All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  Self-conscious of her stare, he stood and walked to the window and looked up at a blue sky streaked with wisps of white. He recalled Jonathan’s comments about Charles, his father’s stories of how he treated his employees, and Kurt’s suggestion that Jeanne was entitled to have some warm memories. He remembered as well the phone call from Emily, her plea not to look into the history of the house. So many people in her life have been trying to protect her, with good or bad intentions. Does she realize that? Finally, after careful thought, he took a deep breath, held it, and slowly exhaled. He turned back to face Jeanne. “You and I have been very fortunate,” he said softly.

  She raised an eyebrow. Those were hardly the words she expected.

  “We were both very close to our fathers. We cared for them deeply.”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “And our mothers, now that you know Hannah.”

  “Yes.” She listened carefully to his voice, which sounded sincere.

  “Both of our mothers had something taken from them. My mother passed away early, Jeanne. She was only sixty-two. Daniel left home shortly after that. He blamed Dad for our mother’s death, for taking her away from the place she loved. He said it killed her. I never blamed Dad, and as far as I know, neither did my mother. We saw it as something that had to be done.”

  “Much like Hannah left Falcon Cove,” Jeanne said softly.

  “Indeed,” he responded. “Part of my father’s soul died the day my mother passed away. Annabella was everything in the world to him. I worked for years to convince him that she did not blame him. It was just the two of us in our house in Halifax. Dad did everything he could to maintain it. He built a little deck on the back, and in the evenings, much like this one, in the summer, he and I would sit out there. Dad wasn’t a drinker, but he’d have one beer, just one. He’d tell me stories about growing up in Planter’s Bight when he was a teenager. He’d tell me how he’d go out after supper and walk the road and look for Annabella and call out to her in front of her home until she’d come out and talk to him. But only until it got dark, because she wasn’t allowed out late. He’d go to church on Sunday mornings, even though he didn’t want to, just to sit behind her and pull her long hair. And when she’d turn around, he’d look away.” Kevin smiled broadly at the memory. He returned to his chair and sat, sipped his wine, and returned the glass to the small glass table. Jeanne continued to listen intently. “In the last few years, he couldn’t do much around the house; his arthritis was bad. He hated it when I had to hire someone to fix the gate or replace a door. He told me I needed to be more self-sufficient. It was, according to him, the only way to have a sense of doing something worthwhile. So I promised him I’d learn.”

  “The stone wall you plan to build in Planter’s Bight.”

  “Yes, exactly.” He nodded.

  “Kevin, did he want you to go back there?”

  “He never expected it. He thought I’d always live in Halifax, since that was really the only life I knew. But he wanted me someday to own the Sinclair house, and I promised I would.”

  “What caused you to return to Planter’s Bight?”

  “I was very lonely after he passed away, an overwhelming loneliness like I’d never known before. It surprised me, because I’ve always been a very independent person. I went away to university when I was seventeen and lived on my own since then. That summer after Dad died, I drove to Planter’s Bight, and I stood on the land for the longest time and just walked around.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I have a few friends in Halifax, a guy I’ve worked with for over twenty-five years. That fall, I described the property to him, and a few weeks later, he came into my office and said, ‘Kev, that property in Planter’s Bight that you talked about is for sale. I contacted the owner and asked him if he’d be interested in selling it. I told him you were interested, and he said to make an offer.’ I had no idea what to offer, so I just pulled a number out of my head and my friend sent it to him and, to my surprise, he agreed. I was told he was trying to get rid of it because he was getting up in years. I was also told that the man’s name was Charles Sinclair.” He shifted in his seat. “That was a shock, to say the least. I had heard the name in disdain all my life. But the thought of getting the land back and from him was all the incentive I needed.”

  Jeanne ran her hands through her hair. “Are you still glad that you bought it?”

  “Yes,” he responded, rubbing two fingers across his mouth. “I think it’s a beautiful place.”

  “I’m sure that the architect will do his best, and according to what others have said, Joe’s best is impressive.”

  “You should be proud of your son, Jeanne. You shouldn’t do what your father did, compare him to Kurt. It isn’t fair.”

  “I know.” She rested her elbow on the armrest and her head in her hand. “I’m hoping that working together . . . well, we will see. Is there anything I can get you?”

  Kevin glanced at his watch. “Thanks, but I have to get going soon.”

  “Before you go,” she said, “there’s something else I want to say.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I’ve been thinking so much about your comment that I still have feelings for Kurt. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me but, for what it’s worth, Kevin, that relationship ended the day he left. I’ve been through all the stages of separation, anger, and disappointment since then. I remember every criticism of me and how much it hurt. I made a vow to myself that I would never put myself in that situation again.” She paused. “What I have regarding Kurt are memories. That’s all. I hold on to the good ones and try to bury the rest. A wise woman recently told me that I deserve more.”

  “She’s right.”

  “At my age, I’ve realized that no one really cares who I am or what I am or even that I am. As depressing as that may sound, I have more restful nights because of it.” She shifted her crossed legs and leaned forward. “I’ve grown to care for you this summer, Kevin, and I do enjoy your company so very much. But becoming romantically involved is very different when you reach our age than it was when we were in our twenties. I’ve long passed the time when I tried to explain myself to a man, risked having an opposing view to his, or willingly tried to impress him or flatter him. I did that once, and look where it got me.”

  “I don’t need you to explain yourself, Jeanne, or impress me or flatter me,” Kevin said in a half-whisper. “The fact is, you’ve impressed me without even trying. To be honest, I come with a lifetime of disappointment and failed efforts as well. I don’t think it’s left us bitter, Jeanne. I think it’s left us cautious.”

  They sat momentarily in silence.

  “When are you returning to Halifax?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I see,” she said, and she looked profoundly disappointed at the prospect.

  He watched as she walked to the windows and closed them as the evening breeze stiffened and moved the drapes. She turned back to him. “I’m going to miss you.”

  He approached her, reached out, tucked a few stray blonde hairs behind her left ear, and kissed her. She returned the kiss with a passion stirred from deep within.

  “And I will miss you,” he whispered. “I’m only a phone call away and an hour or so by plane, so we can make time to see each other if we want to. In the meantime, I have a wedding coming up in September in Halifax,” he said. “A big affair. My friend’s daughter is getting married, so I have to go, as much as I’m not a fan of weddings. I prefer not to go alone. Would you . . . ?” he asked clumsily, but his eyes were pleading.

  She smiled at him. “That would be nice. Yes, I’ll be happy to. I’ve always liked Halifax. It’s been a while.”

  Kevin sighed. “Thank you so much. I’ll cook for you when you visit. I’m told my ratatouille is quite delicious.”
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br />   “I’m sure it is. I’ll come on one condition.”

  “Oh? Okay.”

  “I have a wedding to attend next August. A big family wedding. Would you return the favour?”

  He smiled broadly and embraced her warmly. “It will be an honour. I will call when I get home.”

  “Okay. I’ll look forward to it. By the way, Kevin, I’m not one to tell you what to do with your article that you’re writing, but I do have one suggestion, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “Have you considered whether any of the downtown businesses were owned by women? So far I’ve heard you talk only of businessmen.”

  He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Someone in particular?”

  “Yes. Lucinda Boland. She owned a millinery for many years. Owned it and managed it.”

  “I see. I’ll look into that.”

  “No need. I’ve already done that, and I’ll send you all the information I have.”

  Kevin shook his head. “Jeanne Sinclair, you never cease to amaze me.”

  “I hope I continue to do so. Good night.”

  He kissed her again, said good night, and was gone.

  Jeanne returned to the sunroom and picked up the two wineglasses, brought them to the sink, washed them, and returned them to their place in the cabinet. She glanced at her watch and realized that now she had made a decision about the house, it was time to inform Emily. But before she could call Emily, the phone rang.

  “Mother? It’s Joe.”

  “Good evening.”

  “We need to talk. I’ve found something among the papers that will interest you, unless, of course, you already know.”

  “Know what?”

  “The contents of Royston Boland’s will.”

  “Really? That’s interesting.”

  “Have you ever read it?”

  “No. I didn’t know it existed. Was it among Father’s papers?”

  “Yes. I’ll bring it by tomorrow evening, if that’s okay?”

  Jeanne held the phone tightly. “Certainly. But would you give me some idea what it says? I’m anxious to know.”

  “The Sinclair house, or the Boland house, whatever you want to call it, was left to Royston’s one and only daughter, Lucinda. In other words, it wasn’t Clarence’s to give away.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Early on Sunday morning, Lindsay dragged the water hose across their front lawn and stood for a moment to admire her nasturtiums, a row of crimson, yellow, and orange blossoms among the leafy green. She looked up to see Jeanne walking down Stoneyhouse Street toward their house. She cautioned Mollie to stay.

  “Good morning, Jeanne,” she said. “It’s a lovely day.”

  “Yes, it is,” Jeanne said, as she paused at the end of the lawn. Realizing that Mollie was a friendly dog, she bent down to gently pat her head. “You have a supervisory role today.”

  “She’s waiting for me to take her for a walk,” Lindsay explained. “Steven’s golfing, and Jordy’s playing racquetball. So the task of walking Mollie rests with me. Have you heard from Hannah and Carrie lately?”

  “Last week. All is well.”

  “Would you like to come in for coffee?”

  “Thank you, but no, Lindsay. I have to get my walk in and then tackle my garden this afternoon. If I leave it for a day or two, the weeds take over. Joe said he’s dropping by with some papers later today.”

  “He mentioned that you’ve decided to renovate your father’s home. That’s a wonderful idea.”

  “Thank you. At least it’ll be a place of good memories again for some people.” Jeanne hesitated before she broached the next topic. “Steven is from St. John’s, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was born here.”

  “I’m trying to find some information on a Lucinda Boland. She was a sister to Clarence who sold the Sinclair house to my father. I’m curious about her.”

  But Lindsay wondered if it was more than idle curiosity.

  “Lindsay, would you ask Steven if he recalls his mother saying anything about her or the store, a millinery downtown? Perhaps she shopped there.”

  “I’ll certainly ask him, and if I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “I appreciate that.” Jeanne turned to leave.

  “Joe told me that you’ve already hired a manager for the inn.”

  Jeanne stopped near the edge of the driveway. “Yes, Brittany. I believe you met her at the engagement party. She’s a lovely and talented young woman, and she’s helping with the interior design right now.”

  “Yes, so he said.”

  Jeanne continued her walk. “See you soon, Lindsay.”

  Lindsay made a mental note to ask her daughter about Brittany.

  * * * * *

  “A busy fall and winter ahead for both of you,” Kurt commented, as he sat down for lunch in their kitchen, next to Jaclyn, Sandi, and Joe. “A house to design and a wedding to plan.”

  “Anything we can do to help, just ask,” Jaclyn offered. “But before we get to that, tell us the latest update on the Sinclair house. It seems that every day brings more developments.”

  “It was Sandi’s finding,” Joe explained, as he put a slice of baked ham on his plate and topped it with peach chutney and warm potato salad. “She came across the will of Royston Boland yesterday while she and I and Quentin went through the Sinclair papers.”

  “Really? That’s interesting.” Jaclyn stood to make a fresh pot of coffee. “What does it say?”

  Sandi related all the details. “It seems authentic. Joe’s going to tell his mother about it tonight.”

  Jaclyn shook her head. “All that fuss about the inheritance last year, only to find out that it wasn’t Charles Sinclair’s house to begin with. To think we would never have known if Jeanne hadn’t decided to renovate it and requested the papers.”

  Kurt was taking in the conversation and recalling the events of the past two months. “That’s why Emily was so anxious to have it sold,” he said. “Remember she called me about the house a few weeks ago? She asked me to stop Kevin from researching its history. I guess when she thought I couldn’t or wouldn’t do much, she phoned him. That’s why. She didn’t want this to come out.”

  Joe nodded. “Yes, we realized that last night.”

  “Someone probably asked her not to divulge the information to anyone, not even Jeanne,” Kurt said.

  “Who do you think?”

  “My guess is Virginia.”

  Sandi looked around the table. “It seems that Mom was right all along. She suspected there was more to this and that the Bolands were behind it ever since her visit with Alva Green and Hannah.”

  Joe laid his fork and knife across the plate and reached for his coffee mug. “That being the case, Emily won’t be too pleased when she discovers that we all know the truth. And I certainly don’t want to be the one to tell her.”

  * * * * *

  When the doorbell rang around five o’clock that evening, Jeanne assumed it was Joe. She tucked away her correspondence and headed down the hall to answer the door. She was surprised to find Emily, visibly distraught, standing on the steps with a suitcase on either side of her.

  “Emily! I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” she said, as she brushed by her, leaving Jeanne to bring in her suitcases. “I’ve had such a distressing week, Jeanne. I had to come here. I always find your home so calming.”

  Jeanne was taken aback by Emily’s assessment of her home. “Please come in. Are you not feeling well? You look a little pale.”

  “Oh, no. I’m fine. It was the flight. Honestly, I don’t know why they built that airport in the windiest part of the city. We bounced all the way from Halifax to Torbay.”


  Jeanne hid her smile as she imagined the flight. “I’m sorry. Please sit down, and I’ll make you some tea.”

  “Yes, and a few crackers to settle my stomach, Jeanne.”

  “Of course.”

  Jeanne watched from the kitchen as Emily removed a heavy cardigan and made herself comfortable in the corner armchair. She assumed there was more to Emily’s distress than a bumpy flight. But she also knew she’d have to wait to hear the details.

  A few minutes later, she placed the tea pot, cup and saucer, and three English tea biscuits in front of her and sat on the opposite sofa. And waited.

  Finally, Emily, apparently calmed by the chamomile tea, began her explanation. “I was visiting Gregory in Halifax. He invited me for the weekend. But after I got there, he told me that he had plans to golf on Sunday in St. Andrews and would be gone overnight. Of course, I couldn’t deny him his golf game.”

  “I suppose not,” Jeanne responded, disgusted at Gregory’s treatment of his mother. “So you came here instead.”

  “Yes. I hope it’s all right. You don’t have company, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. The last thing I need is to run into your family, your mother, and her other daughter.”

  Jeanne sighed heavily. This is going to be a long evening. “I had planned to phone you tonight. I wanted you to know that I’ve made a decision about the house.”

  “Good. Finally,” Emily responded. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever make up your mind.”

  Jeanne ignored her comment. “I plan to keep it,” she said quietly.

  “Keep it?”

  “Yes, but I do intend to make it into an inn. It will be called The Sinclair Inn.”

  “I suppose I can say I’m relieved.”

  “Relieved?”

  “That it is you who will own the house. That way I don’t have to worry anymore.”

  “Worry about what?”

  “This business about researching its history and telling everyone. It concerned me more than I can say.”

  Jeanne looked across the room in bewilderment. “Emily, I’ve hired Joe to renovate it, and believe me, he does a thorough job. He’s renovated several older homes, and he always does a complete history.”