All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  Carrie surveyed the land in front of her and reflected on their two summer visits to St. John’s. She was surprised, and to some extent disappointed, that in her mind, at least, she hadn’t been more tolerant, especially of Jeanne. It was not what she intended. She thought back to that day last summer when she had finally built up the courage to drive to her house on Exeter Avenue and ring the doorbell. How she had worried about her appearance, the pants she wore, her driving pants, because they were so comfortable and didn’t nip her at the waist. Compared to Jeanne, she knew that she looked slovenly. When she saw the photo of Charles as a young man on the mantel and thought of him with her mother, her stomach muscles had wrenched. How would she ever accept her mother’s words that Charles cared for her, or Alva’s words that he loved her? The mere thought had brought on anxiety attacks in the middle of the night and left Carrie on her knees by her bed praying for understanding. But she cared too much about her mother to tell her. It would be something she would forever keep inside.

  She passed a few familiar faces heading with their buckets to the blueberry patches. She directed them to the eastern edge of the trail and told them they were plentiful. The sun was high in the sky now, and the temperature had risen significantly. Carrie slipped off her jacket and tied the sleeves around her waist as she headed around the western bend toward the lane and home.

  Heading up the familiar path of Parsons’ Lane, she saw Adelia sitting on the bridge of her house.

  “Hello, my dear. ’Tis a lovely morning. Great day on clothes.”

  “Yes, and a full line you have.” Carrie stopped and surveyed the line of towels perfectly positioned from the largest to the smallest on the clothesline. At the gate, she stooped to pick some weeds from Adelia’s vegetable garden. “How are your carrots doing?”

  “Good. I’ll be taking them up as soon as we get a night of frost, which I’m guessing is not too far off. I didn’t think we’d get enough sun this year, but at the last minute we’ve been lucky. How are you doing? You said yesterday at the church social that you had a wonderful time in St. John’s. Hannah and I haven’t had time to have a grand chat. That will take an afternoon, I’m sure.”

  “I believe she made notes,” Carrie explained with a laugh. “We met many people. I was just thinking about that very fact. I have a niece and nephew and their friends in my life. I didn’t know any of them a year ago.”

  Adelia sensed some apprehension in Carrie’s voice. “This has been difficult for you, hasn’t it?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. As you said, all of a sudden you have a family you didn’t know you had. It takes time to adjust to something like that, you know.”

  “I guess so.” Carrie sighed.

  “I’m supposing that you’ve been doing something you’ve never done before.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Comparing yourself to your sister.”

  Carrie laughed out loud. “Well, there’s no contest there, Adelia. You’ve seen her. She looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine, even first thing in the morning.”

  “Clothes mean nothing, Carrie. I’m sure she doesn’t measure up to you. Besides, I imagine it’s been more difficult for her meeting you and Hannah. She missed out on having sixty years with a wonderful mother. On top of that, she built a home with children, and her husband left her. She’s had years of heartbreak and rejection. So much to cope with. It doesn’t matter how pretty her clothes are.”

  Carrie considered the truth in Adelia’s words. She wrapped her hand around the top of the picket and leaned across the fence. “Adelia, if I could ask—has Mother ever talked about Charles with you?”

  “A little. Why?”

  “She doesn’t say much about him to me either. But apparently, she did talk to Jeanne about him.”

  “Charles is what they have in common. It’s pretty much the only thing.”

  “It’s hard for me to think about them.” Carrie shook her head. “I can’t help but wonder if he took advantage of her. She worked for him.”

  “Carrie, think about the woman you know as your mother. Would she ever let a man take advantage of her?”

  “She was only seventeen.”

  “She was still our Hannah,” Adelia said with conviction.

  “Do you remember when Mother came home from St. John’s that year?”

  “Oh, yes. I was so happy to have her home.”

  “Do you think that Granddad and Grandma Parsons were disappointed?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they were.”

  Knowing that her response was difficult to hear, Adelia explained. “After all, Hannah brought in extra money for the family, Carrie. Not much, but every bit counted. I imagine they thought she’d find some young man in St. John’s to marry. Of course, they weren’t disappointed when she married Marshall.”

  “A woman who used to work there, Alva Green, told Mother that Charles loved her.”

  “I s’pose he did. He’d have been a fool not to.” Adelia dismissed the comment with a laugh.

  Carrie squinted her eyes in the bright sunshine to study Adelia. “Thanks. I must get home before Mother starts calling around looking for me.”

  “Okay. And tell her I’ll be up later. I’ve got dates cooling to make date crumbles.”

  “Yum. See you later.”

  CHAPTER 12

  August 1997, St. John’s

  “It’s so kind of you to invite me here, Jeanne. I don’t get out much and, when I do, I find shopping malls noisy. But this is very comfortable.” Alva Green settled comfortably in the chintz armchair in the corner of the living room. She looked lovely in her sapphire blue dress and white cardigan.

  “I’m glad you could come. Perhaps we can do this again when Hannah comes to visit.”

  “Your mother,” Alva responded.

  Jeanne smiled. “Sorry. It might be a while before I can call her that.”

  “You will. Just don’t wait too long,” Alva advised.

  “I will always call you Mrs. Green. I remember my father telling me that when I was a young girl. ‘That is Mrs. Green and Mr. Green,’” she said, imitating her father. “‘Remember their names and your manners.’”

  Alva laughed. “And you were Miss Jeanne to me.”

  “All those years, you knew about my mother, but you never told anyone?”

  “No.”

  “That’s remarkable. I guess there were many things that you overheard.”

  “We were sworn to secrecy. If we didn’t, we were let go. Many important people came through the Sinclair house and whispered conversations in confidence. But we didn’t mention them to a soul.”

  “Of course, and I’m sure that was appreciated. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you about the Bolands. I remember them, of course, but I really didn’t know them. They came to the house for special occasions. Thomas and Dora hardly ever spoke to me.” Jeanne gave a slight laugh. “Interestingly, they seemed more anxious to talk with me after I married Kurt. They probably thought they should.”

  “They tended to keep to themselves. Mrs. Boland in particular. She spent most winters inside,” Alva explained, patting her dress on her lap.

  “As you know, I met someone this summer who was interested in purchasing the Sinclair house. Kevin Gillis. Edgar Gillis’s son.”

  “Yes,” Alva said, nodding. “Hannah mentioned him to me. She also said during one of our phone chats that you’ve decided to make it an inn. I’m so pleased for you.”

  “Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.” Jeanne reached for the tea pot and refilled both cups. “My father kept meticulous records, and I have them all in boxes downstairs. Joe and I started to read them recently because he’s renovating the house for me. In the course of our search, we came across a will that has since been authenticated. It
belonged to Royston Boland, Clarence’s father.”

  “Well, now, isn’t that interesting! It must be quite old.”

  “It is. It’s dated 1928. In his will, he bequeathed the house that we know as the Sinclair house to his daughter, Lucinda. Did you know that?”

  Alva looked away, like she was searching for words. But she did not appear surprised. “I remember that there was a fuss about it, that’s for sure. But I shouldn’t say any more. That’s a long time ago, and they’re all gone now.”

  “Please tell me what you know. As you say, they’re gone, and there’s no one left to explain. I’d like to have the details, if only for my own sake. As it stands right now, Father actually had a house that didn’t belong to him, and he knew it. That’s quite distressing.”

  Alva peered at her and thought carefully. “Since you’re asking me, I will try to remember. Lucinda was a lovely person. Kind-hearted. Believe me, she’d go around the world to avoid trouble. From what I understand, when Mr. Boland passed away, Clarence told Lucinda that the house was his to keep in the family. Clarence at that time was married to Dora, and they, of course, had their daughter, Virginia. Lucinda, on the other hand, was a single woman, a spinster, as they were called in those years. I don’t know if she ever got to read the will, but according to what I was told, she just went along with what her brother wanted. The house was practically given to your father and Virginia when they married. Clarence Boland inherited money from his father, so he secured a place for Lucinda to live and started her in the business on Water Street. As far as I know, she enjoyed her life. At least that’s what I heard, Jeanne. I can’t say all of this for certain.”

  “Yes, I understand. It bothers me that she was taken advantage of,” Jeanne commented. “She should have insisted on her inheritance. Of course, that’s assuming she knew.”

  “Jeanne, Lucinda Boland was not a woman who insisted on anything. She just lived her life day to day. She had her business and several friends. She was well respected and admired. Lucinda was as much at home entertaining a large crowd as she was sitting in the park with a good book. She didn’t need the likes of Clarence Boland telling her what to do, and he never interfered in her work. They lived very separate lives and, believe me, she controlled her own life.”

  “That’s really interesting. Somehow, I had an image of Lucinda cowering in the corner.”

  “Oh my, no, not at all. Lucinda Boland stood straight upright. She was her own person.” Alva chuckled. “To be honest, I think that Virginia was afraid of her Aunt Lucinda.”

  “But she didn’t get what was rightfully hers,” Jeanne said with a pleading voice.

  Alva smiled, looked at the beautiful woman sitting across from her, and momentarily reflected on a little girl’s face so long ago. “Jeanne, I’ve no doubt that Lucinda looked at her brother, saw all his trials and torments, and Virginia’s as well, and was glad that she was not part of it. If a house was the price she had to pay for that, well then, it was well worth it to her.”

  Jeanne sat back. “Lucinda could teach us so much,” she observed with a sigh and then recalled that had been Emily’s advice as well.

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ve been thinking about naming the first bedroom in The Sinclair Inn in her name. What do you think?”

  “I think she’d be so pleased. Somehow she has made it into the house that was hers.”

  “I thought I’d also call a room after Henrietta, or Hettie, as they called her. She was Hannah’s mother and, from what I understand, a very strong and determined lady in her own right.”

  “That’s wonderful. Your grandmother, Jeanne. I’m sure Hannah would like that.”

  “Mrs. Green. Alva,” Jeanne said as she leaned forward and rested her teacup on the table in front of her, “I’ve asked Hannah about Virginia and what she might have said to her when I was born and when she left. Either she couldn’t remember much, or what she does remember was fairly simple and even innocuous. I find it hard to believe that Virginia wouldn’t have been more scathing. It was not like her to leave Hannah without a nasty comment or two.”

  Alva looked at her carefully. A memory surfaced that had been tucked away for decades. She wasn’t certain if she had the exact words. How could she? But deep in the recesses of her mind she remembered one day after Hannah had left and the little baby girl was awake in her nanny’s arms.

  “I’m sorry, Jeanne,” Alva said with a quivering voice. “I don’t remember details. It was a long time ago.”

  “Of course. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  There was a momentary silence. Then Alva spoke softly. “I don’t know what Virginia said to Hannah or if she said anything at all. I hope she didn’t, because I’m sure if she did, Hannah must have carried the words with her for the rest of her life. I do remember, though, I was cleaning one morning. Mr. Charles and Virginia likely thought I was out of earshot. But the door to the study was ajar, and I was dusting the tables in the hall.” Alva’s eyes met Jeanne’s. “I heard Virginia say, ‘If you were going to have relations with another woman, couldn’t it have been with someone of our social circle, instead of a young girl of her station in life?’”

  Jeanne sat frozen at the words.

  “The words were something like that. I remember it struck me, and I prayed that it was not ever said to Hannah. I’d like it if you didn’t repeat it now.”

  “Of course. Consider it forgotten,” Jeanne said, although they both knew it wouldn’t be.

  Jeanne sat back and breathed deeply. “Alva, Father found that Lucinda owned the house when he read the will back in the 1950s, yet he didn’t act on it. I can’t help but wonder why.”

  Alva turned her head and pondered her words. Jeanne carried distress on her face, and Alva was anxious to dismiss the concern. “In all likelihood, Mr. Charles approached Lucinda when he found out about the will, but Lucinda, being generous, certainly wouldn’t put him out on the street just so that she could live in the house by herself. By that time she was well established and, as I said, Jeanne, she’d go around the world to avoid a scandal. So, don’t you worry. I’m sure your father did everything he could do.”

  Jeanne sat back and smiled. Uncharacteristically, she reached for a ginger cookie and relished its flavour.

  Alva accepted one with her shaking hands. She looked across the room at the mantel and the photo of Charles and Jeanne on her wedding day. Let her have her good memories, let her have them.

  * * * * *

  Falcon Cove

  Alone in the kitchen of her house that afternoon, Hannah cast off the few remaining stitches of the sock she was knitting and pressed it firmly on her lap, making it the appropriate shape. She heard the back door open and a slight tap.

  “Hello!” came a familiar voice.

  “Deely, good day! C’mon in. Carrie said you were coming over.”

  Adelia gave her wonderful, familiar laugh. “I haven’t been over for a chat since you got back from St. John’s. Too much stuff going on.”

  “We have time this afternoon.” Hannah glanced out the kitchen window. “Looks like it’s trying hard to be fine. I called Toby this morning and asked him about the forecast. He assured me that it would be sunny this afternoon, so I washed out the quilt from Carrie’s bed and hung it outside. It’ll take ’til tomorrow to dry, I s’pose.”

  “I saw Carrie heading back up to the church,” Adelia said, as she stationed herself comfortably in the rocking chair by the window. “Now then, tell me all about your trip to St. John’s and the engagement party, and don’t leave out a detail.”

  Hannah bent down and retrieved her small notepad from the basket that held her knitting. “I even wrote down some of it on a slip of paper and tucked it in my puzzle book. I had to ask Lauren about the food. Not exactly the stuff you and I would serve, but it was delicious. I tried to have one
of everything just so I could tell you about it. I hope no one saw me. They’d think I was gluttonous. Let me see.” She flipped the pages. “Have you ever had phyllo pastry stuffed with crab and avocado?”

  Adelia patted a small plastic container in a paper bag on her lap. “No,” she said, feigning a shiver, “and I don’t think I ever will. This you can eat, though. Our favourite.”

  “Date crumbles?”

  “Yep. And I brought along a tin of Nestlé cream to go along with it. I threw the calories in the landwash on the way over.” Adelia’s familiar expression was accompanied by a broad smile. She took it from the paper bag. “I’ll start shaking the can, and you tell me the whole story from the time you left here. Don’t leave out anything. I especially want to hear what they wore.” Adelia shook the small white can of cream in rhythm with the rocking of the chair.

  “It was a lovely evening. The hosts were Sandi’s godparents, Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon, and Joe’s godparents, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards. But the party was held at Kurt and Jaclyn’s house, I suppose because it’s so big. I’ll describe that later. They look like movie stars, the pair of them, but very kind and sincere. They really made me feel welcome. I also met Kurt’s parents. Adelia, wait until I tell you about them. Their names are Catherine and Christian Steffensen. Both doctors. Not medical. They were professors at the university in Halifax.” Hannah filled the kettle, flicked the switch, and settled back at the kitchen table. Her friend listened intently as Hannah told her all the details—who was there and what they wore. Adelia interrupted to ask the occasional question and to praise Hannah for handling Caroline Kavanagh so smoothly.