The Jade Necklace

I couldn’t take my eyes off the sparkling green gems that encircled the woman’s neck. Wearing the traditional Indian saree, the woman was wrapped in silk glistening with bright colours and gold threads. But it was the jewelry that caught my eye. She had multiple strands of various gems encircling her neck and her arms were covered with bracelets of all manners of size and description. To put it simply, she was stunning to look at. To my benefit, the woman and her husband were our house guests for the next week. She insisted I address her by her first name, Priya, which means beautiful. Mom wasn’t too pleased with the impersonal approach of someone of my tender years of eight using an adult’s first name in conversation. To her credit, Mom didn’t make a fuss; she went along. Priya and her husband were missionaries visiting from India. Priya had lived her entire life in Bombay, that is until she met her husband, a Canadian working at a children’s mission near her home. The two became a working team. Against her parents’ wishes, Priya married her Canadian missionary partner, and the two were now visiting Canada, campaigning to raise funds for their work overseas. Mom was always supportive of missionaries and she knew the husband through other missionary friends. They needed somewhere to stay while in Canada and Mom offered our home. “Do you like jewelry?” Priya asked me. I nodded my head, still too shy to speak with this dazzling woman before me. She smiled and reached out her hands to me. “Do not be afraid.” She seemed to sense my hesitation. I took hold of her hands and felt a chill as the intense cold of her skin permeated my own. She was not accustomed to our climate and even though it was spring, it still wasn’t very warm. I didn’t think her outfit offered much warmth, but she put on a brave face and resisted shivering in the cold. Letting go of my hands, she reached up behind her neck and proceeded to unfasten one of the necklaces. “Hold out your hands,” she instructed in her gentle, lyrical voice. I did as I was told, and she laid the necklace across my hands. “Oh!” I crooned. “It’s lovely.” I studied the tiny deep green gems set in silver pockets and linked together by a silver chain. I ran my fingers over the length of the strand, feeling the smooth texture of the tiny gems. “You like it?” Priya asked. I nodded my head. “Yes.” “Let me place it around your neck.” She retrieved the necklace that I was still holding and leaned in to wrap it around my neck. “Hold up your hair,” she said. I had long braids that always frayed by the end of the day, leaving strands of hair sticking out in all directions. I did my best to pull up my braids. “There we go,” she said, having snapped the fastener together behind my neck. I dropped my braids and felt the cold metal against my skin. I ran my fingers over the necklace again, now draped around my neck. “Go look in the hall mirror.” I didn’t need to be told twice. I popped up and dashed to the hall to have a look. When I returned, she said, “It suits you. The gems are Jade. It is a powerful gem and assures the bearer of longevity and wisdom as well as enhancing one’s creativity and imagination.” I wasn’t sure about the longevity powers, but I understood wisdom, creativity, and imagination. I also understood how good it felt on my neck and how pretty it was. I had other necklaces, but this one had some special hold on me. Reluctantly, I reached back to unfasten the hook to return the necklace. Priya held up her hands. “No. You keep it. The necklace suits you. It was obviously meant to be yours.” Mom entered the room at that moment. “Oh no! She couldn’t keep that,” she protested.

“Yes. I have others. Emily must have this one.” “That’s very kind of you,” Mom admitted. “It is a lovely necklace.” “It matches her eyes,” Priya proclaimed. “And her heart. I sense it. Wear it and think of me whenever you wear it.” “What do you say, Emily?” Mom really didn’t need to prod me, as I was about to give my thanks. “Thank you,” I spoke softly, but with sincerity. “I shall wear it tomorrow with my new dress. May I, Mom?” I turned to my mother for affirmation. She nodded. “Yes, of course.” I wore it the next day and many times after. I still have the necklace in my jewelry box and I frequently take it out, wondering whatever happened to Priya, the kind Indian lady who stayed with us that one time. I don’t think my parents ever heard from her again either. But I haven’t forgotten Priya. I continue to cherish the necklace she gave me.

Emily-Jane Hills Orford is a country writer, living just outside the tiny community of North Gower, Ontario, near the Canada’s capital city: Ottawa. With degrees in art history, music and Canadian studies, the retired music teacher enjoys the quiet nature of her country home and the inspiration of working at her antique Jane Austen-style spinet desk, feeling quite complete as she writes and stares out the large picture window at the birds and the forest. She writes in several genres, including creative nonfiction, memoir, fantasy, and historical fiction. http://emilyjanebooks.ca