Gail Gallant - The changeling : A Memoir of My Death and Rebirth, My Haunted Childhood, and My Education in Sainthood and Sin

Linda, my mother, Glenna and my father at Gails funeral.

ON FRIDAY, JULY 1, 1955, LAWRENCE GALLANT LEFT work a few hours early, a special treat to kick off his vacation. He and Maria packed the car, hoping to get out of the city before the afternoon rush hour. It was the same vacation theyd taken every summer since theyd moved to Toronto from Prince Edward Island eight years earlier. Same destination, same route, same excitement. Their annual road trip back home.

Every summer holiday brought another opportunity to catch up with old friends and family, and to show, yet again, Marias once-doubting father that her marriage to Lawrence hadnt been a mistake. This year, the couple had three young daughters on display. Along with four-year-old Linda and two-year-old Glenna, their family now included newborn baby Gail.

This trip would also break in their brand new car, a turquoise Ford Fairlane with a broad band of chrome. Lawrence was looking forward to driving down the ferry dock ramp in Cornwall on the south shore of PEI and showing it off to relatives living in Summerside and the tiny towns and villages along the red dirt roads on the west end of the island.

Maria had been preparing for weeks. Shed picked through the girls summer clothes, mending, washing and ironing. Shed ordered a few new print dresses from the Sears catalogue. She always ran her family on the tightest of budgets, but for vacations down home, her daughters had beautiful dresses, the dresses of her own childhood dreams.

For the long drive east, baby Gail was bundled between her parents in the front seat, a typical arrangement in the days before car seats. Linda and Glenna were in the back. Maria had packed the cooler with cold chicken sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, soda pop, apples and sugar cookies. There were dolls and books for the girls, and beers for Lawrence. In the early evening, they ate picnic-style on a blanket spread out on the ground off to the side of Highway 401, cars whizzing by.

Lawrence planned to drive straight through the night, which meant they would arrive on the island by dinnertime Saturday. At 10:30 that evening, Linda was still awake and restless, so Maria reached into the backseat and passed her a rosary.

Maria was just drifting off to sleep herself when the crash occurred. The impact was head-on. She hit the dashboard and landed on the floor on her hands and knees. Stunned by the blow to her head, she looked up through the shattered windshield at a wall of mangled metal, the cars front hood. She could hear screams from the backseat. She saw Lawrences right arm flailing above her, reaching back to Linda and Glenna. Slowly, Maria began to realize what had happened. Blood, glass and broken bones. Her baby was gone.

Maria found Gail, still wrapped in her blanket, on the floor. She tried to reach out but couldnt move her right arm. She cried out to Lawrence for help. He picked up the baby and laid her in Marias left arm.

Your face is cut, she heard him say. She felt nothing.

Lawrence struggled with his door but couldnt open it. He thought of gasoline and fire and reached desperately for the backseat door to let Glenna and Linda out, but it was stuck shut too. In a panic, he smashed out his window, slicing open his elbow.

Strangers from a nearby roadside diner began surrounding the car, yelling in French and tugging at the door handles until they finally opened. Linda and Glenna were pulled out, crying. Someone reached in and took the baby from Maria.