The Quintland Sisters(76)
I stood and walked quickly around my easel, so I was facing him. “M. Dionne,” I murmured. “I was just packing up.”
Of course I couldn’t do anything with my painting, it was still wet, but I could gather up my tubes of paint and palette. My hands were trembling, but I carried my things over to the sink and took as little time as I could to get tidied up. It felt like his eyes were still boring into my back, but when I finally turned to look he hadn’t moved and was still staring at the painting, his pointy chin tucked to his chest, his brow furrowed.
I didn’t want to leave my work like that, unfinished and vulnerable, the glob of blue no doubt already dry on Cécile’s chin. But I didn’t want to have to speak with him either. I hurried from the room, and when I peeked back through the door a few minutes later, M. Dionne was gone.
October 5, 1938
THE ROYAL COUPLE is visiting Quintland! That’s what the papers are saying. Dr. Dafoe came out to the nursery today and called a special meeting, swaggering like a turkey, to inform us that the King and Queen have confirmed they will visit our tiny corner of Canada. What’s more, plans to build a new house are postponed until midsummer next year in order to focus attention on some much-needed repairs to the nursery now.
Visiting here! The King and Queen of England. I can’t imagine what Ivy will say.
October 14, 1938
GEORGE IS ABSOLUTELY insufferable. He came into the nursery today, peering around as if in search of inspiration when the girls were gleefully playing dress-up. Annette had unearthed the crown that Yvonne wore when they were doing their “Song of Sixpence” photos earlier in the year.
“I am Queen of Canada,” Annette was mustering in her most imperious French. “You”—she swept her arm majestically past her sisters—“are Kings of Canada. You must wait on me and bring me pies.”
The crown seems smaller on Annette than it was on Yvonne, but, I realize, it would be small on Yvonne now too.
“Bow before Her Majesty,” Yvonne squeaked at George, tugging at his wrist while Marie and Cécile tackled his shins and induced him to shuffle the length of the nursery, the girls “riding” his feet until he managed to shake them off and slip away. But later, when Nurse Corriveau was getting the girls washed up for supper and I was putting their royal finery back in the costume trunk, George popped his head into the room again, did a quick sweep, then turned to leave.
“Their Majesties are no longer at court,” I called after him.
He smiled then and took a step back into the room, although I had the sense he had somewhere else he wanted to be.
“All this fuss,” he said. “They’ll be heartbroken.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
George looked up at me sharply. “You don’t think the royal tour is actually going to come all the way to Quintland, do you?”
I hesitated, and he gave a little laugh, which wasn’t nice.
“Good God, Emma. The only reason the Royals are touring Canada now is to rally support for the coming war. Surely you know that?”
I hate it when George does this. I hate it.
“The girls are wards of the King,” I managed. “The King and Queen are, in theory, their official guardians, their legal mother and father. It is their duty to visit them, isn’t it?”
For a moment I thought George was going to laugh at me again—a terrible feeling. But his face softened a bit, the way it does when Marie or Cécile does something particularly sweet or funny, and he changed his tone.
“Emma, they already have a mother and father, much as we like to forget that. And think about it. Why now? With so much going on at home, why on earth would the King and Queen take the time to visit one of their most important Commonwealth allies?”
Before I could think of something to say, the girls rushed back in en route to the dining room in their pajamas. George stepped aside and smiled fondly at them as they barreled by. Miss Callahan was following close behind, and George raised a hand as she passed.
“Miss Callahan, a document from the Department of Education has arrived for you. Dr. Dafoe asked that you review it and let him know your thoughts before he discusses it with the other guardians.”
She paused, one eye on the little ones heading down the corridor, the other on George.
“Has he looked over it?” she asked.
George made a sound very close to a snort and shook his head.
“No, Miss Callahan. He’s given it back to me unopened. I can bring it to your desk, if you like, or you can stop by tomorrow. I gather he’s hoping you can provide him with a summary.”
She laughed softly, as did George. It’s been a standing joke between George and me, how very little Dr. Dafoe manages to accomplish in a day, between meeting important visitors, radio broadcasts, and speaking engagements. Clearly Miss Callahan is in on the joke too.
I wonder, why does Miss Callahan think the King and Queen are visiting Canada?
October 20, 1938
Miss Emma Trimpany Dafoe Hospital and Nursery Callander, ON
Dear Emma,
I must say I don’t like the sound of your encounter with M. Dionne one bit. I can’t help but dislike the man, based on everything you’ve told me, but at the same time I do feel some compassion for the position the Dionnes are in. Mme. Dionne has always struck me as broken in some way, and who wouldn’t be? Living across the road from her own daughters—it’s hard to imagine what that would be like. M. Dionne is harder to read. Does he love his girls, do you think? Truly love them?