All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  Hannah laid down the magazine and sat up. “I will. Thank you. Can I make you breakfast?”

  “No, thanks.” Jeanne stood. “I’ll just have some tea. My stomach’s unsettled.”

  Hannah wondered why but was hesitant to ask.

  Jeanne returned shortly with a pot of tea and a china mug on a tray. She curled up on the sofa.

  “Do you have any photo albums of when you were growing up?” Hannah asked.

  “A few.” She got up and pulled out a burgundy album from the drawer of the large mahogany buffet. “This has some photos that might interest you. Mostly of Emily and me as young girls, school photos, that sort of thing.”

  Hannah took the album carefully and made her way through each page, stopping to stare at some. She glanced at Jeanne. “You don’t have many of Virginia. Just this one,” she said, pointing to a small group photo taken in the Sinclair garden.

  “She didn’t like to have her photo taken,” Jeanne said, “unless it was for some special event, like the lieutenant-governor’s garden party, or the Queen’s visit, something like that. Then she had a special outfit, bought away, and she wanted that recorded for posterity.”

  Hannah laughed at Jeanne’s assessment but did not offer her own opinion. She ran her fingertips around the edge of a photo of Bannerman Park and allowed the memories to flood through her mind. “She didn’t care much for me,” she said softly.

  Jeanne looked at her and noticed that her eyes glistened with tears. She wondered how she had been treated, just a young girl of eighteen having a baby for the man of the house. She ventured a comment. “I guess you didn’t see her after I was born.”

  Hannah sat back and stirred her coffee unnecessarily. “The last time I saw her was on the day that I left for good. She came into my bedroom to tell me that Mr. Green would take my things to the wharf and that I should be ready soon. I remember she stared at me, like she was wondering who or what I was. I remember thinking it very strange at the time. But that was all. She didn’t say much else.”

  Jeanne could not even imagine the pain of that day that this woman had endured. She longed to ask her to describe her feelings but knew, as Carrie had reminded her, that Hannah was not one to share such painful thoughts. She would let her volunteer.

  The two women sat in silence for a long time as Hannah leafed through the pages of photos. The two girls, half-sisters, seemed happy and well. There were photos at the end of the album of Jeanne graduating from school. A dark blue uniform and crisp white blouse, perfectly fitted, with a red cardigan.

  Hannah glanced at her daughter, who appeared to be staring out the living room window. Something has happened. She seems deep in thought and very sad. “Mr. Gillis is a nice gentleman,” she commented, “and very handsome.”

  Jeanne did not smile as Hannah hoped she would.

  “Did you have a nice evening? You were home early.”

  “We didn’t go out. He stayed here and we talked. Then he left. I had some soup and crackers just before you and Carrie came home.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s none of my business, so I won’t ask . . .”

  “It’s all right. I don’t mind telling you. Kevin told me quite a story last night. To be honest, I don’t know how much truth there is to it. I discovered recently that his father, Edgar Gillis, used to work for Father. He hired Mr. Gillis to do carpentry work, and he was very good at it. But for some reason, when he finished his last job—this was back in the early ’50s—he let him go and never hired him again. In fact, according to Kevin, he made certain that he could never find work in St. John’s again.”

  “How could Charles manage that?”

  “Well, it was a small community. Word travelled fast, and I guess he told the right people, other businessmen, clergy, politicians. Before long, Edgar was out of work and no one wanted to hire him.”

  Hannah sat back with a puzzled expression. She looked around and searched for the right words. “Jeanne,” she managed, under her breath, “I knew your father only two years, but you knew him for over fifty, and, I have to ask, do you think Charles was capable of doing something like that to Mr. Gillis?”

  Jeanne shook her head and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” She took a shallow breath and sobbed. She reached for the napkin by the tea pot. “I’ve always admired my father, and now I hear about this. I have no way of knowing if it’s true. I suppose I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life because he’s gone now and it’s too late to ask.”

  Hannah stood and moved next to her on the sofa. She placed her hand on her arm, patting her hand with her own. “I’m sure there’s more to this than you’ve heard. When did Kevin get his information?”

  “From his father before he passed away.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t have the whole story. He might have gotten it wrong.”

  “I don’t know. He claims it’s true. As I think about it, the more I realize the man would have no reason to fabricate it.” Jeanne stood and made her way to the mantel to the photo of her father and herself on her wedding day in a silver frame. “My father was the only one in my life who was proud of me. I’ve been a disappointment to everyone else. But not him. Now, it seems like I don’t know him at all.”

  Hannah squinted at Jeanne. “Why would you say you’ve been a disappointment? You should be proud of yourself, Jeanne, for who you are, not for who your parents are, or what others think about you. All your choices are your own, and you answer only to yourself. My goodness, we could spend our lives looking for the approval of others that never comes. Believe me, I know what it’s like to wonder about what other people think. It doesn’t help.”

  Jeanne was surprised at Hannah’s attempt at advice, but she welcomed it. “You seemed reluctant to meet my circle of friends, to attend Joe’s wedding, or the engagement party. I assumed it was because you were concerned about what others would say or think.”

  Hannah lowered her head. “No, I try not to worry about that, Jeanne, my dear. It’s taken me a while to admit this, but ever since that lovely evening at Lauren’s in June, I’ve been feeling that I don’t deserve to know all of you. I’ve never been able to face what I did.”

  Jeanne sat next to her and reached for her hand, squeezed it, and smiled.

  “Given what you went through, I think you deserve the very best.”

  “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “Now then, since we aren’t going to worry about what other people think, will you attend the engagement party with me tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, I s’pose I will,” she said with a chuckle.

  “And since we’re all being so brave, how would you like to return to the Sinclair house tomorrow morning?”

  Hannah smiled. “Sounds good.”

  * * * * *

  Early Saturday morning, Lindsay came out of the garage armed with a broom and a rake to clean the front steps and walkway.

  “Good morning, Lindsay!”

  Lindsay turned around to see Carrie walking up the sidewalk in front of their home. “Carrie! My, it’s lovely to see you!”

  “I decided I could use a walk. I’ve been doing nothing but sitting for the past two days.”

  Lindsay rested the broom on the side of the steps and shook her head. “I’m cleaning up after all that rain and wind we had. Stuff comes off the trees and creates a mess. Now that you’re here, I have a great excuse to take a break. C’mon inside. I’ll make some coffee. Where’s your mother?”

  Carrie followed her in the back door. “She’s gone to the Sinclair house with Jeanne. I thought they should do it together, just the two of them. So I used the excuse that I needed a walk.”

  She followed Lindsay into the kitchen and sat at the small table by the window. Mollie lay next to her and enjoyed the pats on the head from her new fr
iend, who compared her to Patrick, the beagle. Lindsay flicked on the coffee maker and took two mugs from the cupboard. “You’ve been busy.”

  Carrie stretched her arms. “Yes, I could use a break. Church meetings are as dry as a chip. Any news on Joe and Sandi’s house?”

  “They’ve put an offer on it, but Joe vows he’s not going to celebrate until he has the paper with their signatures on it. Frankly, I can’t blame him. Anything can happen.” Lindsay laughed as she reached for coffee creamer in the refrigerator.

  “He did a fine job with the church hall. The carpenters have managed to get a lot done this summer.”

  Lindsay sat next to Carrie at the kitchen table. “Yes, he certainly knows his profession.” She hesitated as she recalled Sandi’s explanation of their conversations in Falcon Cove. She decided that this was a good chance to ask about attending the wedding. “Carrie, I think we’ve known each other long enough for me to say this. I have to say I’m curious.”

  “Of course, Lindsay. What is it?”

  “Sandi and Joe told us all about their visit to Falcon Cove last month. They had a wonderful time, and they really appreciate your hospitality. But Joe said that when he asked you about attending their wedding, you seemed very reluctant. He said you’re worried about your mother, about her being embarrassed or uncomfortable. But Sandi said when she asked Hannah, she said that she’d be happy to go. I guess I can’t help but wonder why.”

  Carrie wrapped her hands around the coffee mug and looked down at it. She sighed heavily. “Yes. I guess I . . . I misunderstood what Mother wanted. She seemed reluctant to meet everyone. I figured having Sandi and Joe come to Falcon Cove on her own turf, so to speak, would be okay. But I thought that maybe a big wedding with people she doesn’t know would be too much. I guess I was wrong. Perhaps I just projected my own reluctance over onto her.”

  Lindsay reached out and touched her arm gently. “Your reluctance?”

  Carrie nodded. “I know it’s selfish of me, Lindsay. Getting to know Jeanne has been something of a struggle for me. I don’t say anything to Mother. We are two very different people. That’s why I used Mother as an excuse.”

  “That’s okay. To be honest, I can see where you’re coming from.” Lindsay studied her carefully. “When I took Hannah to see Alva, she told us a little about when she was living at the Sinclair home. I guess it was easier for her to talk about it with Alva.”

  Carrie was surprised that her mother would open up. “Really? What did she say?”

  Lindsay hesitated. “She described Charles as kind and gentle and funny. Interesting, isn’t it? She told us about a day in the summer when he went to the park with her and little Emily. Hannah wondered why he would come with them and thought it must have been a holiday because normally he would have been working. But he went to Bannerman Park with them. She said he was nervous around Emily, like he didn’t know what to say.”

  “Nervous around Emily, or nervous around my mother, that’s a better question,” Carrie said. “I wonder what Virginia Sinclair thought of that, her husband going to the park with the young maid.”

  “According to Hannah, she was not pleased. She overheard her tell him in the living room that he should not be seen in public with the ‘help,’ as she called her. That it was inappropriate. People would talk. And apparently, he never went again.”

  Lindsay passed along a plateful of homemade lemon blueberry scones to Carrie. “Please, have one,” she said. “I made them this morning.” She laid the butter dish and a knife next to the scones. “Carrie,” she asked softly, “why do you think that Charles had such little time for Joe and Lauren? They were his grandchildren.”

  “Mother thinks it’s because every time he looked at his grandchildren he saw her and realized that, if it wasn’t for his indiscretion, Virginia would not have something to hold over his head for years.” Carrie spread butter across the scone and cut it into four pieces.

  Lindsay shook her head. “I don’t know about that. If he held such resentment, don’t you think he would have taken it out on Jeanne? As far as I can see, Jeanne was always the most important person in his life. He spent the most time with her. He went to great lengths to get her the house, despite what his in-laws wanted. No, to be honest, that does not sound like a man with regrets.”

  “Perhaps so, Lindsay. What do you think, then?” she asked, enjoying the scone.

  Lindsay took a breath. “I think he resented Kurt because he got money from his grandfather to start a business in the ’60s. Times were good then, compared to the years when Charles was building his company. When he saw Joe and Lauren and how close they were to the Steffensens, he knew that whatever he said to them would get back to Kurt. Of course, Kurt’s leaving Jeanne must have been devastating.”

  Carrie nodded. “Makes sense. As we know, divorce was unheard of in Charles’s lifetime. You just didn’t do that, couldn’t do it before we became part of Canada, and even after that, it was considered scandalous. He couldn’t leave Virginia.” She paused. “To be honest, I can’t help but think that if he cheated on his wife once, why not again? Sorry, Lindsay, that’s my opinion, and I should really keep it to myself.”

  “No need to apologize. You seem to share Joe’s opinion of Charles Sinclair. It’s hard, given that Hannah is your mother.”

  “She was only a young girl, Lindsay, and Charles was not only ten years older but also her employer. He knew she was unskilled and desperate for work. Her family needed money. Their relationship was, at best, suspect. He had power over her, no matter what way you look at it. Mother and so many young girls had no choice but to work in service. And the people they worked for knew it as well.” She finished the scone and wiped her fingers with a napkin. “But Mother has a very different view of him than I have. I have to leave it at that.”

  Lindsay stood and placed the dishes in the sink. She watched as Carrie cleared crumbs from the table. Lindsay leaned back onto the edge of the counter. “Carrie, between you and me, how much control did the Bolands actually have over his money?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know he was quite wealthy. But was it wealth that was used for appearances only? Perhaps the Bolands controlled his spending.”

  “Good question, Lindsay. I don’t know much about them, and neither does Mother. She’s never mentioned the Bolands. Never saw them very much, apparently. But I do know that Mr. Boland was quite well off, and with the money came power.” She stood. “In any event, Charles did whatever they asked him to.” She sighed heavily and placed her hands on the back of the kitchen chair. “Lindsay, I’m sorry. Earlier, when I said I was the reluctant one. I don’t want you to think that I’m not interested in Joe and Sandi’s wedding. It’s just that . . .”

  “What?” Lindsay placed her hand on Carrie’s arm.

  “I never thought I’d say this aloud, but it’s been building inside of me all summer. When all of this came out and Jeanne visited Falcon Cove, I thought it was a simple matter of meeting her and then we’d return to our lives. That hasn’t happened. Our lives have been turned upside down. Mother enjoys Jeanne’s company, but every time I’m in her company I feel myself becoming agitated. I can’t explain it. No one’s ever caused this reaction in me.”

  “Perhaps you think of your mother and Charles?”

  “I guess. I feel so guilty sometimes.”

  “Guilty about what?”

  “For questioning Jeanne’s intentions, and even Joe’s. For thinking that paying for the work on the church hall is somehow compensation to Mother for being treated so unkindly by the Sinclairs. Above all, for asking myself the question that I’m sure is on everyone’s mind. Every time I hear Mother or Jeanne talk fondly of Charles, I ask myself that question: If he was such a wonderful person, why didn’t he find my mother over the years? If he was such a loving father, why didn’t he help Jeanne find her mot
her? My father would have moved heaven and earth for me. Charles Sinclair, in my view, only cared for himself.”

  “This really has taken its toll on you.”

  Carrie shook her head. “It just seems that every step Mother takes toward Jeanne is a step away from me and from my father.” The last few words were lost in a whisper.

  “Carrie, my dear, I don’t think anything could ever happen to change how your mother feels toward you or your father. You have had many years together.”

  Carrie nodded. “I keep telling myself that.”

  “As for Charles, we might never know what he endured or the reasons why he chose to do what he did. You shouldn’t apologize for your feelings. Anyone would expect you to feel the way you do.”

  “I guess so. Thank you, Lindsay, for understanding.” She turned away and headed for the front door. “I must get going before Mother and Jeanne get home.” She managed a smile. “The scone and tea were delicious. I feel so comfortable talking to you.”

  Lindsay smiled and walked her to the door. “You’re welcome. Any time. I guess we’ll see you later tonight?”

  “Oh yes, I’ll have to go home and start primping for that,” she said with a grin.

  Lindsay laughed and stood on the front step, watching her walk up Stoneyhouse Street, her mind still on Charles and the people behind him who had power to change so many lives.

  * * * * *

  Hannah eyed the rows of brightly coloured flowers in the flower beds outside the Sinclair house. “They’re beautiful, Jeanne,” she remarked. “What are they?”

  “Calla lilies. Father loved them, so I planted them this spring, as I have done for many years.” She unlocked the front door and Hannah stepped in behind her, into a house she had left many decades before. For a moment, Hannah caught her breath. The smell was still there, at least in her mind. She grasped the door frame of the inside porch and briefly looked from left to right. A lump formed in her throat, and her eyes welled up. Her mind flashed back to the first moment she had walked across the doorstep and the last time she left. All the things she now took for granted in her life were so unfamiliar then—warmth, lights, space.