All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  Emily threw back her head on the headrest, clasped her hand to her head, and closed her eyes. “Jeanne, would you and Joe please leave it alone?”

  Jeanne moved closer to her, pulled along the ottoman, and sat on its corner. “Okay, Emily,” she said calmly, hoping that she would pick up on her tone. “That is enough. You obviously have strong reasons for feeling the way you do, so tell me what you know that I don’t. Ever since Father passed away a year ago, you’ve been anxious to sell the house. Last month you even phoned Kurt and then Kevin and begged them not to delve into the past. Now when I tell you I’m keeping it, you become upset. Tell me,” she said emphatically, “what are you so worried about? Is it the secret of Father’s relationship with Hannah that has you so upset?”

  “Hardly,” Emily interrupted in disgust. “The least of my concern is whom Father had relationships with.”

  “Relationships? You mean there were others besides Hannah?”

  “I don’t know, Jeanne. Who knows?” Emily waved her hand dismissively. “I’m just assuming. In my opinion, a man who cheats once cheats forever. But as I said, that’s not the issue.”

  Does she realize she’s talking about her father? Jeanne waited.

  “There are things that I know and you don’t,” Emily explained. “For the sake of the family, I prefer to keep them private.”

  “Emily, you can choose not to tell me now, but I assure you it will come out eventually.” Jeanne paused. Suddenly, when she looked at her half-sister closely, she noticed tears streaming down her face. Even for Emily, the emotional reaction was excessive.

  “It’s about Grandfather,” Emily sobbed. “My grandfather. Clarence Boland.”

  “What about him? The man is dead and gone for years. What ever could he have done to make you so upset?”

  Emily gasped for a breath. “Since you insist on knowing, I will tell you. He didn’t inherit the house from his father.” Emily waited for a reaction that did not come. Instead, Jeanne sat stone-faced. “Grandfather claimed the house as his own. He and my grandmother lived in it for a few years, but they never really wanted to stay there, so they built their own house. He saw an opportunity to give it to Father when he married Mother.”

  “Father agreed to marry Virginia in exchange for the house. Let’s get our facts straight.”

  “Okay, if you say so.” The sobbing continued. “He inherited money from his father, Royston, but he didn’t inherit the house. It was Lucinda’s. It was left to her.”

  “Yes,” Jeanne said softly.

  Emily took a shallow breath and looked up, surprised. “You know?”

  “Yes. I just found out last night. My plan was to tell you, but since you already know, tell me the rest, please. Tell me if Lucinda knew that the house was supposed to be hers.”

  “According to Mother, no, she didn’t. She never asked to see the will. When Royston died, it was said that she was extremely distraught and never concerned herself with the will. Besides, Aunt Lucinda was never one to be maudlin. She always tried to see the positive side. We could learn from her, Jeanne.” Emily was apparently recovering from her emotional distress, because she was beginning to ramble. She reached for her cup of tea and sipped it slowly.

  Jeanne gave a heavy sigh. “So Clarence kept it from her.”

  “Yes. It seems that way.”

  “Who else knew about this?”

  “Mother, Father, me. That’s all.”

  “And why wasn’t I told?”

  “Because you’re not related . . . to the Bolands, Jeanne. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Nothing to do with me!” Jeanne raised her voice in disbelief and anger. “I inherited the house,” Jeanne explained. “Father saw to it that the house was mine. It has everything to do with me and with my plans.”

  “Lucinda did not leave any surviving relatives. There wouldn’t have been anyone to inherit it. There’s no one from the immediate family remaining. My goodness, if anyone was entitled to an inheritance, it would be me, since she was my great-aunt. But I will not bring up that issue.”

  You just did.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you can do with it as you please.”

  “Very well.”

  “You said you just found out last night. How?” she asked, dabbing her face with a tissue.

  “Joe’s been reading Father’s papers. He found Royston Boland’s will among them.”

  “Father had it?” Emily asked. “Oh my! I told you to keep Joe away from those papers. Let the past stay in the past, where it belongs. We don’t need this information to get out.”

  Jeanne squeezed her hands together and impatiently searched for a way to explain. She realized that there was no point in debating the privacy of the issue. “When did you find out about this?”

  “A year or so before Mother passed away.”

  “She told you?”

  “Yes. Frankly, I didn’t know whether to believe her at first. I thought she’d lost her mind. But when I pressed her on it a few days later, she confirmed it.”

  “I wonder why Father didn’t tell me. For that matter, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I asked him about it once, only once. He said, ‘Jeanne loves this house. I’d rather she didn’t know.’ That’s all he said, and I went along with him.”

  “I see. Do you happen to know why your grandfather denied his own sister her rightful inheritance? Were you ever told the reason?”

  Emily coughed. “You know Grandfather,” she said, weakly. “He was not one to support women. That’s the reason Mother told me when she did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her father was always disappointed that she had a daughter and not a son. Apparently, Grandfather told her so the day I was born. And, of course, Mother and Father didn’t have any more children, so that didn’t help.”

  Jeanne cringed. “So according to him, his sister didn’t deserve the house. Women weren’t entitled to own property.”

  “Yes. It seems that way.”

  Jeanne stood, took the tray, and returned it to the kitchen.

  Emily followed and steadied herself by the chair. “Jeanne, if it’s all right with you, I think I’ll lie down for a while. My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

  “Of course. Choose either one of the guest rooms.” She followed her to the stairs. “By the way, Joe plans to drop by a little later with a copy of the will.”

  “Okay,” Emily answered feebly and stood at the bottom of the stairs holding the rail. “Jeanne?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you plan to do now that you know?”

  “What I planned to do all along. I will have Joe renovate it and open it up as an inn.”

  “The Sinclair Inn?”

  “Yes, Emily, The Sinclair Inn.”

  * * * * *

  Joe and Quentin pulled into Jeanne’s driveway shortly after dinner that evening. “Thanks for coming with me, Quentin,” Joe said, as he turned off the ignition. “You’ve been in on this Sinclair house saga from the beginning.”

  “I wouldn’t miss this. Kind of brings closure, if that’s possible,” Quentin said with a laugh. He got out of the car and gathered some papers from the back seat.

  Rather than go to the front door, they circled the house and found Jeanne sitting in the shade of the back garden reading intently. She looked up when they approached.

  “Reading glasses, Mother. Something new?”

  “Don’t make fun of me. They’re a summer acquisition, unfortunately. Most people have a vacation. I got eyewear. The optometrist told me it was a sign of age.”

  “Where’s he buried?” Joe asked with a grin, shaking his head and pulling along a chair. “Quentin came along because we have the paperwork for the renovations. Feel free t
o ask any questions. Take your time with it.”

  “Would either of you like something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. We won’t stay long.”

  Jeanne pulled the documents from the envelope and glanced at them. “I’m sure this is in order, but I’ll read it carefully nonetheless. My financial advisor said I should. Would either of you mind if I called you tomorrow if I have questions? It’s been quite a day.”

  “Of course,” Quentin responded. “As Joe says, take your time.”

  “As for the other matter. Lucinda’s inheritance,” Joe began.

  “I know all about it,” she interrupted quietly, and sat up. “Emily arrived a short time ago, quite unexpectedly. She’s upstairs resting. Apparently, Gregory’s been nasty to her and she’s stressed. Nothing new to report there. Gregory and all of this business about the house and the flight down here. It’s shattered her calm, to use her expression.”

  Quentin glanced at Joe with a grin. Some people never change.

  “Emily knew all about it. That’s why she was anxious for Dad to put a stop to researching the history of the house,” Joe commented.

  Jeanne nodded.

  “Should we assume that Lucinda knew nothing about it?”

  “I think that’s a safe assumption. And she left behind no one, unless we count Emily.” She shifted in her chair and reached for her glass of iced tea. “We’ll proceed as planned. I’m curious, though. Do we know how Father managed to get his hands on Royston’s will?”

  Joe shrugged. “Nothing for certain, but I’ve made a guess. It may be that it was kept underneath the stairwell in the old staircase. That style of staircase was commonly used to store valuables, particularly papers, because the area was dry and secure. Usually locked. When Clarence and Dora moved out, they must have neglected to take those things with them. It’s possible that documents were found when the stairs were renovated.”

  Jeanne sat up in surprise. “Edgar Gills is the man who removed the old staircase and built the new one. Would he have found it?” She tossed her glasses on the table, clearly annoyed by them.

  “Possibly, although I doubt that he would have opened a sealed envelope or anything else. It’s more likely that he would have passed them along to Charles. I assume Kevin knows nothing about it, or he would have mentioned to you or me.” Joe reached into an envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper. They were markedly old. “Here it is,” he said, passing the will along to his mother. “Quentin’s going to check it out, but it certainly looks legitimate. Why didn’t Emily tell you this earlier? How long has she known?”

  “Joe, you know Emily. She sees it all as a part of some outrageous scandal that reflected on the family.”

  “I asked Alan to check the university archives for anything on the Boland family. He found a Boland Collection of papers, not too extensive, mostly business papers and photos taken of special occasions in the 1940s and 1950s. Dignitaries, garden parties, that sort of thing. They said it was donated many years ago by Virginia. Anyway, it didn’t include a copy of the will. One of the staff, Glenda, helped Alan find some information on Lucinda Boland. You’re probably aware that she was the youngest of the three children, Clarence was the eldest, and John, the middle child, died during the First World War.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve done my own research on Lucinda. I visited the archives earlier this week. The staff was very kind. If the house was left to Lucinda, there’s no record that she ever lived in it or even believed that she owned it. She lived most of her life in a home on Carpasian Road. Her store closed in 1965 when Lucinda retired, and she passed away ten years later.”

  “Do you remember her funeral?” Joe asked.

  “Yes, I do. Kurt and I attended. But I don’t recall what happened with her things. Not that I’d be included in any inheritance.”

  “Interesting. Quentin, as you said, she probably didn’t know about the house.”

  “If she left a will, it wouldn’t say anything about the house, since it wasn’t hers to give away,” Quentin commented.

  “I’m willing to make a bet that ol’ Clarence didn’t believe that women should inherit property, especially a grand house like that one,” Joe said. “Even if Lucinda knew, he probably convinced her that he, being the man, was entitled to its ownership.”

  Jeanne nodded. “Very likely. Emily told me today that Clarence was disappointed that Virginia gave birth to a daughter.”

  “Good grief,” Quentin quipped. “Shades of King Henry VIII.”

  “Indeed. Emily knew all of this, and I will ask her for more details once she’s had time to calm down. That could take weeks. She hoped the secret would stay with her.”

  Joe shifted his feet on the ottoman. “Hasn’t this family learned enough about keeping secrets?”

  “Apparently not. It seems that one reveals another.”

  “By the way, have you told any of this to Kevin Gillis?” he asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering. I didn’t know if you continued to be in contact with him. Of course, it’s none of my business.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She looked at him, with raised eyebrows, expecting a response that didn’t come.

  * * * * *

  In the quiet of Sunday evening, after Joe and Quentin left, Jeanne decided to change the flower arrangement in the front hall. She took each of twelve gladiolas she had picked from her garden, cut their stems on the diagonal, and fitted florist’s foam in the base of a terracotta vase. As she filled it with tepid water, she heard Emily coming downstairs behind her. She looked well rested, and she had changed into a pink cotton blouse, matching sweater, and deep blue cotton pants. The colour brightened her face.

  “Feeling better, Emily?”

  Emily nodded. “I apologize for sleeping so long.” She checked her watch. “Oh my, it’s almost nine o’clock.”

  “Why don’t you have something to eat? You must be hungry.”

  Jeanne headed for the kitchen, where she warmed up a bowl of cream of asparagus soup. She laid it on the place setting next to a warm piece of cheese and tomato quiche. “Tell me if you’d like something else.”

  “This is fine, Jeanne. Thank you.” Emily’s voice was solemn.

  Jeanne sat next to her. “Emily, is there something more you haven’t told me? About Gregory, perhaps?”

  Emily sipped a spoonful of soup and laid down the spoon. “He has a friend. His name is Joshua. They’re more than friends, if you know what I mean,” she said with a sigh. “I guess I’ve always known, Jeanne, but I’ve never admitted it until now. It shouldn’t bother me. Does it bother you?”

  Jeanne shook her head. “No, not at all. Wherever we can find happiness, Emily, wherever and with whom,” she said, recalling Kevin’s words.

  “I guess so. They’ve asked to stay with me for a few days in September. The valley’s so nice then, and Joshua has never been there. I told them that it was okay.”

  “Good. Then you’ll get to know him.”

  Emily peered at her, helplessly. “You amaze me. You’re so gracious, and you have such fortitude. And now to take on the ownership of an inn. Really, Jeanne, I don’t know how you do it.”

  Sitting across from her, Jeanne poured her tea and stirred in a teaspoon of honey. She decided not to ask any further questions about Lucinda and her inheritance, but she wanted to revisit an earlier conversation. “Emily, I’d like to ask you a question. A month or so ago, when we spoke on the phone, you described me as your half-sister, and you seemed quite comfortable saying half-sister. I asked you at the time if you already knew, but you didn’t respond. I assumed from the way you responded when I first told you that it was a revelation. Now, I’m not so sure. Have you always known about my mother?”

  Emily shook her head. “I’ve wondered over the years, but I n
ever asked and I never mentioned it to anyone. You remember that I was rather sickly growing up. I picked up every cold that was going around. Mother finally took me to the doctor, Andrew Hamlyn. I was in the other room, but I heard him say, ‘You can’t expect the two sisters to be alike, Virginia, given their parentage.’ I didn’t know what he meant. I looked up the word parentage in the dictionary, and it said something about the identity of one’s parents. That’s when I began to wonder if you and I were truly sisters or not, but I never mentioned it to a soul. I wasn’t certain until you told me last year.”

  Jeanne looked across the table at her, feeling a rare sense of compassion for her half-sister. “At least we know the truth now. Whatever we want to call ourselves, we’ve known each other for almost sixty years as family.”

  Emily smiled weakly. “Yes, I guess we have.” She finished her soup and cut the quiche into four even pieces. “Speaking of family, how are you getting along with your newly found mother?”

  Jeanne was surprised by the question. “I find her comfortable to talk to.”

  “That’s good,” Emily responded. “You deserve that. Everyone does,” she said pensively. “How about her daughter?”

  Jeanne shrugged. “Carrie is more of a challenge. We’re very different.”

  Emily looked at her knowingly. “Aren’t we all? Perhaps Carrie sees you as someone who’s taking her mother away from the memories of her father.”

  Jeanne was startled at Emily’s insight. “Perhaps,” she responded. “As I recall, you and Virginia seemed to have good chats when we were growing up.”

  Emily wiped her fingers in her napkin and reached for her tea. “I really don’t remember our conversations being anything more than superficial. In the last few months of her life, she seemed to blame the fact that I’m female on me. I guess she was obsessed about disappointing her father.” She ate some quiche and looked away wistfully. “She made some strange pronouncements on occasion. I remember when Gregory’s father, Winston, left me, Mother’s reaction surprised me. I still remember her exact words. She said, ‘At least he left you for a woman of substance, a woman with social standing. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if he was taken in by some poor, uneducated woman.’ Now that I know what I do, that puts Mother in a whole different light.” Emily leaned forward to whisper, like there was a possibility of being overheard. “To be honest, Jeanne, I believe she wasn’t mentally stable.”