush terribly. Then out of the blue she asked whether I was keeping in touch with “the shy man who delivered the stones.”
Honestly, how on earth could she have known about Lewis? Had I mentioned him?
I used the opportunity to confess my plan of giving her a Quint-stone as a wedding gift, and she barely laughed at all.
“Oh, you should send one,” she said earnestly. As if she actually believed in their magical powers! My surprise must have been etched in my face because she laughed then and shrugged. “You never know, Em, it can’t hurt.”
August 22, 1938
Miss Emma Trimpany Dafoe Hospital and Nursery Callander, ON
Dear Emma,
This is not the nicest thing you’ll ever hear me say about the Ontario government (nor the worst), but my guess is they will never release the girls into the care of the parents, and they will never build that big house. Bottom line: the province has come to rely on the money it sees from visitors to the famous five. Quebec takes a very dim view of this, of course, and I can’t help but agree they make a strong case that those girls should be leading a more normal life. But jealousy is also at play. Here’s a French family that gives birth to the most popular Canadians in the world and that had to happen in Ontario instead of Quebec? Plus this isn’t just a battle of French versus English, it’s also Catholic versus Protestant, rich versus poor, the lowly peasant versus the eminent doctor. It would all make for a great piece of theater if there weren’t five innocent girls at the heart of it.
As for our plane—at this point, no one will fly it. We are having trouble sorting out a problem with the upper gull wing. As it is currently designed, our pilots can’t exactly see where they’re headed, particularly on landing. So it’s back to the drawing board for us.
Yours sincerely, Lewis Cartwright
11 Rue Saint Ida
Montreal, Quebec
September 17, 1938 (Toronto Star)
* * *
CALLANDER PROTESTS REMOVAL OF QUINTS
Fear Loss of Trade if Babies Moved to Trout Lake: “Unwise, Unfair”
CALLANDER, Ontario—Protesting the proposed removal of the Dionne quintuplets from the Dafoe hospital at Callander to a new home on another site, a deputation of businessmen and councillors from that vicinity awaited on Hon. Gordon Conant, attorney general, yesterday afternoon.
Spokesmen for the deputation contended that it would be unwise and unfair to remove the famous sisters from the proximity of their birthplace.
“The quintuplets have flourished, physically and financially, at Callander,” stated Kenneth Morrison, Callander businessman. “I estimate that upwards of $400,000 has been spent in and around the village because the Quints were there. All this will be a dead loss if the sisters are moved to a new home in Trout Lake, which we understand is contemplated.”
Mr. Morrison stated removal of the Quints would be a terrible blow to Callander and district and that Mr. Dionne and the people of that district felt such action was unnecessary.
Oliva Dionne, father of the Quints, has petitioned council seeking action of protest against removing his daughters from the vicinity of their birthplace.
Used with permission.
September 17, 1938
Nurse Corriveau took me aside today to tell me that she is keeping track of some of her run-ins with the Dionnes, and some of the personal threats and insinuations she says they’ve been making. She’s a tense and twitchy woman, Louise Corriveau, but a sharp one. She says she’s well aware of all the coming and going of staff we’ve suffered here, and she intends to keep notes of everything, in case she finds herself on the wrong side of the Dionnes, or Dr. Dafoe for that matter. She says I should be doing the same, keeping a record, that is. I mulled that for a while, then realized I’ve been doing just that. Not that I could ever show these words to a single soul.
September 20, 1938
AN UPSETTING COUPLE of moments in the nursery today. I’d managed, as usual, to worm out of accompanying the girls into the public playground. With Maman and Papa Dionne in there with them most days, plus Miss Callahan and Nurse Corriveau, it’s easy for me to beg off.
Dr. Dafoe has suggested I work on a series of seasonal portraits of the girls with the aim of approaching a calendar company. I’ve done some nice pieces for the summer months with the girls in their swimming costumes, playing in the sandbox, and so on. Now I’m playing around with some autumn colors. I was absorbed in what I was doing and didn’t even hear a creak or a footfall to hint that someone had entered the room. Indeed, I felt a presence, rather than heard it. My whole body stiffened and my hand jerked so that I daubed a thick swatch of blue paint onto Cécile’s chin instead of her dress. When I turned, sure enough, M. Dionne was standing right behind me, radiating a chill that made my skin rise with goose bumps. What struck me in that instant was that he’d been about to touch my work, he was that close. Had I not turned when I did, his hand would have been on my things or, worse, on me. The last time a man had stood so close behind me it had been George, and that had flushed me with a warmth I felt all the way to my toes. This was more like ice water, sluicing down my spine.