Chapter 131: My Name in the Ledger

I went into the pack house and up the stairs to the Alpha's office and I shut the door and I sat down in the chair and I opened the co-op ledger to the page before the page with the seventy-one names.

There was another page.

It was in my mother's hand and it was dated the fourth of March, 1953, and it was not a list of names and it was not a co-op entry.

It was a contract.

It said: I, Mary Halloran, of the Palouse Ridge pack, agree to give my firstborn daughter to the Council of Alphas on the day of her birth. The Council will raise her in Boise and will give her the name of the Luna and will keep her from the founders' line until the full moon of her twenty-sixth year. In exchange the Council will leave my family in this territory and will not take the land and will not take my son.

And at the bottom of the page there was a signature in my mother's hand and a signature in the chief clerk's hand and a date.

The fourth of March, 1953.

I sat in the chair.

I was born on the fourth of March, 1953.

The office was quiet.

I read it again. And again. And again.

And then I stood up and went out of the office and down the stairs and out into the square with the ledger in my hand.

“Wren,” June said. “What is it?”

I put the ledger on the rail.

“Read it,” I said.

She read it.

And then she put her hand over her mouth.

“Wren,” she said.

“It is my name,” I said. “It is my birth date and it is my mother’s hand and it is the chief clerk’s hand and it is a contract. My mother gave me to the Council before I was born.”

The square was silent.

“She gave me to the Council and the Council was going to raise me in Boise and give me the name of the Luna and keep me from the founders’ line until the full moon of my twenty-sixth year.” I put my hand on the rail. “And I was born in this territory and I was raised in this territory and I never went to Boise. So the contract was not carried out.”

“Why not?” June said.

“Because the Council did not come for me.” I looked at the page. “The contract was signed in March and I was born in March and the Council was supposed to come for me and it did not. And my mother kept me and she raised me and she never told me.”

I sat down on the steps.

And then Silas came forward with his folder.

“Alpha,” he said. “I have been going through the Council’s file on your family since the day I came to this territory. And there is a thing in the file that explains it.” He opened the folder. “The contract was filed in Boise on the fourth of March, 1953. And on the fifth of March, 1953, the chief clerk wrote a letter to the Council of Alphas that said the contract had been made with a Luna of the Palouse and that the child was to be taken to Boise and raised in the Council’s house.” He put the paper down. “And on the sixth of March, 1953, the Council of Alphas wrote back and said the contract was void because the Council does not take children.”

I sat on the steps.

“The Council of Alphas voided it,” I said.

“The Council of Alphas voided it,” Silas said. “And the chief clerk did not tell your mother. He told her the contract stood and he told her that the Council would come for you when you were of age and he used the contract to keep her quiet for twenty-two years.” He put his hand on the rail. “She thought the Council owned you. She thought the Council could come for you at any time and take you to Boise and there was nothing she could do. And she paid the rent and she kept the family out of the records and she never told you because she was afraid that if you knew you would run and the Council would catch you and take you.”

I put my hand over my mouth.

“She was not selling me,” I said.

“She was not selling you,” Silas said. “She was buying your life. She signed a paper that said she would give you to the Council and the Council voided the paper and she never knew and she spent twenty-two years paying rent on land she owned to keep a contract that did not exist.”

I sat on the steps.

“Where is the letter?” I said. “The letter from the Council of Alphas that says the contract is void.”

Silas took a paper out of the folder and held it out.

I read it.

It was short and it was in a hand I did not know and it was signed by four Alphas and it said the Council of Alphas does not take children and the contract is void.

And at the bottom there was a note in the chief clerk’s hand.

It said: The mother is not to be told. The contract stands as leverage. The child is to be watched.

I sat on the steps with the paper in my hand.

And then June said, “Wren. There is a thing at the bottom of the page. Under the chief clerk’s note. It is in a different hand.”

I looked.

There was a note at the bottom of the page and it was in a hand I had seen before and it was dated 1953 and it was signed with the initials E. R.

It said: I have watched the child since the day she was born. She is the fourth daughter’s line and she is the Luna and she is not to be taken to Boise. I have told the chief clerk that the child is dead and he has written it in the register and he will not look for her again. The mother will keep her and the mother will not know.

I sat on the steps.

“Erik Renn,” I said. “Erik Renn told the Council I was dead.”

“Erik Renn told the Council you were dead,” Silas said. “And he wrote it in the register and the chief clerk believed him and the Council believed him and the whole of it has been in the file since 1953.” He put his hand on the rail. “And there is one more thing. The note says he has watched the child since the day she was born. And there is a line under it. It says he has watched her because her mother asked him to.”

I looked up.

“Her mother asked him to,” I said.

“Her mother asked him to,” Silas said. “Your mother went to Erik Renn in 1953 and she asked him to keep you out of the Council’s hands. And he did. He has been watching you for twenty-six years.”

The square was silent.

And then a wolf came out of the crowd.

It was Elias. He was standing at the back of the square with his side wrapped and his face gray and his hands at his sides.

“Wren,” he said. “There is a thing I have to tell you. About your mother. About Erik Renn. About the whole of it.”

I stood up.

“Say it,” I said.

“I knew your mother,” Elias said. “Not in the churchyard in 1968. Before that. In 1953. I was there when she signed the contract.”

The square was silent.