Jeanne’s stern look was met with a blank stare from Carrie, but when they heard footsteps, they ended the conversation.
“That’s Mother,” Carrie said. “I should get her some breakfast. Then I’ll call Lindsay.” She collected her own dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. She glanced across the kitchen to see Jeanne staring out the window. For someone who usually had an air of control, she seemed distressed. Carrie wondered how much she was like her father.
* * * * *
At mid-morning, Hannah watched for Lindsay from the front door and stepped out when she saw her car pull into the driveway.
As Lindsay watched her walk quickly to the car, she hoped that she would be as spry when she reached Hannah’s age.
“Hello, Lindsay. Thank you so much for volunteering to take me to Alva’s. Carrie is busy all morning with church meetings, and Jeanne had a hair appointment.” She pulled the seat belt snugly around her and adjusted her pale blue jacket.
“My pleasure. It is so nice to meet you finally.”
Lindsay backed out of the driveway and headed west on Elizabeth Avenue. “Alva Green was the Sinclair housekeeper, was she?” she asked.
“Yes, she’d been there a few years when I got there.” Hannah laughed. “We were all young women then. The last time I saw her was years ago in Gander at a church function.”
“Is she from St. John’s?” Lindsay asked.
“She was born out in central. Lawrence, her husband, worked for the Sinclairs as well. He drove the car and did odd jobs. A lovely gentleman, God rest his soul.” She looked out the window at city workers mowing the grass on the median. “I have Alva’s address, written here on this piece of paper.” She searched in her purse and placed it in the cupholder between the front seats.
“That’s okay. Carrie mentioned the address this morning when she called. I looked it up on a map. I think we’ll find it. It’s a new subdivision in the west end.” Lindsay signalled at the intersection to the parkway. “Hannah, if you don’t mind my saying, Jeanne looks more like you than Carrie does.”
Hannah laughed. “Oh my, yes. Carrie’s her dad’s girl. She’s just like the Wests, tall and big-boned. Jeanne’s a Sinclair, but there’s some Parsons in her, too, I think.”
Lindsay smiled as she detected a note of pride in the woman’s voice. Within minutes, they approached the new housing area in the city’s west end. “I will drop you off, if you wish,” Lindsay said, as she turned onto the cul-de-sac where Alva lived. “When should I come back for you?”
“If you wish, Lindsay, you could come in with me, that is, if you have time. I won’t be long. Lauren’s coming by later to take me to the cemetery. Then Carrie and I are heading back to Falcon Cove, and I know she’ll want to get on the road by lunchtime. Alva Green is a dear soul, and I’m sure she’d love to meet you. We’ll only stay a half-hour.”
Lindsay’s interest was piqued. “That would be fine.”
She parked in the driveway of the taupe split-level house and saw an elderly lady standing in the doorway holding the handle of the outside door.
“Alva, my dear, it’s so wonderful to see you again,” Hannah declared and gave her a gentle hug. “It’s been too long. We’ll have to change that.”
“Yes, Hannah. Indeed, it has been a long time.” Eighty-five-year-old Alva Green turned to greet Lindsay. “And a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Martel. Carrie mentioned that you’d be chauffeuring Hannah today!”
“Please call me Lindsay. It’s my pleasure.”
“How do you know each other?” Alva asked, as they settled into the comfortable living room.
“Our daughter, Sandi, is engaged to Hannah’s grandson, Joe,” Lindsay explained. “Jeanne’s son.”
“That’s marvellous. Please pass along my best wishes.” Alva turned to Hannah. “You said on the telephone that you were staying at Jeanne’s.”
Hannah nodded. “It’s been an eventful few months. We met on Easter Sunday out home, and Jeanne invited us to stay with her when we came to St. John’s.”
Alva’s eyes glistened. “Hannah, I couldn’t be happier for you. I don’t always remember what I had for breakfast, but I do remember when you had little Jeanne. She was a tiny baby, the sweetest thing. I don’t think she cried for the first year. She was as good as gold.”
Although she was anxious to ask questions, Lindsay forced herself to sit in silence in the corner chair away from the two friends. Alva showed them photos of her grandchildren, and Hannah talked about the church in Falcon Cove, her husband, and Carrie. When Alva stood to get tea, Lindsay offered to help, but she could see that the lady prided herself on her independence.
A few minutes later, Hannah rested her Country Roses teacup on the saucer. “It’s still hard for me to call you anything other than Mrs. Green.” She smiled. Then a veil of sadness moved across her face. “You did so much for me, Alva. What ever would I have done . . . if you and your husband . . . what ever would I have done? And you couldn’t tell anyone, through all those years.” Her voice quivered with emotion.
Alva squeezed Hannah’s hand. “Oh, I promised Mr. Charles that I wouldn’t tell a blessed soul. Besides, we all managed, didn’t we? We got through it. Now the Sinclairs are gone, both of them. I had hoped to get to Mr. Sinclair’s funeral, but I wasn’t well at the time. My daughter dropped by the funeral home with a card and a letter that I wrote to Emily and Jeanne. I know it must have been very difficult for them to lose their father, especially for Jeanne,” she added emphatically. “They had a special relationship.”
Lindsay was viewing the graduation and wedding photos on the mantel when her attention was drawn to Alva’s remark. She hoped there would be more details.
“Jeanne said she misses her father every day,” Hannah confirmed.
“He tended to spoil her when she was little,” Alva said, with a glint in her eyes. “Oh, I know that Mr. Charles loved them both, she and Emily, but he always had a special place for Jeanne. I remember he promised you that he’d make certain that she was in good health and got an education. He kept his promise. He always tried to keep his promises.” Alva looked pensive. “Of course, that wasn’t always possible in other things.”
Lindsay sat on an ottoman nearby to take advantage of the lull in the conversation to ask a few questions. “Did you and your husband work for the Sinclairs a long time?”
Alva nodded. “We went to work there just after we got married. I was twenty and Lawrence was twenty-eight. I started out just doing housekeeping, but they decided I could cook fairly well, so I took over more responsibility after a few years. Lawrence and I eventually got our own house and had our family. I used to work for the Sinclairs sometimes after that, on special occasions.”
“Do you remember much about Emily and Jeanne when they were growing up?”
Alva laughed. “Oh yes. Children in those days tended to spend more time on their own. Emily and Jeanne played in their rooms and, in the summertime, they went to the park. It’s funny the things that stay in your mind. With all the stories I’ve heard over the years, it’s hard to figure out what was true and what wasn’t. There was gossip about Virginia and her treatment of Jeanne. Something about her wedding day! I don’t know what that was all about, but I know it wasn’t the first time. I never understood Mrs. Sinclair. She had it so good. But I guess she didn’t see it that way. She took it out on mister, so they say. She treated him terribly.”
Hannah lowered her head and spoke in a half-whisper. “Alva, I suspect that Virginia was angry most of her married life because of what Charles had done. I take responsibility for that. As for Jeanne’s wedding day, that’s when Virginia told Jeanne that she wasn’t her mother. I don’t know what possessed the woman to do that on that day except to be hurtful.” She shook her head.
“Oh my, oh my. What a terrible thing to do, to tell a young woman
who believed you were her mother that she was not. No reflection on you, Hannah. But it was just not the right way to do it.”
Hannah shook her head. “No, it wasn’t.”
Alva clasped her hands in her lap and thought for a moment. “To be honest, I think that there was more to it than Mrs. Sinclair being angry with her husband for his indiscretions. I believe she wasn’t a well woman, physically or mentally. Never was. For what it’s worth, she came by it honestly, as they say. Her parents, the Bolands, were troubled people. They had money. Plenty of it. And Mr. Boland did whatever he could to make sure Mr. Charles knew who was in charge.”
Lindsay’s curiosity grew. What did the Bolands hold over Charles other than the fact that he had fathered a child by another woman, a young servant girl? Surely that’s not all. But then, perhaps for that generation it was enough.
“Hannah, has Jeanne decided what she will do with the Sinclair house?” Alva asked.
“She told us last night that there’s a man who’s interested in purchasing it. He wants to turn it into an inn, a very fancy one, according to Jeanne. He’s from Nova Scotia, I believe. Money behind him.”
Alva nodded. “I’m sure she knows what’s best. After all, while it’s sitting empty, it’s just a worry for her . . . and a reminder.” She turned directly to look at Hannah. “Tell me, would you like to see the house?”
“Yes, I’d like to,” she answered. “Just to see how much it’s changed since I was there in the 1930s.”
Lindsay spoke up. “I know that Joe did some design work on it last year. But did the Sinclairs renovate it much over the years, Alva?”
Alva poured more tea and gently held her cup and saucer on her lap. “In the ’50s, after the war. I remember they opened up the dining room and made it bigger, put in new floors, that kind of thing. The wrought iron fence was built then, too. Hannah, you would only know the original set of stairs, but they had the staircase replaced. It was a wonderful job done by a master carpenter. I can’t recall his name, but he was a Newfoundlander. I remember my Lawrence worked as a carpenter’s helper. I tell you, the man was an artist with wood. There’s nothing like it anywhere around here.” She laughed. “I remember that Mrs. Sinclair didn’t like disruption, having carpenters around and dust and dirt. The girl who worked there told me she spent days cleaning up after them. You know what it’s like, Lindsay, to have that kind of work being done in your home. Such a mess.”
“Yes, indeed, and it wasn’t like today with all the appliances available.”
“No, that’s for sure. Lawrence told me how hard it was to remove the old staircase. Solid oak, I think it was. They just about broke their backs tearing it down. And it had cupboards underneath the steps with locked doors. Heaven only knows what was kept in there.” She chuckled. “Maybe a few bodies,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “But the stairs that they replaced it with were truly beautiful. They go up the centre of the house, with a curved railing at the top. Each spindle was hand-carved. If this gentleman wants to make an inn, it certainly would be the centrepiece.”
Hannah glanced at her watch and stood slowly, resting her clenched hand on the edge of the cushion to support herself. “I guess we should be going. I’ve tied up Lindsay’s morning.”
Outside at the end of the walkway, Lindsay surveyed the bright yellow marigolds flourishing by her feet and tried to stay away from their conversation at the door. On the step, Alva hugged Hannah. “Please come see me whenever you’re in town. I’d love the company.”
“I will, and I’ll phone from home for a chat.” As she turned to follow Lindsay, Alva placed her hand on her arm, detaining her for a moment. “Hannah,” she whispered, her face next to hers. “I want you to know. Charles Sinclair dearly loved you. I know that because he told me once, and I know when he spoke that he was sincere.”
Hannah paused, nodded, and said goodbye.
And Lindsay considered every word.
* * * * *
By the time Joe and Kevin reached the highway out of St. John’s, the fog was lifting and the sun was breaking through the clouds. Traffic was heavy coming into the city but light going west.
“Kevin, how long are you planning to stay?”
“I’m returning to Halifax on Sunday morning. I have a friend to visit tonight, someone I worked with a long time ago. More importantly, I’m hoping to set up an appraisal of the Sinclair house.” He sighed and brushed his hand through his hair. “Your mother’s reluctant to make a decision. I know she has wonderful memories.”
“Uh huh.”
Kevin peered at Joe across the front seat. “I take it that you don’t share those memories.”
“Let’s just say I have a very different view of the original owner.”
Kevin’s pulse quickened at the prospect of hearing about Charles, but he didn’t wish to show his hand too easily. “I’ve heard about your grandfather. Your mother speaks highly of him, but it doesn’t appear to be a sentiment shared by many others.”
“What have you heard?”
Kevin shrugged and tried to give the impression that his information was scanty. “Only that he was difficult to get along with and treated his employees harshly. Perhaps the poor sods didn’t have much choice but to do what they were told. They likely considered themselves lucky to get work.” He assumed that was what Joe wanted to hear.
“I tried to stay out of his business life. He never talked to me about it except when he offered to hire me.”
“Really? He wanted to hire you? As an architect?”
“No. I was just a teenager, finishing high school and planning to go to university to study architecture. He thought university was a waste of time. He wanted me to come into business with him.”
“Ah, I guess he wasn’t pleased with your response.”
“No doubt it’s one of the reasons why he resented me so much. That, and being Kurt Steffensen’s son.”
“Charles and your father never got along?”
“No.” Joe chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”
“You can’t blame the man for not liking the fact that his daughter was left alone after twenty years of marriage.”
“It started long before that.” Joe adjusted his visor. “Let me know if you are too cold. I have the air conditioning on.”
“I’m quite comfortable, thanks,” he responded, trying not to show his anxiousness to pursue the topic. “Your grandfather made money in his day.”
“So it seems.”
“From that I assume you never saw any of it?”
“Nope. Didn’t want to. I had very little to do with him.”
“I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you sound pretty harsh for such a young man. Surely you haven’t lived enough life to become cynical.”
Joe laughed. “No, I just don’t have positive memories of him, that’s all. He didn’t have much time for Lauren and me when we were growing up. As I said, I guess he had his reasons. Frankly, I couldn’t care less.”
“Do you think it’s fair to say he treated many people that way?”
“Possibly. I’ve crossed paths with a few people who worked for him or whose father or mother worked for him. Most of them talk about him fondly, but then, that might be because they assumed I wouldn’t want to hear anything else about my grandfather.”
Kevin listened carefully. “I’ve done some initial research into Water Street businessmen. Some had the power to hire and fire at will.”
“Yeah, a different era, for sure. Some people who worked there say that they were treated well, that their employer took care of them and their families. Like everything, I guess, it depends on your perspective and experience.”
Kevin didn’t wish to be confrontational, but he wanted to know more. “So tell me about your father, Joe,” Kevin ventured.
Joe shrugg
ed. “What would you like to know?”
Kevin welcomed the opportunity. “Let’s start with his business success. He’s done quite well.”
“Yes, he has. But then, he works hard and invests wisely.”
“Do you think that’s all it takes?”
Joe laughed. “You and I both know it’s more than that. Dad’s got a keen understanding of people and the market.”
“I s’pose he’s given you some good advice on investments over the years?”
“Sometimes. But we don’t talk about business often. We both have financial advisors.”
“Of course. I’m hoping he’ll want to invest in some ventures we have on the east coast. But I’ve been told that he’s not one for collaborating.”
Joe wondered where that observation came from. His mother, perhaps? “As I said, he’s quite astute when it comes to investing.”
Kevin could see the conversation was not going where he wanted. He wondered if the young man had been schooled at an early age to keep information about family finances to himself. He was guarded, that was obvious. Much like his father. Kevin rested his elbow on the passenger’s side door and ran two fingers across his mouth, pondering the best way to direct the conversation. “How old were you when your parents got divorced?”
“Twenty-one.”
“That must have been difficult for you.”
Joe turned onto the off-ramp and checked the traffic coming from the opposite direction. “Divorce is commonplace these days, as you know. I think it was harder on Lauren than it was on me.”
“Yet it hasn’t left you bitter about the institution of marriage. I mean, you’re planning to be married.”
“Yes, I am,” was all he offered, unwilling to discuss his personal relationship with Sandi. Instead, he countered with his own questions. “I heard that you had lunch with my mother recently.”
All Good Intentions Page 12
