Chapter 1
The manila envelope came on a Tuesday. Becky nearly tossed it into the recycling, mistaking it for another charity appeal or a subscription renewal. The envelope was stiff, and sealed with a smudge of red wax that flaked under her thumb. The handwriting was tight and looping, old-fashioned.
She opened it at the kitchen counter. The name inside didn’t mean much, Elias Whelan, second cousin once removed, but the letter was clear. He died last month. No family left, no children. But Becky had been mentioned in his will.
An item had been sent to her. Nothing of value, the lawyer had assured in dry legalese. Just an heirloom. A pendant.
The box that had been in the manila envelope with the letter sat on her dining room table. It was no bigger than a jewelry gift box, but surprisingly heavy. It was beautifully crafted out of polished wood and had a metal clasp. When she opened it, the scent of cedar and something metallic drifted out.
Inside on a cushion of black velvet was a silver pendant.
It was colder than it should’ve been, even in her warm hands. Etched into its surface was a detailed motif: a wolf, mouth slightly open, its teeth turned toward the moon engraved above it. The artistry was delicate. The eyes of the wolf were decorated with tiny black jewels. Obsidian, maybe. On the back, an inscription:
“Cosnaíonn na mac tíre ár gcuid fola”
She didn’t recognize the language, but it resonated with her. Becky tried to say it outloud, undoubtedly butchering the pronunciation.
Becky reread the letter and then looked back at the pendant with a shrug. It didn’t look valuable in the monetary sense, but it felt personal. She wondered why this far away cousin had sent it to her.
The beep of her electric kettle drew her attention, and she set the pendant back in its box gently. She left the lid off as she made a pot of tea, feeling like the black eyes of the wolf were watching her.
Becky couldn’t pinpoint why it made her feel uneasy. It was silly. It was just a necklace.
She poured a cup and added some sugar to the mug. Sipping it, Becky picked the pendant back up to prove to herself that it was just a lump of metal.
The chain was surprisingly long, like it was made to be worn by a man. As she held it up to the light, the pendant spun lazily, casting shadows on the wall that looked far larger than they should have.
Becky hadn’t worn jewelry in years. Not since the kids left, not since she stopped going out except for groceries and work. But on a strange impulse, she slipped the pendant over her head.
The chain was cool, the pendant settling right below her collarbone. It felt heavier there than in her hand as if it had found its place.
Becky jumped as a distant howl carried through the open window.
What was that? She looked out the window to see her usually quiet neighborhood in the morning. Her street was empty. No big dogs nearby. No wild coyotes. Just her neighbor’s elderly terrier napping on the porch. Certainly nothing that would make that sound.
Still, Becky swore something had changed. Something subtle.
She touched the pendant.
It was warm now, and pulsed as if it had a heartbeat.
Becky shook her head and tried to focus on preparing her lunch for later. She put leftover spaghetti in a lunchbox with a few snacks and her water bottle. Within an hour, she was wearing scrubs, black sneakers, and had her hair in a bun. She pulled out of the driveway in her car and headed toward rush hour traffic.
The drive to the clinic was slow. Becky didn’t mind much. The radio played a soft oldies station, and she sipped her tea. Her eyes drifted occasionally to the rearview mirror on habit for that familiar car seats and backpacks that once filled the back.
Now, it was just a tote bag with her stethoscope.
At a red light, she adjusted the pendant under her collar. It had cooled slightly since the morning, no longer pulsing, but she still felt a strange weight against her chest.
She parked in the employee lot, slid on her name badge, and stepped into the brightly lit pediatric clinic. The walls were painted a cheery yellow, cartoon animals dancing along the border. Children’s laughter echoed from an exam room, followed by a sniffle and the gentle murmur of a parent’s voice.
“Morning, Becky!” Clara, one of the younger nurses, breezed by, holding a clipboard. “New necklace? It’s cool.”
Becky touched it reflexively. “Oh, uh… yeah. It was a gift, sort of. From a distant relative.”
“Nice. Looks like something from a fantasy movie. Oh, by the way,” Clara added, spinning on her heel, “don’t forget the fundraiser bake sale’s this Friday. Dr. Kwan is having me remind everyone. This year we’re collecting donations for juvenile ataxia research.”
“Okay,” Becky said, already mentally going through her recipe box. “I can make some lemon squares. Or maybe banana bread.”
“Oh definitely the lemon squares,” Clara said and disappeared down the hall.
Becky watched her go, a pang curling in her chest. She liked Clara. She was young, upbeat, always talking about weekend plans with her kids or new books she was reading. Becky used to be like that once.
She tucked her clipboard under one arm as she made her way to the nurses’ station. Her morning was quickly filled with routine checks, immunizations, and paperwork. Around mid-morning, she was paged into Exam Room 3.
Inside was six-year-old Hannah, sitting cross-legged on the crinkly paper of the exam table, a stuffed cow clutched in her lap. Her face was blotchy from crying, and her mother sat nearby, looking frazzled.
“She was fine this morning,” the mother was saying. “Then the rash just popped up out of nowhere.”
Becky crouched beside the table, keeping her voice soft. “Hey there, Hannah. I love your cow. What’s her name?”
The girl sniffled and rubbed her nose. “Moo.”
“Moo,” said Becky with a gentle smile. “That’s very appropriate. Now I’m going to listen to your heart, okay?”
Hannah nodded.
“Okay,” Becky said. “Here comes the cold part.”
As she moved the stethoscope to the child’s chest, she glanced down. The silver wolf pendant peeked from beneath her collar, and little Hannah’s eyes caught it.
“I like your necklace. Does it have a name?” the girl asked.
Becky blinked. “Um…Woof?”
Hanna giggled and the sound put both Becky and her mother at ease.
By the time Dr. Kwan came in to examine the rash more thoroughly, the little girl had relaxed, even offering Moo for a check-up. Becky gave Moo a tiny pat on the head before slipping out to her next patient.
During her lunch break, she sat in the staff lounge picking at her spaghetti. Her phone buzzed with a message from her daughter: Sorry Mom, super busy, can’t call this week. Love you! A few heart emojis softened the sting, but only a little.
Becky stared at the screen before texting back Okay. Love you too.
Her daughter was halfway across the country with a boyfriend, dog, and career. Her son was busy in college, over six hours away. She was incredibly proud of both of them and looked forward to holidays when they came home and filled her home with noise. Her daughter’s boyfriend had come the last time and it seemed their relationship was getting serious.
She remembered when they were both Hanna’s age. They kept her on her toes back then, but their constant energy had also filled her life. Now the house was still. Quiet. Most days, she wasn’t sure what to do with all that silence.
The pendant warmed as if sensing her emotions. She reached up, fingers brushing it beneath her scrubs.
“Weird little thing,” she murmured.
By the time she got home, the sun had begun to dip below the trees. She kicked off her sneakers, tossed her keys into the ceramic dish by the door, and wandered into the living room.
With a tired sigh, Becky pulled an old storage bin from the coat closet. Dust clung to the lid, and the plastic creaked as she opened it. Photo albums, some birthday cards, a few old drawings from the kids when they were small.
She flipped one album open and scanned the pages. She flipped through her parents’ wedding, pictures of her as a baby, the childhood dog, Halloween costumes over the years.
Then she paused at a black-and-white photograph that frayed at the edges.
A man stood in front of a wooded cabin, a hunting rifle slung across his chest. He looked like someone from another time with rough clothes and a wild beard.
Becky squinted, noticing something against his neck.
It was the same wolf motif. Clear as day.
A scribbled note on the back read:
“Elias Whelan, Spring 1952.”
“Why did you send me this Elias?” Becky said aloud to the photo. “How did you know me?”
That night, Becky fell asleep on the couch with the photo still in her lap and the pendant against her skin.
