The Quintland Sisters(81)

The temperatures have dipped again, but the sky was blue and bright. For the first time this week the vise clamped around my lungs (and heart) felt like it was starting to ease its grip. And what a treat to be out in the winter sun, bundled snugly against the cold! For a time I stood stamping my boots at the bottom of the gentle slope while Lewis toiled up with the toboggan, again and again, the little girls taking turns climbing into his lap to careen back down. Soon enough, Lewis convinced me to try out his invention, hauling it up to a higher point on the hill and settling me into it while Edith and Sheryl clapped their hands and jabbered in encouragement. When I said I was ready, Lewis gave me a stout push, and I started whooshing down, winter nipping at my cheeks. I yelped as I gained speed, not out of fear—I swear—but something much simpler: exhilaration and joy. For those few fast and sparkling seconds I felt like a child again, bursting and glad. Lewis must have heard my shriek because he came bounding down the hill behind me, reaching me as the sled slowed to a stop. He was winded, his breath billowing in bright, white gusts as he dropped to his knees in the snow and put a hand on my shoulder, his eyes blinking with worry. Then he saw my beaming face.

“Again!” I cried, climbed to my feet, and staggered up through the deep drifts to join the girls.

I SAW LEWIS one more time this morning at the train station before he left to return to Montreal. We’ve agreed that I will speak to Dr. Dafoe if I feel in any way threatened, or pressured about the commissions I’m receiving for my work. And Lewis has said he will continue to write to me at the nursery for now, but that he won’t write anything that might get me in trouble should his letters fall into the wrong hands. I wondered then—whose hands are the wrong ones, and whose are the right? I’m not sure I know. I also promised him that if I had any worries whatsoever, I would post my letters in Callander myself or pass them directly to his father, who wouldn’t dream of meddling with our correspondence, as much as he might be wondering about it.

My own parents are curious, that’s clear. But Mother, for once, held her tongue. And what would I tell her if she asked about Lewis? I would have to say, He’s a friend. A true friend. Perhaps the only friend I have left.


December 28, 1938

IVY AND FRED are in town for two nights to see her father and so that Fred can pack up his rooms in North Bay once and for all. I will miss his regular visits to the nursery now that they are stopping altogether, and I could tell from his face that he, too, will miss us, will miss the girls. I realize, next to me, Fred has probably seen the quintuplets more days of their lives than anyone else, more than Dr. Dafoe, more than their own parents and siblings. Isn’t that strange? The girls will miss him desperately.

But if I’m not mistaken, Fred will not have too much of a wait before he has a child of his own. Ivy has a lovely bloom to her, different from her regular glow, and I noted her laying her hand on her stomach several times during our visit. She said nothing to me about her condition, so it may have been my imagination. Or it may be that we’ve simply drifted apart a little bit further, which makes me sad. It won’t get any easier once the baby comes.

We had a very nice visit all the same. She had more gossip about the behind-the-scenes battle between the government and the Dionnes. On the one side are some nasty accusations as to how Dr. Dafoe and Mr. Munro have mishandled the girls’ finances and, on the other, some vicious allegations against M. Dionne as well. I wish I’d heard some of these things before Lewis left for Montreal so I could get his opinion, although it’s a good excuse to write to him, if nothing else. Mind you, even Ivy admits that much of these stories get exaggerated beyond recognition in the telling and retelling.

I did divulge to Ivy that Mrs. Fangel was encouraging me to apply for the art school scholarship in New York. Naturally, Ivy got very agitated on my behalf, swiftly assuming I’d decided against it and browbeating me with all of her usual arguments.

I had to wave my hands to get her to stop.

“I haven’t ruled it out, I haven’t,” I hushed her, laughing. “I wrote to Mrs. Fangel before Christmas, asking for more details on what I might need for the portfolio.”

Ivy was placated by this and asked a dozen more questions that I couldn’t answer. The truth is, I wrote to Mrs. Fangel in a moment of despondency, my head thick with equal parts rheum and despair. I still can’t picture myself leaving the nursery, but nor can I quite picture going back there next week, as if everything will be the same as it was.





1939


January 4, 1939 (Toronto Star)



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“GREAT MISTAKE,” SAYS DAFOE AS QUINT VISIT LEFT OFF ROYAL TOUR

Are King’s Wards, He Reminds—Holds Ottawa Responsible

“I think it is a great mistake that the King and Queen are not coming to see the Dionne quintuplets,” Dr. Allan Roy Dafoe told The Star from Callander today.

“The responsibility does not rest with their majesties, for they are bound to abide by the counsel of their advisers in Ottawa,” he continued, “but it must be remembered that these children—probably the most important children in the world—are direct wards of the King, the pride of both races in Canada, and of the greatest interest throughout this continent.

“This part of the country is just as important as any other. . . . I am very sorry that their majesties are not coming to Callander.”