The Wallet
As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a
wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it
up and looked inside to find some identification so
I could call the owner. But the wallet contained
only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked
as if it had been in there for years.
The envelope was worn and the only thing that was
legible on it was the return address. I started to
open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I
saw the dateline--1924. The letter had been written
almost sixty years ago. It was written in a
beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue
stationery with a little flower in the left-hand
corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the
recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that
the writer could not see him any more because her
mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would
always love him. It was signed, Hannah. It was a
beautiful letter, but there was no way except for
the name Michael, that the owner could be
identified. Maybe if I called information, the
operator could find a phone listing for the address
on the envelope.
"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request.
I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet that I
found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a
phone number for an address that was on an envelope
in the wallet?"
She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who
hesitated for a moment then said, "Well, there is a
phone listing at that address, but I can't give you
the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call
that number, explain my story and would ask them if
they wanted her to connect me. I waited a few
minutes and then she was back on the line. "I have a
party who will speak with you."
I asked the woman on the other end of the line if
she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped,
"Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a
daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!"
"Would you know where that family could be located
now?" I asked.
"I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in
a nursing home some years ago," the woman said.
"Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be
able to track down the daughter." She gave me the
name of the nursing home and I called the number.
They told me the old lady had passed away some
years ago but they did have a phone number for where
they thought the daughter might be living. I thanked
them and phoned. The woman who answered explained
that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing
home.
This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself.
Why was I making such a big deal over finding the
owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and a
letter that was almost 60 years old? Nevertheless, I
called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed
to be living and the man who answered the phone told
me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us. "
Even though it was already 10pm, I asked if I could
come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly,
"if you want to take a chance, she might be in the
day room watching television."
I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home.
The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door.
We went up to the third floor of the large building.
In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah.
She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm
smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about
finding the wallet and showed her the letter.
The second she saw the powder blue envelope with
that little flower on the left, she took a deep
breath and said, "Young man, this letter was the
last contact I ever had with Michael." She looked
away for a moment deep in thought and then said
softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at
the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he
was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the
actor."
"Yes," she continued. "Michael Goldstein was a
wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I
think of him often. And," she hesitated for a
moment, almost biting her lip, "tell him I still
love him. You know,"she said smiling as tears began
to well up in her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess
no one ever matched up to Michael..."
I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the
elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the
door, the guard there asked, "Was the old lady able
to help you?" I told him she had given me a lead.
"At least I have a last name. But I think I'll let
it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day
trying to find the owner of this wallet."
I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple
brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When
the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute!
That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere
with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that
wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least
three times."
"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to
shake.
"He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor.
That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must
have lost it on one of his walks." I thanked the
guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's office. I
told her what the guard had said. We went back to
the elevator and got on.
I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up. On the
eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's
still in the day room. He likes to read at night.
He's a darling old man."
We went to the only room that had any lights on and
there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over
to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr.
Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in
his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"
This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered
if it could be yours?" I handed Mr. Goldstein the
wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with
relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have
dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to
give you a reward."
"No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you
something. I read the letter in the hope of finding
out who owned the wallet." The smile on his face
suddenly disappeared. "You read that letter?"
"Not only did I read it, I think I know where
Hannah is." He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know
where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as
she was? Please, please tell me," he begged.
"She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her."
I said softly. The old man smiled with anticipation
and asked, "Could you tell me where she is? I want
to call her tomorrow." He grabbed my hand and
said,"You know something, mister, I was so in love
with that girl that when that letter came, my life
literally ended. I never married. I guess I've
always loved her. "
"Mr. Goldstein," I said, "Come with me." We took
the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways
were darkened and only one or two little
night-lights lit our way to the day room where
Hannah was sitting alone watching the television.
The nurse walked over to her.
"Hannah," she said softly, pointing to Michael, who
was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know
this man?" She adjusted her glasses, looked for a
moment, but didn't say a word. Michael said softly,
almost in a whisper, "Hannah, it's Michael. Do you
remember me?"
She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael!
It's you! My Michael!" He walked slowly towards her
and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears
streaming down our faces. "See," I said. "See how
the Good Lord works! If it's meant to be, it will
be."
About three weeks later I got a call at my office
from the nursing home. "Can you break away on Sunday
to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to
tie the knot!" It was a beautiful wedding with all
the people at the nursing home dressed up to join in
the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and
looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and
stood tall. They made me their best man. The
hospital gave them their own room and if you ever
wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old
groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this
couple. A perfect ending for a love affair that had
lasted nearly 60 years.
everlasting love
Originally Posted by yvonne6
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