All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  Jeanne turned back to see that the colour had drained from her face. “Are you all right?”

  Hannah stumbled a little. “Oh yes, it’s just that for the moment I was caught back in the day I first walked in here.”

  “Of course. I understand. We don’t have to stay.”

  “No, please. I’ll be fine. I would love to see the place.” She followed Jeanne through the dining room, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the room. Only a mahogany sideboard stood against the far wall. “I remember the beautiful dining room table and chairs.”

  “Those are long gone, replaced, and even the replacements are gone. Gregory took most of the furniture to Nova Scotia. I managed to salvage the sideboard. I used the excuse that it needs to be refinished and that I know of a craftsman here. The same with Father’s desk.”

  “Still, it’s easy to picture it as it was, even though it’s empty now.” Hannah stood at the dining room window and looked out at the garden. “Mrs. Sinclair—Virginia—spent hours in that garden. It’s different now, of course. There were no trees behind the property, just a vacant lot. There was a fence, I think, but no railing.” She followed Jeanne to the end of the hallway and watched as she opened the door into the room that had been Charles’s study. Now there were only empty built-in shelves and his desk standing in the centre.

  She touched the edge of the desk. “Everything is spotless, Jeanne.”

  “I have a cleaning company maintain it regularly. I don’t like to see it dusty. Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

  “Yes, please.” As she followed Jeanne up the stairs, she ran her hand along the railing. “Are these the stairs that were made by Edgar Gillis?”

  “Yes.”

  “He did a fine job. I remember the old ones had cupboards beneath the stairs, and they were locked. I looked inside once. There were papers and small tins and wooden boxes. I guess that was all thrown away when Mr. Gillis replaced the stairs.”

  They walked down the lengthy upstairs hall, pausing to look in each room.

  “This was my room.” Jeanne opened the solid wooden door at the end of the hall. “There’s not much in here now.”

  “This really brings back memories,” Hannah said, as she followed her inside and sat on the one chair.

  “I hope they’re not all unpleasant.”

  “Oh, no. Before you were born, this was a guest room, and it wasn’t used often.”

  “Was it difficult being away from home, Hannah?” Jeanne asked softly.

  She nodded. “I missed my family very much, and Adelia and everyone else. But the Sinclairs treated me well. I had a comfortable room upstairs. And, of course, I had plenty of food.” She walked across the room. “What was it like for you growing up here?”

  “Father worked long hours. Emily and I played together when we were small, but we grew apart as we got older. I had friends. And I loved school. I spent hours in the public library after school and on Saturdays. Emily and I were always very different from each other. She was gone when I was about seventeen. Five years later, I met Kurt and we were married.”

  Hannah noted that there was no mention of Virginia in Jeanne’s description. She stood and moved to the door. A vivid memory shivered through her body.

  “Is this too difficult for you?” Jeanne asked, behind her.

  Hannah took a deep breath. “It’s okay. It just came over me, that’s all. The day I left. The day I left you.” Tears formed and spilled down her cheeks.

  Jeanne placed her arm around her shoulders. “What do you remember? Perhaps it would be better to talk about it. There’s just the two of us here.”

  Hannah looked back toward the left corner. “There. That’s where your pretty crib was, with lace and ribbons. I remember that. You were just a little baby.” She could hardly speak the words. “A precious little girl with blue eyes like your father. It was the last time I saw you. I had to turn away from you that day. But he promised me . . .”

  Jeanne looked puzzled. “He promised you what?”

  “Charles promised me that I would see you again, that when you were old enough, he would tell you about me and that he would tell you where I lived and he would let you come to see me. He promised. No one else knew that, until now.”

  Jeanne stared in bewilderment. A cold shiver ran down her back as she pondered Hannah’s words. Something else about her father that she didn’t know. Was Kevin right? Could Father have been so uncaring?

  “I’m sorry. He never told me anything. I first heard about you from Virginia. She took great delight in announcing to me that she was not my mother. It was here in this room where I got dressed for my wedding. I was alone.” Jeanne surveyed the room and then turned back to Hannah. “Were you scared when you first came here?”

  “I didn’t have time to be scared, Jeanne. Oh, perhaps a few precious moments when I was alone, like lying in bed waiting to sleep. That’s when we have time to grow our fears. I certainly didn’t have much time for that. I was usually too tired after working long hours.”

  The two women walked in silence downstairs and turned right into the kitchen. Hannah looked around and thought of all the meals prepared there, designed to impress waiting guests. She thought of Virginia, who seemed to take on a different persona when the house was filled with people whom she thought were important. Hannah walked to the entrance to the living room and pushed open the pocket doors separating it from the dining room. “A house once filled now empty,” she said, solemnly.

  Jeanne stood in front of the living room window. “To be honest, as I look back on it all, I’m not sure I remember anything correctly. And I’ve come to believe that more in the past few days. Father and Virginia were married with their own version of being in love.” Jeanne shrugged her shoulders. “They had separate rooms all their married lives. Some of my friends’ parents did as well. I thought that was normal until I grew up and discovered otherwise.” She chuckled. “I remember exactly when it was. Kurt and I flew to Halifax to meet his family, and the first night I was there, I went upstairs to the guest room and walked by a large room that Kurt said was the master bedroom. I realized that Catherine and Christian had their own room, together. I peeked inside and saw a beautiful king-sized poster bed. Night tables on either side with their books and reading glasses. It seemed so wonderful to me.”

  Hannah smiled. “Charles and Virginia seemed happy enough when I knew them, but they were only in their twenties.” She moved around the room and then turned back to Jeanne. “I imagine there were many people at his funeral.”

  She nodded. “Most out of obligation. Some out of curiosity.”

  “Curiosity?”

  “To see how I was reacting, and Emily. How strong we were, or not.”

  Hannah looked puzzled. What kind of people go to a funeral to see how the bereaved behave? she wondered. She looked down at her hands and bent and straightened her fingers, willing away the arthritis she felt during damp weather. She remembered facing Virginia on that last day in the hall. The exact words she spoke had stayed with her, but she vowed she would never repeat them to anyone. She thought of Charles, the man she knew so briefly, a man who was capable of so much more than he ever became. As of today, she was convinced that the same could be said of his daughter.

  CHAPTER 8

  August 1952, St. John’s

  Heavy fog that evening darkened the Sinclair house to the point where the lights needed to be switched on early for dinner. Virginia spread the white linen napkin across her lap, smoothed the placket of her pale pink blouse, and picked up her soup spoon. “Father is very upset,” she said curtly to Charles, who was sitting next to her at the head of the dining table.

  “That’s unusual,” Charles muttered sarcastically, without looking up at her.

  Virginia laid down her spoon. “Please, Charles, do we have
to begin this meal with your nasty attitude? It doesn’t help the digestion.”

  He grimaced. “So, tell me, what is your father bothered about now?”

  “The staircase. He feels there is no need to spend so much money to replace a perfectly good staircase.”

  Charles felt his throat burn on the first mouthful of vegetable beef soup and reached quickly for the water glass. “It’s not perfectly good. Some of the balusters are loose and a few treads are cracked. Anyone could be injured, Virginia, especially the girls. Besides, how would he know? He’s rarely here and, when he is, he doesn’t go upstairs.”

  “Still, he doesn’t like it. It’s an unnecessary expenditure. Why did you hire that man anyway, that Mr. Gillis?”

  “He’s a skilled carpenter. He does good work.”

  “Father said that when he was here today he wasn’t working. He was eating at the kitchen table.”

  “The man has to eat lunch, I suppose,” he retorted, returning to his soup.

  His careless attitude irritated her. “He wishes you to put an end to the renovations. Pay the man and send him on his way,” she demanded.

  “That’s nonsense, Virginia. The man will be finished by the end of the week. He told me so just yesterday. I can’t let him go now.”

  “Keep your voice down,” she said sternly, gesturing with her hand. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  There was marked silence.

  Virginia ran her fingers along the pleats of her skirt. She spoke under her breath. “Father said something to him that he shouldn’t have.”

  Charles stopped eating and waited for an explanation.

  “I can’t blame him for being angry.”

  “What did Clarence say?” Charles asked.

  “Apparently, Mr. Gillis said to Father, ‘The Sinclair house will have a fine staircase when I’m through.’”

  “Yes, and so it will. What’s wrong with speaking the truth?”

  “Father corrected him, of course. He told him it’s not the Sinclair house; it’s the Boland house.”

  “Wonderful,” responded Charles in disgust. “Did he happen to explain what I’m doing here? Am I just a boarder?”

  “Charles, what Father said is correct, and you know it. I wish he hadn’t said it, because now people will wonder. They’ll ask questions.”

  “And we will tell them that the house is yours.”

  “No, we certainly will not,” she responded indignantly. “What will that look like to the community? A woman owning a house with her husband living in it. Yet another embarrassment for us to live down.”

  “Virginia, it’s unlikely that Edgar Gillis will mention this to anyone and, even if he does, the people he talks to don’t care what Clarence Boland says about anything. They would think that he misunderstood what your father was saying. Let it go.”

  “Father gave this house to us when we got married. It was quite generous of him. We never paid him for it, so he has a right to say if and when it should be renovated. I told you that in the spring.”

  Charles sat back and pushed away his bowl, no longer hungry. “So now you and your family are holding my shelter over me, is that it? I married you, Virginia. I have provided you with everything you need,” he announced, tapping his fingers on the table for emphasis. “You have position here in the community. That’s what you wanted. You have never been in want for anything.”

  “And you almost destroyed it all by bringing that young woman into our home, the young Parsons girl, and then doing what you did.”

  “Ah, we’re back to that.”

  “It’s disgraceful. That’s what it is.” She gingerly touched her napkin to the sides of her lips.

  They sat in silence. Charles sipped his water and cut up the bread on his side plate.

  The cook quietly entered the dining room. “Sir, could I get you something else?” she asked in a whisper. “You don’t seem to have enjoyed your soup.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’m sure it’s quite delicious, but for some reason I’m not hungry tonight.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.” She took his plate. She glanced at Virginia, who was picking the onion from the broth and positioning it on the edge of the bowl in disgust. She returned to the kitchen.

  “What do you want me to do? Don’t say to let Gillis go, because that will only raise more suspicion.”

  “I don’t know,” she responded with a scowl. “Just make sure he finishes up quickly. After that, see to it that he doesn’t work for anyone we know.”

  Charles gave his wife a cold, hard stare. “How would you expect me to do that?”

  Virginia sighed. “Just do whatever is necessary, Charles.”

  * * * * *

  August 1996, St. John’s

  The second week in August brought five days of hot, humid weather in the city. Meteorologists referred to it as an anomaly in the region. In her bedroom on Saturday evening, Jeanne zipped up her lemon silk dress, adjusted her sapphire bracelet and earrings, and applied a new lipstick. She wasn’t convinced it was a good shade. She sighed and blamed her lack of judgment on the fact that she had broken her own rule to attend the engagement party. For years, she had decided not to go anywhere socially that she didn’t want to go. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she imagined what the night would bring and hoped that anticipation was worse than the actual event.

  Carrie had picked up on Jeanne’s apprehension earlier that day when she gave vague responses to her inquiries about who was attending. Carrie quickly reminded her that the party was all about the bride and groom, not her. Jeanne ignored the advice and simply responded with “uh huh” where appropriate. Meanwhile, as Hannah got dressed in her room, she hoped that Carrie would keep her opinions to herself tonight.

  Across the Square, upstairs in their home on Stoneyhouse Street, Lindsay sat in front of a large fan, welcoming the breeze. “I can’t stand this, Steven; the humidity is getting to me. Believe me, a few snowflakes would not go astray right now.”

  Standing in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, Steven laughed. “Don’t think about it, my darling, put your mind on something else.”

  Annoyed by the common-sense approach of her husband, she sighed loudly. “Someone tell me I don’t have to wear pantyhose to this thing. That’ll finish me.”

  “You don’t have to wear pantyhose,” Steven said emphatically.

  “Unfortunately, your opinion doesn’t matter,” she responded under her breath. She opened the door and hoped that it would create a cross breeze from the window.

  An hour later, they arrived at the Steffensen house to find it filled with friends and relatives. Kurt greeted Lindsay, Steven, and Jordy at the front door, and Lindsay stood for a moment in the foyer enjoying the air conditioning. “Kurt,” she said, relishing the cool breeze, “would you mind if I spend the night here?”

  Behind her, Jordy leaned forward and teased, “Really Mother, he’s a married man, and he’s not that desperate.”

  Kurt laughed at Lindsay’s blushing face. “Come on in, folks, and Lindsay, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  Lindsay turned around to her son. “We’re off to a good start. You embarrassed me in front of our host.”

  “Relax and have a good time, Lindsay,” Steven said with a good-natured laugh.

  “You’ll pay for this, young man.”

  Moments later, Sandi approached her mother and squeezed her arm to get her undivided attention. “Are you responsible for inviting Caroline and Brittany Kavanagh?”

  “Yes, I am.” She nodded. “I had a call from Jeanne on Thursday, and she asked me to invite them. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “We didn’t want them here.”

  “Sorry. I was just doing what I was told.”
/>   “Uh huh. That’s so like you. By the way, why are you wearing pantyhose? Don’t you know the humidex is thirty-four degrees?”

  “The Queen wears stockings regardless of the weather,” she said, not aware that Jordy was standing only a few feet away.

  “Gee, talk about your delusions of grandeur, Mother,” he said with a smirk. “Now you consider yourself to be royalty.”

  “As I said, you will pay.” Lindsay pointed her finger at her son. She surveyed the room for familiar faces and saw Carrie and Hannah through the archway in the sunroom. She moved across the room and smiled at them. “Good evening, everyone. Nice and cool out here.”

  “Yes, Lindsay, why don’t you sit here next to us?” Carrie directed. “These wicker chairs are quite comfortable.”

  “When I worked at the Sinclairs’, we were told that you could tell good wicker by whether or not it hitched your stockings,” Hannah explained.

  Lindsay raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Then I think we can declare this to be good wicker,” she assessed, looking down at her legs.

  Hannah hoped no one would notice if she took her small notepad from her purse and quickly jotted down phrases that described the dresses: Lauren’s Kelly green linen shift dress; Sandi’s off-white lace sheath dress with cap sleeves. She knew Adelia would certainly ask for all the details when she got home. She surveyed the room with its cathedral ceiling and maroon leather chairs and tried to commit the artwork to memory. She discreetly made a few notes and stuffed the paper and pen back in her purse. Noting that Lindsay and Carrie were deep in conversation, she stood and walked toward the double patio doors into the spacious back garden. Lights flooded the pathway as she crossed the garden, following the path made of pavement bricks. She sat on a wrought iron chair among rows of pink and white azaleas. What a beautiful spot. The smell of roses and lavender near the water fountain across from her was intoxicating.