The Quintland Sisters(84)
She looked alarmed. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Miss Trimpany. I would keep it with you at all times.”
I nodded, and she looked down at her lap, glancing over the pages, then closed the notebook and stood to go.
“Please hang on to it, review it tonight and tomorrow if you need more time,” she said, handing me her book. “But keep it with you, please. I don’t want the Dionnes to see what I’ve written.”
At my door she paused, turning back, her face twisted. “I think it would be best if we always had two staff members in attendance when the Dionnes are visiting, don’t you think?”
Sample notes from Louise Corriveau’s notebook
July 5, 1938: Qs asking where Miss Rousselle has gone. Mme. Dionne tells Cécile and Annette that Miss Rousselle is dirty and not nice. Nice women speak French. Says they must always listen to Maman.
September 3, 1938: Rain. Mme. Dionne in the playroom with the girls. émilie asked Miss Callahan to read her another story, brings her an English picture book. Mme. Dionne enraged. Says Miss C. is the Devil, the Devil speaks English. English is dirty. Jesus speaks French.
September 27, 1938: Children brought into bathroom for toilet routine and émilie and Marie admitted telling “dirty stories”—Nurse Trimpany and Miss Callahan are dirty, Dr. Dafoe was dirty.
November 8, 1938: M. and Mme. Dionne visit before supper. M. Dionne tells girls to kiss their mother goodbye. Marie and émilie refuse, say Maman tells them bad stories. Mme. Dionne scolds Marie, says she is dirty, says she “plays with her posterior” (?). Tells émilie she is a crazy girl. émilie and Marie crying, Mme. Dionne crying. M. Dionne angry, takes Mme. D. from house.
February 1, 1939: Mme. Dionne accuses Miss Callahan in playroom of turning the children against her. Children upset. Miss C. and I walk out of playroom and she follows, yelling insults and threats in French. Girls are frightened. M. Dionne follows us and says despicable things. Calls Miss C. “une putain.” Calls me “une salope.”
February 2, 1939
I STOPPED BY the office this morning to speak with Dr. Dafoe about Nurse Corriveau’s notebook, but George says he won’t be in today.
It is different now, trying to winkle information out of George. I realize how much the getting of the information used to seem as important as the information itself. Today again, George looked sallow, as if he’d been up half the night, and indeed his clothes seemed creased and slackened—unusually so for him.
“Are you all right?” I asked, in spite of everything.
“Dr. Dafoe has asked me to pull together a list of all the canceled, current, and pending endorsement contracts.” He sighed and dug the heel of his hand into an eye socket. “It’s a lot.”
February 10, 1939
I MAY AS well work on some of the things Mrs. Fangel has suggested, if only for the practice of doing it, nothing more. I tinkered with some “still life” charcoal sketches using some of the girls’ playthings—a doll, balls, a rocking horse. There’s something disconcerting about a pile of children’s toys with no rowdy, tumbling children nearby.
Later, I took my things up to my own room and spent an hour looking in the mirror, my sketchbook on my knee, trying to figure out how I’d do a self-portrait. Each effort ended up in the wastebasket. It’s as if I haven’t learned anything about proportion or shading or balance whatsoever. By the time I’d given up, I’d missed supper.
I wandered down the hall to the girls’ room, all of them sleeping soundly. I sat on the window seat where Ivy and I used to whisper about what the future might hold. I have no more of an idea now than I ever did. Ivy was so certain, even then, about the life she wanted, and now she’s gone out and got it. Lewis too. Me, I’m still a note in the margins of someone else’s story.
Annette stirred in her sleep, murmuring something. Yvonne flung an arm over her eyes, as if to block out the moonlight.
Maybe this is all I need. Listening to the girls sleep, all of us tucked away safe and sound, spared from the strife sweeping the rest of the world—surely this is more than enough to make us happy. But then why am I even obsessing over Mrs. Fangel’s pamphlet and all her portfolio suggestions? Just to prove to myself I can? Why bother, if I have no intention of following through?
February 20, 1939
MISS CALLAHAN, NURSE Corriveau, and I have agreed that there will always be two of us with the girls when the Dionnes are visiting. It makes me realize how much I’ve been slipping out of my duties in recent months, probably longer, to avoid some of these tense visits.
I will absolutely hate this when the public play area opens again for the season. It was bad enough feeling like thousands of people a day were baffled by the sight of me and my birthmark in such close proximity to Canada’s famous five. Now the idea of arbitrating any friction between the children, their parents, and the nursing staff while visitors gasp and wave with a smile fixed on my face—it’s almost too much to imagine.
Today, thank goodness, was my turn to sit out, leaving the others to deal with the Dionnes. It is a beautiful, twinkling winter’s day, cold but bright. The girls were eager to play in the snow, so I helped button them into their woolens and warm boots. The Dionnes arrived right after the girls went out, following them into the private yard without so much as a bonjour.