A Love Story.
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 10 p.m., 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 secondshe saw the powder blue
envelope with that little flower on the left, she tooka
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 youshould find him, tell him I
think of him often. And," she hesitated for amoment,
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.
Wow!
Dats all I can say.
Wow
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