All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  Overhead, several juncos landed on the branches calling to each other. Lauren explained how they liked to nest in her begonias and they didn’t seem to mind having people nearby. The last rays of sunlight streamed across the lawn.

  Hannah nervously asked, “You and your brother didn’t get along well with your grandfather and Virginia, did you?”

  “I knew my grandfather for thirty years, or at least I can say I remember twenty of those years. For the most part, he ignored me. He was more outspoken to Joe. I’m sorry, but it’s difficult for both of us to feel close to him. I guess we always compare him to Granddad Steffensen.”

  “I understand. I’m not making any excuses, but life wasn’t always easy for him. His in-laws treated him badly, and times were hard when he was trying to make it as a businessman. I think that life might have worn him down over the years.”

  Lauren nodded. “I understand.”

  “Joe described Virginia as a cold and uncaring person. Jeanne says the same thing. She said that she and Charles simply put up with each other. That’s a terrible way to live. I can’t imagine.”

  “Carrie told me all about her father, Marshall. He sounds like a wonderful man.”

  The memory of her husband made Hannah smile. “Marshall looked for the good in everyone, Lauren. He didn’t have the position in life that your grandfather had, but I have a feeling he was more content.” She turned to look at Lauren’s deep blue eyes and could see something of Charles in her. “Virginia didn’t treat you well, did she?”

  Lauren shook her head. She looked down at her feet and brushed away the fine sand in front of the bench with her feet. “She’s gone. I shouldn’t say this, but Virginia—I knew her as my grandmother—didn’t seem to care for us at all. To be honest, we always seemed to irritate her. I remember once when I was just a little girl, no more than five, I guess. I went outside to play and I had on my OshKosh jumper that Grandma Steffensen had sent me from away. I got dirty playing in the garden, and when I came inside, Virginia was very angry. She told me we were going out to visit someone and I had to clean up first. Then she took me upstairs and held my hands under the faucet in the bathroom until the water got blistering hot. My hands turned beet red and I started to cry. Joe came in and pushed her away. He had to wrap my hands in cold face cloths.”

  Hannah laid her hand on her chest. “Oh my, what a terrible thing to do to a little girl. Lauren, what did your parents do?”

  “Dad was furious. Our nanny called him at work, and he came home. Mother didn’t say much, but I know she was bothered by what had happened. Dad told Virginia to get out of our house and never come back. We didn’t have much to do with her after that. On the rare occasion that we visited their house, Joe and I were put in a spare room and we played with stuff we had brought with us. Eventually, as we got older, we just stayed home with a sitter, and later by ourselves. We went there at Christmas, but even that was torture.”

  Hannah sat back and took it all in. Virginia clearly took her anger out on them. This comes back on me. If I had not had that relationship with Charles . . .

  She felt her breathing become very shallow. To ward off anxiety, she sought to change the subject. “You seem to get along better with your mother than Joe does. She mentioned that you both go to lunch regularly.”

  Lauren smiled. “Yes. I just take Mother for what she is. I know she’ll never change, and I s’pose I don’t have the right to expect her to change. I’m more of a Steffensen than a Sinclair. I know that Mother can be contrary at times. She wants to control other people’s lives. I guess in that way she’s like her father.” Lauren immediately thought about her words and wished she could take them back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay,” Hannah responded, patting her on the arm. “I know how you feel, and you’re allowed.” She gazed out at Waterford Valley and the Southside Hills protecting it. If you only knew how little control Charles had in his life and the people who wanted to take what he had from him. But perhaps it’s best that his granddaughter never knows.

  * * * * *

  On Thursday evening in his home on Rennie’s Mill Road, Quentin’s curiosity about Winterberry Development and Kevin Gillis got the better of him. He pushed back the local newspaper and poured a second cup of strong, black coffee. What was it about Kevin and his interest in Kurt and in the Sinclair house that intrigued him? Perhaps it was his sense that there was information missing.

  As he stood and walked to his study across the hall, he thought about a meeting he had had a few years ago with Charles and Jonathan Hamlyn. Quentin had been surprised when Jonathan called him that day and asked him to meet. He was even more surprised when he learned that Charles wanted the house to go to his younger daughter even though his in-laws, the Bolands, had insisted that the house go to Emily. It was only recently that the pieces of that puzzle fit together. Quentin propped his feet up on the edge of the window and leaned back in his chair as he thought about that meeting. He ran the conversation over and over in his mind.

  As he reached for his briefcase, he remembered. Of course, that’s where I heard the word Winterberry before. He grabbed the phone and dialled the law office of Jonathan Hamlyn. He hoped to leave a message but was startled when Jonathan answered it on the first ring.

  “Sorry to bother you. Quentin Henderson here. You’re working late.”

  “Not a problem, Quentin. Just getting up to leave, actually. What can I do for you?”

  “I have a question. Does the name Kevin Gillis mean anything?”

  There was an obvious pause.

  “Jonathan?”

  “Yes, it does. I’ve had a few conversations with him over the phone during the winter, and I met with him last Friday here in my office.”

  That explains a lot, Quentin surmised. Kevin’s source of information.

  “He wanted to know if the Sinclair house would be going on the market soon. Have you met him, Quentin?”

  “I have. He’s interested in developing inns on the east coast. He also mentioned purchasing the Sinclair house.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “He’s taking on a great deal, or at least his company is.”

  “Hmmm. That’s the point. He gave a file to Kurt, who passed it along to me. Some of the holdings look familiar to me.”

  “Are you planning on making an investment? Or is Kurt?”

  “Oh, no. Not likely. Just curious, that’s all.” Quentin ran his hand through his hair. “I’m wondering about Winterberry Development.”

  “They bought some property in Newfoundland about four years ago.”

  “And you handled the transactions for them?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the property Kevin bought in Planter’s Bight?”

  “It was a private sale. I represented the owner. He was looking to get rid of his holdings because he was getting up in years.”

  “I see. I’m guessing I know the owner. I’m guessing it was Charles Sinclair.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. All the land that Winterberry bought belonged to him.”

  CHAPTER 4

  A fine, grey mist covered St. John’s harbour and the east end of the city early Friday morning. From his vantage point on the top floor of Steffensen Publishing, Kurt watched as a container ship docked at the eastern wharf in an area known as the Battery. At the sound of footsteps, he turned back from the window to greet Quentin.

  “You’re on the go early this morning,” he said with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

  Quentin nodded. “Good morning! The occasion is that Sara woke me at 7:00 a.m. to tell me that when she comes over for supper tonight, she wants her favourite meal because she has a dental appointment this afternoon. She says she’ll be in need of comfort food. Since I was awake anyway, I got up.” Sara, Quentin, Joe, and a fourth person,
David, had remained close friends since they were children.

  “What was she doing up so early?”

  “She was going for a run before work.” He shook his head as he sat in the nearest chair. “I’ll never understand that woman.”

  “Neither can you imagine your life without her,” Kurt reminded him with a grin.

  “True.” He sat and rubbed his face with his hand. “So, I dropped by to tell you that I’ve met Kevin Gillis.”

  “And your impression?”

  “I think he has several reasons for being here, but I also think you’re right. It’s mostly about the Sinclair house, or Charles, I’m not sure which. He mentioned the article he’s planning to write about Water Street businesses. He said he’d like to connect it to today; otherwise, he believes no one will be interested in reading it. His plan is to compare their style of management with that of business people today.”

  “Like me.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Kurt sighed and turned in his chair. “Just what I need.”

  “In the meantime, I finally realized when and where I had heard the name Winterberry. The company has bought properties in Newfoundland. I called Jonathan Hamlyn to confirm what I thought.” Quentin leaned forward. “The land that they purchased around the island was all owned by Charles Sinclair.”

  “Really? That’s interesting. Kevin seems to have a particular interest in all things connected to Charles. Is it simply because Charles had a big store on Water Street?”

  Quentin shook his head. “I doubt it, Kurt. This is about more than business. He wants as much information on Charles as he can get. He asked me specifically what I thought of him. Charles owned the land that Kevin bought in Planter’s Bight. He bought it directly from him.”

  Kurt put down his pen and peered at Quentin. “He appears to be making great inroads with Jeanne. He’s already had lunch and dinner with her. He’s also seen Joe about designing a house to build on that land. I know that Joe’s a good architect, but I wonder if Kevin has an ulterior motive. Perhaps he wants Joe to tell him about Charles, information that is not a matter of public record.”

  “He didn’t get much from me.”

  “No, but he’ll probably ask again. Meanwhile, I’d better give Joe a heads-up. I’ll call him and fill him in.”

  Quentin put out his hand to indicate that he shouldn’t bother. “No need. I called his office before I came here. Diana said that Joe and Kevin are already on their way to Planter’s Bight this morning.”

  * * * * *

  Carrie woke early on Friday morning feeling a little disoriented until she realized that she was in one of Jeanne’s guest rooms. She pushed back the white cotton sheet and blanket and got up. She surveyed the room, taking in the photos on the dresser and paintings on the walls. Last night’s dinner was uppermost in her thoughts. She knew that her comments to Jeanne about the Sinclair house had not been well received; still, she was not inclined to apologize for expressing an opinion, at least not to Jeanne. She was only getting to know her half-sister, but for some inexplicable reason, just being in Jeanne’s presence brought out the worst in her.

  After an invigorating shower, Carrie walked down the hall past her mother’s room. Hearing a noise, she tapped on the door and opened it. “Are you up already?”

  “Just. I’ll be down in a while.”

  Carrie noted her mother’s sombre tone. “Is everything all right?”

  Hannah was sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing her hand across the pillow, clearly deep in thought. “Oh yes, I’m fine.” She hesitated to continue, but she wanted to end the obvious tension between her two daughters. “Carrie, you really shouldn’t tell Jeanne or the others what to do. I’m sure she’s not happy with strangers coming here advising her to sell her father’s house.”

  I thought we were all family. But the words stayed inside Carrie’s head. Instead, she apologized. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I find it hard to hold back what I think is obvious.” As she shut the door, she added, “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  Hannah closed her eyes and sighed. Another daughter offended.

  Carrie found Jeanne having breakfast at the kitchen table. “Good morning, Jeanne!” she said, as pleasantly as she could muster.

  “Morning,” she responded, not bothering to look up. “Please help yourself to whatever you like. There’s cereal in the cupboard, two different kinds, or you can make Cream of Wheat, if you prefer. There’s multi-grain bread and English muffins. You’ll find orange juice in the refrigerator, and the coffee’s fresh.” She waved her hand at the coffee maker behind her.

  Carrie stood by the counter, her hands clasped to the edges. She was unsure of the reason for Jeanne’s litany on food but took it as a message that if she wanted to eat, she’d have to prepare it herself. “Thank you,” she said and reached for a coffee mug. She grabbed the first box of cereal she found, half filled a bowl, and covered it with milk. “That was an enjoyable evening last night,” she observed, as she sat at a table setting and took a heaping spoonful of cereal.

  “Yes, it was,” Jeanne responded, without committing to anything else.

  “They’re lovely couples, Joe and Sandi, Alan and Lauren.”

  “Hmmm . . .”

  Carrie stopped eating and stared for a moment at Jeanne. “You don’t think so?” She chose to ignore Hannah’s earlier advice now echoing through her mind.

  “Yes. I said yes,” she answered in a half-hearted tone.

  “It’s just that you don’t sound convinced.”

  Jeanne shrugged. “I don’t see them very often, so it’s not like we have to work at getting along. They are what they are.”

  Carrie gave a slight cough. “Have you thought maybe that you would see them more if . . .”

  “If?” For the first time in the conversation Jeanne made eye contact.

  “If you tried harder to be more conciliatory?”

  Jeanne got up. “Ah, so that’s my problem, I’m not conciliatory. Thank you for the free analysis.”

  Carrie shook her head and wondered what was at the root of her anger. “Jeanne, I’m not trying to find fault. I’m offering a suggestion from a casual observer who just met you and your family. I guess you could say it’s none of my business. After all, I really don’t know you or your family.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” she muttered just loud enough for Carrie to hear.

  “Do they get along well with their father?”

  “Everyone does.”

  “I doubt that. Kurt has his frailties, too, like all of us.”

  “Joe and Lauren are Steffensens to the bone, Carrie. In their eyes, Kurt can do no wrong.”

  “And that bothers you.” Carrie realized she had struck a sensitive nerve.

  Jeanne did not respond.

  “I guess I should apologize for suggesting that you sell your father’s house.”

  “Now who is sounding half-hearted?”

  “I just thought I was entitled to my opinion, since everyone had something to say. I didn’t intend to butt in.”

  Jeanne turned back from the counter to face her. “Let’s drop it, shall we? I will decide what to do without the benefit of opinion from anyone else. As for my son and daughter, Joe and Lauren and I have agreed to be congenial when the need arises. Lauren makes more of an effort than Joe does. Since my opinion counts for nothing, I’ve learned to stay out of their lives. You might take that as sound advice as well.”

  Taking Jeanne’s directive seriously, Carrie stood and freshened her coffee. She popped an English muffin in the toaster, waited for it to toast, and then lightly buttered it. She cut off a piece of cheddar cheese, placed it next to the muffin, and returned to the table. “My apologies for bringing it up. I really have no right to comment.” She sat in silence eating the rest of
her breakfast.

  Jeanne flipped through her mail, picked out the items that needed attention, and tossed the rest in the recycling box. “Do you have a meeting this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a hair appointment shortly, but I’ll be back in time to take Hannah to the cemetery. Lauren’s joining us. She’s off today.”

  “Okay.” Carrie hesitated. She didn’t think that Hannah’s going to the cemetery was a good idea. “Jeanne, while there’s just the two of us here, I’d just like to say that Mother is not comfortable talking about the past. These memories have been very painful for her, and she’s not a young woman.” She brushed the crumbs on her plate into a neat pile. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up your father or the rest of his family. She rarely talks to me about it, and when we do, she’s very noncommittal. She’s been through so much in the past few years, especially with Dad’s passing.”

  “Older people can actually handle more than we think, Carrie. But I suppose you know your mother better than I do. I won’t bring it up unless she does.”

  “That’s not likely.”

  “Fine.” Jeanne rinsed her dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.

  Carrie sighed in relief to have that out of the way. “Mother wants to visit Alva Green. I’ll drop her off at Alva’s house this morning. Oh, and I also have to phone Lindsay Martel. Joe mentioned that she’d like to see us while we’re in town.” She glanced at her watch. “Perhaps she’d be free to take Mother to visit Alva. I’ll call her and ask if she’s free this morning.”

  “Ah, so you and Lindsay have become good friends.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve only been in her company twice. But she’s the one who made the connection between her mother and my aunt, that they were school friends in Falcon Cove.”

  Jeanne returned the milk to the refrigerator. Hearing Lindsay Martel’s name did not brighten her mood. “Carrie, you just told me that Hannah doesn’t want to talk about the past. But I should warn you. Eventually, whether you like it or not, Lauren will ask her about her grandfather, and it will become abundantly clear that they don’t agree. As for Joe, well, he has absolutely no regard for my father. Never has. I had to beg him to come to his funeral. So, for what it’s worth, the conversations will happen, whether we want them to or not.”