"Brief History of a Necklace" - February Short Story Challenge - #2

 February Short Story Challenge #2

"Brief History of a Necklace"

 

The necklace was first held by its maker. He had fashioned it in all of its fine, golden-linked, delicate beauty, had made it as nothing more than a little gift for a daughter he was yet to meet. The first time it warmed to human touch was in that man’s hands.

The man’s hands were rough and big, but far from clumsy. He had a history of making fine, delicate things. He had never made one for someone he knew. Someone he cared for.

That was curious, wasn’t it? That after over a decade of toiling away in his shop and making the most beautiful jewelry for those who could afford the stylish pieces, who often walked in with an idea in mind and the money required to motivate a man to see it through – that in all those years he had never once thought to gift someone he loved a golden piece of their own.

It was a simple gold chain. It would look beautiful on her neck. It was the least he could do for her, after so many years.

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The necklace found its way to the daughter in a box. The box was left on the steps to her front door, though the deliverer disappeared very soon after knocking upon it. It came with a letter, the young woman saw, and she opened it curiously, read its contents, of which there were many, in the privacy of her home – which was a good thing, because the contents made her feel a range of emotions that she had never before considered. It was the first and last contact she would ever receive from her father, for his shame kept him from her, and he had nothing to offer her, he wrote, apart from this modest piece that she would make her own.

The second time the necklace warmed to human touch was in her hands – and then many times again, for she did make it her own, hanging on it a simple emerald gem and wearing it almost every day since.

Though she did not know how to meet her father, or where to send her own letter to, she wished she could tell him that she treasured this small golden chain – cherished it because her father had gifted her it, and because she knew at last why he had been so distant and only ever wished he wouldn’t be still.

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Time passed, and the daughter had a child of her own – a man, who could not wear gold, for it was forbidden for men to wear gold. She showed him the necklace and explained to him – shared with him, as it went from her hands to his – the story, the hopes. One day, she said, his daughter might wear it.

And one day, she did.

The girl was lovely, but she grew to be spoiled despite the best efforts of her parents – not because they spoiled her, but because she came to understand that the world was only worth living in if she had the bountiful wealth that would provide her with the finest things. She came to this understanding from watching others who were so wrapped up in the world that they had forgotten their true purpose. She became a lotus-eater, too, for once she had tasted the life, even through proxy, she became as careless as she was lovely.

That the necklace came to her was a tragedy, but it had been destined for her, and when something has been destined, it will reach its destination. She wore the necklace only a few times, but it was small and made her unhappy, because she wanted bigger, fancier, shinier pieces adorning her neck – pieces that turned a person’s head - for what was life if not the success that came from being better?

When she married, it was to a man who had made his wealth with questionable means, despite her parents’ disapproval. The necklace was forgotten for many years, neglected in an old wooden box hidden at the back of one of her drawers. The husband’s questionable means soon dried up, and the woman, whose father and mother were already in the ground, found herself alone and in regret.

She found the necklace one night as she packed, ready to leave the house begotten by a husband that should have never been, and held it to her as she sat on the floor, rocking back and forth in silent fear, for she could not understand what she was destined for anymore, and perhaps she never had.

The necklace made a reappearance in her hands one last time – and this time, she was a completely different woman. Older and wiser, and softened by the kindness of family she never knew she had – the family the maker of the necklace had chosen to be there for – though this she would never realize, as they lived apart from him, and could only visit him when time and money afforded it. 

As she lived with them and learned from them, she became lovelier and lovelier, until the carelessness erased itself, and she realized how foolish she had been to pursue riches and pleasures when they would not pursue her deep into the ground.

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A half-aunt had a daughter – a feisty, troublesome little thing. She screamed and cried and kicked, even as tiny as she was, but it was with the necklace that she came to be calmed. She would watch her mother slowly wave the golden necklace above her, and make up her mind to be quiet and reach for it, to finally grab hold of that curious, shiny green thing hanging on the end of it. It hung upon her bed at night, and she would watch it for hours until sleep came over her.

When she grew older, she wore the necklace, and so it was that one day she was wearing it when she went to visit her great-grandfather, who had been blessed with a long life. 

She was still tiny then, still wobbling on her chubby legs, and when she made her way to the old man who was undoubtedly on the other edge of life and held her arms out to him, he lifted her with brittle strength and to her great pleasure took great pride in the most beautiful granddaughter in the work – though that, he winked, was to remain between the two of them, for it would do no good to invoke the Evil Eye.

And as he held her up, the necklace dropped out of her collar, and hung above him like a miracle, and he recognized it – his craftsmanship, his care, the love and work he had put into it – immediately, and was overjoyed that his daughter had found her way to him at last.