The Lauderhill Legacy

Chapter 1 - Present Day

The wind suddenly kicked up and the brace of beleaguered pallbearers staggered for a few steps up the precarious rise of frozen ground to the site of the freshly dug grave. Their burden rocked unceremoniously with each step due to the disparity in height of the six individuals, and there was a mixed feeling among them of guilt and humour.

Huddled beneath upturned collars and scarves, faces turned away from the bite of the intermittent blasts of stinging wind. Friends and family of the deceased stood dutifully around the waiting hole, shivering as the cortège muscled the coffin into position. The hired minister gazed with wind-teared eyes at the gathering as the casket finally arrived and was set to rest upon the brass rails over the grave.

He began to intone the stock phrases of the ritual, the words blurred as another wind gust swept small snow pillars across the open ground like children loose among the adults leaving the mourners clutching at one another for support.

With a quick tempo and a mercifully short eulogy, the minister for hire completed the graveside service, oversaw the lowering of the casket, and fairly raced past the family row with abrupt murmurs of sympathy, before dashing across the snow-crusted lawn to his limo.

All were invited, and many returned to the home of the deceased for a post funeral, societal partaking of solemn tributes, drinks, and finger food. Several of the relatives carted armloads of coats to a back bedroom, heaping them dangerously high on the single bed then repeated the drill with dripping boots and shoes out onto the back porch.

Other relatives and some neighbours, busily handed off paper plates of tea sandwiches and baked goods to the line shuffling past the dining room table. Men commandeered the study, enjoying cigars and alcohol, shunted out of the eating areas by those who frowned upon the thick haze that was creeping over the living room.

The children, who had remained at the house under the lax scrutiny of an elderly neighbour, had discovered the basement and all the mysteriously wonderful things that dusty old cellars were famous for, and even when the adults returned, remained huddled about the musty old trunk they'd dragged from behind the furnace.

Ryan Wilder, the eldest at fourteen, supervised the opening of the stiff leather box found inside, and with the superiority of age, commanded the others to keep their hands off the contents. Tim, Ryan's younger brother and youngest of the four in the group, stared with wonder at the collection inside the box, itching to pick the items up but not wanting his girl cousins to think he was too young to be trusted.

Sarah, the oldest girl, and almost the same age as Ryan, nudged her sister, Becky, and thrust an interested nose toward the items. There were packets of paper tied with ribbons, and a pair of handbags covered with elaborate beading in intricate patterns. Two or three small boxes stacked like bricks at one end and a broken peacock feather, the 'eye' staring blankly up from beside a plaid jacket.

"Why do you suppose Belinda kept those?" Sarah wondered.

As adopted sisters to Ryan and Tim, the girls always felt awkward calling Belinda, grandmother and so Carol, their stepmother, allowed them to use her first name as well as her own.

"Beats me," Ryan shrugged. "She must have had some reason though, otherwise why pack them away like this?"

"There's an envelope underneath," Becky pointed out. "Maybe that'll tell us something."

Ryan carefully lifted the yellowed envelope from beneath the collection of items and groaned as bits of dried paper fluttered into the box.

"Be careful!" Sarah exclaimed.

"I am! It's just all so dry."

They all jumped with fright when one of the adults called down the stairs for them to get up out of there, and swiftly, they closed the trunk and pushed it back against the wall.

"Rats. I wanted to see what it said." Becky complained as they trudged up to the main floor.

"Shhh, maybe we can get down again later. Don't say a word—anyone. Promise?" Ryan paused before entering the kitchen. They all nodded, crossing their hearts.

Lucinda Wolverleigh held folded hands beneath her ample bosom, giving the children a stern but kindly look as they filed past into the kitchen and accepted the obligatory scolding from their busy parents.

"Take these plates and go and get some food. And don't spill on the furniture."

Ryan's mother handed her two sons plates, serviettes and plastic forks then, with a more kindly attitude, did the same for Sarah and Becky. "Don't you let those two get you into trouble now. They shouldn't have been sneaking around Grandma Belinda's house."

"We weren't sneaking, Carol. Honest." Becky did her wide-eyed, innocent look and was gratified by her stepmother's softening features.

"Fine, dear. Go and have some food now."

The banished smokers drank and chatted noisily, ignoring the reason for their exile. It was here that the deceased's closest male relative leaned uncomfortably against the panelled wall, accepting lip service condolences. Walter Hayes was a single, thirty-eight-year-old male with an enviable crown of light brown hair, green eyes and a superhero jaw line.

He sipped his drink, nodding his thanks as the men filed past uttering generic best wishes, wishing they would all bugger off and let him crash with his feet up. The death of his great aunt at the staggering age of ninety-eight had required not only the usual final rest attention, but also an assault by the local press for photos and sound bytes. The remarkable life she had led – besides its longevity and the fact she was a millionaire, drew them like flies to honey.

Walter excused himself and headed out to the kitchen just as the children were filing past with their plates.

"Hi, Walter, can we ask you a question?" The four children surrounded him leaving little choice.

"Sure. What is it?"

"What did Aunt Belinda do?"

"Do? What do you mean?"

"Did she ever work?"

Walter looked at the interested faces and felt suddenly that this was a timely and needed diversion from the ritual taking place among the adults.

"Let me get a plate of food and we'll go out to the back porch."

The children were seated in a semicircle on the thick rug in front of the only chair, which Walter automatically took, settling down and taking a sip from his beer. The porch was behind the kitchen, built of a combination of siding and screen by a neighbour many years ago. The wood floor now sloped slightly to one side as the house settled, but it had been Belinda's favourite spot for just ruminating.

Walter took another sip and settled comfortably in the old wicker chair.