All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  “And the other?”

  “To tell you that I will entertain an offer on the house.”

  “Excellent!” he said, his face brightening at the prospect. “I’ll put together an offer. It will take a while, so I’ll call you from home.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “Now I must be leaving. I have an early flight to catch. I’ve been away from the office for over a week, and things pile up quickly.” He turned back to her at the door. “I’m glad we were able to get some things out into the open, Jeanne.”

  “Yes,” she responded. “As am I.”

  With all the courage he could muster, he moved closer to her, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and whispered, “I’ll miss you.” Their eyes met briefly.

  Jeanne closed the door behind him, certain that there was more to Kevin Gillis than he had revealed. But then, she said aloud as she turned off the lights and headed upstairs, “I didn’t tell him everything I know either.”

  For the first time in a very long time, she found herself attracted to a man’s every move.

  * * * * *

  Shortly after noon on Sunday, Jeanne returned home from her regular brunch get-together with friends and was surprised to see Jonathan Hamlyn pull into the driveway behind her.

  “I’m glad I caught you at home,” he said, as he got out of the car.

  “I’m just returning from brunch.” She noted his casual clothing, and Jonathan felt her scrutiny.

  He wondered if it had been with Kevin, but he dared not ask. “I have the boxes that you wanted. I hope you don’t mind my dropping them off today.”

  “Not at all. Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure. For a few minutes.” He emptied the trunk of his car and followed her into the house. He sat in the nearest wicker chair in the sunroom and watched her closely as she searched for her day planner and pen. She quickly jotted down an appointment and closed the book. A business card belonging to Kevin Gillis lay next to her book. Jonathan noted that his home phone number had been written on the card. Turning to Jeanne, he said, “My assistant organized the files into categories. I chose the ones pertaining to the house, since that’s what you requested. Again, I reiterate, there’s not much of interest here, Jeanne.”

  “I understand that, but if I have to make a decision about the house, I’d like to know as much as I can.”

  “If you have any questions, I’m only too glad to help. I understand you have a ready buyer in Mr. Gillis. When I spoke with him, he was confident that he’ll be able to purchase the Sinclair home.”

  “Does that bother you?” she asked.

  “I guess not,” Jonathan said, flippantly. “He’s a businessman, and he apparently sees this as an opportunity. Everything is about money for him.”

  Jeanne peered at him, noting his obvious disdain for Kevin. “Not everything. Winterberry has nothing to do with the property in Planter’s Bight. That’s personal. But you already know that, since you negotiated the deal.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  Jeanne nodded. “Joe did, and he confirmed it when I spoke with him.”

  “As for the other properties, they are owned by Winterberry Development. They were purchased about five years ago.” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that as well.”

  “You appreciate that I was in no position to tell you that. But I’m glad he’s finally disclosing the information to you.” Jonathan’s tone stiffened, and Jeanne was increasingly bothered by it.

  “Since we are on the topic of disclosure, Jonathan, perhaps you can tell me why Father chose to sell the remaining property that he owned.”

  “Charles owned a great deal of land around the island, Jeanne. A few years back he decided to unload them. He told me that he had no interest anymore, he was getting up in years, his health was failing, and he preferred to leave money to you and Emily, rather than properties that you would have to sell or pay taxes on. He didn’t anticipate that they would grow in value so much. Land has never meant much in Newfoundland.”

  “Just sentimental value, for what that’s worth.”

  “Exactly,” he responded. He leaned forward, as if he was about to reveal a deep dark secret. “Jeanne, you know that I support whatever decision you make regarding the house; however, I would caution you to be very careful with Mr. Gillis.”

  “Yes, you’ve advised me of that from the beginning, and I continue to wonder why. I also wonder why you seem to have little regard for him personally.”

  “I can’t say for certain, but I don’t know how reliable he is. I’m not sure his word is a good one, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “It’s just a feeling I have, that’s all. I’ve been in the legal business for many years, and I’ve developed a sixth sense about people. I’m surprised that you’re so trusting. It’s not like you. But you seem to feel he has been upfront with you all along.”

  “I believe so.”

  He paused and looked at her carefully, to the point where she felt uncomfortable. “Just be careful.”

  He stood to leave. Jeanne watched as he moved five banker boxes labelled Sinclair C.—Estate Papers to the bottom of the stairs in her finished basement. “Thanks, Jonathan. This is much appreciated.”

  “My pleasure.” He nodded and left, certain that he’d not been successful in convincing her to walk away from Kevin Gillis.

  * * * * *

  On Sunday morning, Kevin rested his head near the airplane window and looked out at the tarmac of Torbay airport. In the distance the White Hills loomed against the ocean, and a dark thick line of fog stretched behind it. He thought of the week behind him and especially of Jeanne. What had begun as a simple plan was no longer so simple. As the seat next to him was empty, he laid his leather portfolio on it, opened it, and removed a folder, the one labelled Charles Sinclair. He rested the file on his crossed leg and began to write what he had learned about the retail trade on Water Street in the 1940s. Interviews with three former downtown employees had been quite informative. Staff at the university’s archives had provided him with boxes of material when he requested everything they had about Water Street after the war. He had pored through newspapers, articles, and personal papers and was pleased with his progress.

  But the person who remained something of a mystery was Charles Sinclair. He had discovered that Charles had not been a loyal and devoted husband and that he had strayed early in his marriage with a young girl well beneath his social class. The product of their relationship was a baby girl, now one of the city’s well-known socialites. It had not been Kevin’s intention to uncover the sordid details of personal lives, but these details were intriguing. He retracted his pen, placed it back in the case, and secured it. As the plane taxied down the runway for takeoff, he gave the city a final glance, put his head back, and closed his eyes. A successful sojourn. A good start. My house in Planter’s Bight is in progress. And above all, there’s a real possibility of getting the Sinclair house.

  He slept soundly for twenty minutes but awakened when the flight attendant offered him coffee. He welcomed it, placed it gingerly on the table of the empty seat, and picked up the third of his files. It was a thin file, containing only a few sheets. The first item in it was a photo and an obituary for Edgar M. Gillis. The second page was a copy of an invoice on a small sheet of paper, now yellowed and curled over the years. It was dated August 1952: “For services rendered. Paid to the order of Mr. Edgar Gillis.” The columns listed materials for the construction of a quartersawn oak staircase and, at the bottom, the cost of labour added. Across the bottom of the sheet the words paid in full were scrawled above the signature of Charles Sinclair.

  Kevin closed the file and focused on the thick layer of white clouds beneath the plane. I have no idea, Dad, what Charles had against you
. But I will find out. And I will get his house. And maybe even more.

  CHAPTER 6

  July, Falcon Cove

  The ten-kilometre drive to Falcon Cove from the main highway was in disrepair, the result of a succession of frosty winters and heavy spring runoff. Sandi carefully avoided potholes as she drove toward the small community on Monday morning. Next to her, in the passenger seat, Joe worked on some sketches for the Gillis house in Planter’s Bight. As they crested the first hill, Sandi recalled that her father had told her about a massive forest fire that had swept the entire north side of the bay in 1961. She surveyed the terrain around her and imagined the devastation. Fortunately, the effects were no longer visible, and the land had returned to its lush green state.

  Near the entrance to the community, a small pond on the right side sparkled a sapphire blue in the brilliant sunshine, a rich contrast to the various shades of green shrubs and spruce and fir trees in the background. Several neatly trimmed summer cottages lined the edge of a pond. Before them lay the small community of Falcon Cove with its population of 328 residents. In the distance offshore, two large icebergs marked the horizon on their way south down the coast. White wispy clouds feathered a pale blue sky, and the wind was unusually calm.

  The first landmark they noticed was the United Church, a pristine white, wooden structure that sat high on a hill overlooking the houses and the sea beyond. Sandi and Joe followed their directions to Hannah and Carrie’s house, down a narrow lane just past the church, and soon spotted Hannah waving to them from the bridge. “Good day,” she greeted them as they got out of the car. “It’s wonderful to see you both.” She gave them a hug. “Please come in. As you can see, we have another visitor for a few days.” She pointed to the small dog sitting at her feet.

  Sandi’s eyes brightened when she saw Patrick, a beagle mix that Carrie and Hannah were dog-sitting for the week. He was a geriatric dog with more health issues than Hannah could name. He belonged to Toby and Iris, who were gone to the west coast to visit Iris’s sisters until Friday. “Toby dropped off Patrick yesterday and told him that he was going to camp at Aunt Hannah’s house.” She laughed and shook her head. “Good heavens. Can you imagine? Camp for a dog.”

  Sandi rubbed Patrick affectionately behind the ears. “You’re a lovely dog, Patrick. You’ll be good company. Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk with me?”

  Carrie chuckled as she came outside to meet them. “You may not feel so anxious to be around him when he displays his two special talents: snoring and passing gas. I think he holds a canine world record for noisy bodily functions.”

  “Now Carrie,” Hannah chided her, as they followed her into the house, “that dog is one of God’s creatures.”

  “Yes, Mother, proof positive that the Good Lord has a tremendous sense of humour.”

  After settling in, Sandi returned to the front porch and reached for her camera bag. “It’s such a gorgeous afternoon, Hannah. I think I’ll go for a walk before supper while Joe and Carrie drop up to the church hall. What about it, Patrick?” she asked, leaning over and looking into his big blue eyes. “I’ll tell you all about our dog, Mollie, along the way.”

  “Sure,” Carrie said, as she put on her sweater, “exercise would be a novelty for Patrick, and it might help him with his other issues. C’mon, Joe. Let me show you the progress being made on the hall.”

  Sandi snapped on Patrick’s leash and secured her camera case over her left shoulder. “Hannah, I’ll be back in time to help you with supper.”

  “Don’t you worry about it, my dear. Take your time. Don’t go too close to the water’s edge. The rocks are slippery,” she warned, looking down to judge Sandi’s footwear. “You’re not used to that.”

  “I will.” And she and Patrick were off.

  Standing on the church hill, Joe surveyed the view across the bay. “Carrie, are those two islands populated?” he asked, as he pointed toward the east.

  Carrie shaded her eyes with her hand as she squinted out at the horizon. “Just three or four summer places, I think. People used to live there many years ago, before my time, when the fishing was good. Mother can tell you all about them. There were at least twenty houses on that small island. Amazing, isn’t it? Can you imagine spending your winters out there with no electricity?”

  “To be honest, I can’t. It’s beautiful today in July but pretty bleak, I imagine, in the dead of winter.” His attention was drawn to the noise of chainsaws coming from the other end of the harbour. “There’s plenty of activity down there.”

  “Men keeping busy,” she commented. Her gloomy tone reflected her concern about the future of the community. “Ready to go inside?”

  “Sure.” He followed her up the steps and into the cool sanctuary that smelled of wood and lemon furniture polish. They pushed open the windows on either side of the aisles to let in the fresh air.

  The door to Carrie’s small office was on the left side of the pulpit. “The carpenters should be along soon. Have a seat, if you can find a spot,” she said, as she manoeuvred around chairs and a filing cabinet. “We can chat before they get here.”

  Joe pulled along a chair, removed a stack of papers, and placed them securely on her desk so they wouldn’t topple over. “This church has witnessed many generations of congregations,” Joe observed.

  “Years of weddings, funerals, and special services. Sadly, I don’t know how much longer the community will be able to sustain it. It depends on the economy.” Not wanting to sound too maudlin, Carrie changed the subject. “Did you and Sandi enjoy the drive here?”

  He chuckled. “I worked and Sandi drove. I’m afraid I wasn’t good company.” He paused. “Carrie, we were talking about Mother’s visit. Did anyone in the community ask you about Mother when she visited back in April—who she was and why she was visiting at Easter? I know it’s a small place. People talk, and perhaps it was an unusual time of year for visitors.”

  Carrie rubbed her hands and pushed back a stack of books in front of her to make room. “To be honest, more of them were curious about you!”

  “Me? Why?”

  Carrie shrugged. “I met with the church trustees and explained that we were building a heritage church hall, designed by a St. John’s architect. The big question was funding. Naturally, they wondered where that was coming from. One of them was suspicious of your motives, and Jeanne’s as well, since she donated the money. They had a right to ask, so I explained the whole story. I had to. Fortunately, my Uncle Toby is on the board, and no one said anything else, except, of course, that they are grateful.”

  “And the rest of the congregation?”

  “Ah, well, once the news got out, two ol’ dears asked me whether it was true that my mother had a baby with Charles Sinclair. Can you imagine? That was well over fifty years ago. Like she was the only young girl to have a baby. One of them muttered incoherently and then looked at me point-blank and said, ‘I thought Hannah was a good Christian woman.’”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think of that happening until Sandi mentioned it this morning.” He crossed his legs so that his right ankle rested on his left knee. “Lindsay recently reminded us that several people are affected by this story coming out, not just Hannah and Mother.”

  Carrie raised her hand in protest. “Don’t worry. I dismissed the comment. As you said, people love to gossip and find fault. I have no intention of mentioning that to Mother. I can handle it.”

  Joe was not convinced by Carrie’s assurance; nevertheless, he changed the topic. “While I have the chance to ask, Sandi and I would love for you and Hannah to come to our wedding next summer, but if that’s too difficult for you or for Hannah, we understand. I wanted to check with you first.”

  Carrie weighed her words. “Mother doesn’t like to talk about all that’s happened, and to be honest, Joe, I think she’s worried that your friends would w
onder about her. She doesn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you or for Lauren. She feels she’s already let you down.”

  “How?”

  “By leaving your mother when she was a baby and perhaps not looking for her later.”

  Joe looked puzzled. “She didn’t have a choice.”

  “No, not at that time.”

  “Lauren and I understand what happened. I assure you no one who’s invited to our wedding would ever embarrass her or us. There’ll be more than one in attendance with something they’d rather hide. Besides, it’s none of their business what happened over fifty years ago.”

  “It has nothing to do with you and Sandi. She thinks the world of both of you.”

  “What, then?”

  “She never thought she would ever meet Jeanne. Now all of you are a part of her life for the first time. It’s one thing to go to St. John’s and meet Lindsay and Steven, for instance, but attending a big wedding, meeting family and friends she doesn’t know, that’s another story. No doubt some of your mother’s friends will be there, and they’ll want to know more about the woman who had the relationship with Charles Sinclair.”

  “She has nothing to apologize for,” he said, softly.

  “Agreed. She shouldn’t take any responsibility. As far as I’m concerned, that rests squarely on the shoulders of Charles Sinclair.”

  Joe was surprised by her assertion. “You think so?”

  Carrie regretted her words, fearing it would get back to her mother or to Jeanne. “I’m sorry, Joe. He’s your grandfather, and I have no right to speak ill of a man I’ve never met, and certainly not now that he’s passed on.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion. Please go on.”

  “Fine. Between us, though, okay?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You can appreciate that I’ve wondered about their relationship. Maybe you have as well. Charles was in a position to take advantage of my mother: ten years older, the man of the house, and her employer. I’m not saying he forced himself. Please don’t get me wrong. But in terms of relationships, he did have all the power.” She looked away pensively. “Still, that doesn’t stop Mother from feeling the way she does.”