The McLeod Urn

It all started with a simple dare but the aftermath would leave its indelible marks on us all.

We were a rambunctious lot for the most part, an odd motley of adolescents from the robust McLeod clan. Like the tributaries feeding a great river, there seemed to me a branch of the

McLeod's everywhere I looked. The family had done well with my Uncle Rob widely regarded as the head. Well apparently. Insiders knew that no major decision was executed without our Nan’s seal of approval. Rob had married well, his Cara came from a wealthy Spanish family, without doubt an exotic prize. Whichever way

one cut it, the balance of power lay with our branch.

Indeed for me, it was ‘our' branch. My Ma had long since been

cast as the family black sheep, her waywardness unprecedented. I was the first-fruits of her many escapades and was quite without moorings until Uncle Rob brought me under his wing. Whatever slurs were bandied freely about town were silenced into nothingness at the gates of the family homestead. Originally

built by our great- grandfather, bits and pieces had been added over the years until it became a grand imposing affair, sprawled over the hillside. It was the setting for frequent clan gatherings and a favorite haunt of all the grandchildren.

There was the expansive courtyard, the main entry to old house lined with curious artifacts and eccentricities of eras gone by. There was a rather gloomy hallway, narrow and suffocating, lined with portraits of our forebears. The portraits were a source

of discontent to Cara, lover of all things beautiful. To dispose of them however was unthinkable. Our Nan for one, would have none of it though she seemed terrified by them, crossing herself as she made her way to her usual spot in the courtyard beside a great urn.

This urn had been in the family forever, passed down through generations of McLeod matriarchy. It had been given to Cara as a wedding gift. It was a curious unwieldy thing, rather ugly

in fact but one kept such sentiments to oneself. I knew Cara secretly detested it and was only too relieved to let Nan reclaim it. There was an almost fetish-like quality to it. Other oddities were present as well. The elders still kept to strange customs

as they stepped over the threshold but we were a new breed, embracing modern ways, firmly in pursuit of the joie de vivre. Irreverently, we tore through the grounds without a care in the world. That was to change however, as a series of events was would soon cast a pall over us.

Like any large family, a unified front was presented to outsiders but there were internal fissures, testament to lingering rivalries of the surviving children now grown up with families of their own. The unspoken quest for dominance percolated, seeping out

in even the most mundane pursuits. Older by far than my brood of cousins but robbed of equal standing by my mother's notoriety, I consented to become the pacifier, mediating whatever quarrel sprang up among our oft unruly bunch.

We were constantly looking for ways to amuse ourselves. Erin, one of the more strong-willed lasses came up with a proposal. It all seemed easy enough, we were to pry off the lid on the mysterious

urn in the courtyard, examine its contents away from Nan’s constant scrutiny. On the fateful day, we woke up early and stealthily carried on as planned. There was a problem however as the lid encrusted with dust and grease over time simply refused to budge. We had just about given up when the unthinkable

happened.

The ancient vase tumbled before our unbelieving eyes. In all my years at the homestead it had scarcely been moved, yet here it lay shattered, broken fragments strewn across the cobblestones. A pungent, dry smell permeated. Horrified as we were by the loss

of the heirloom, there was worse to come. Littered among the shards were tightly wound parchments bound with what seemed like human bones.  A deathly silence ensued only broken when Nan scurried into the yard. At once she began to wail. Things happened in a blur after that. The adults appeared from

nowhere and we were ordered to our rooms. Too late! The damage had been already done. It was all hushed up but our impressionable minds had already been branded with what we had seen.

We tried to piece the truth together. The parchments turned out to be title deeds dating back to my great-grandfather’s era. There was a ring engraved with the emblem of a family with roots in the area and the name 'Gaston'. Vaguely I remember folklore about

a wealthy young heir drowning in the lake. From the recesses of my memory I dredge up Ma in a drunken fit rambling about sinister family secrets. I wonder again how she knew, how much anyone knew for that matter. What must my great-grandmother been thinking as her station in life changed yet knowing it

came at terrible cost?  I think of Nan crossing herself as she passed the portraits, bound by silence. I think of the damage inflicted on my happy-go-lucky cousins, their sleep broken by incessant nightmares.

The first lines have appeared in Nick's face, his usual bluster and bravado absent. He hasn't said much to Erin since, probably ruing the day she coerced us in the yard. Uncle Rob has tried to do some damage control but with numerous servants someone is bound to

say something. Already there are whispers. I look across the long dining table at Cara. She is proud, that one, a true blue blood. Her back is stiffened, the set can be seen in the line of her back. She is either unable or unwilling to admit she is presiding over stolen fortune. But then I suspect there are skeletons rattling on her family tree too. Perhaps being exposed to scandal from infancy has made me hardier than most.

One thing I do know for sure, the days of ease are long gone.