A wallet

[Dhagax-Tuur]

I do not want get in the way....

 

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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 ****** , 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 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.

 

================================SOURCE: WWW.SPIRITUAL-ENDEAVORS.ORG/STORIES/

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Destiny, ei?

 

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And now..............

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AN ACT OF KINDNESS:

 

He was driving home one evening, on a two-lane country road. Work, in this small mid-western community, was almost as slow as his beat-up Pontiac. But he never quit looking. Ever since the Levis factory closed, he'd been unemployed, and with winter raging on, the chill had finally hit home. It was a lonely road. Not very many people had a reason to be on it, unless they were leaving. Most of his friends had already left. They had families to feed and dreams to fulfill. But he stayed on. After all, this was where he buried his mother and father. He was born here and knew the country.

 

He could go down this road blind, and tell you what was on either side, and with his headlights not working, that came in handy. It was starting to get dark and light snow flurries were coming down. He'd better get a move on. You know, he almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.

 

Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe, he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill that only fear can put in you. He said, "I'm here to help you m'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm. By the way, my name is Joe."

 

Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough Joe crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt. As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down her window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid. Joe just smiled as he closed her trunk.

 

She asked him how much she owed him. Any amount would have been alright with her. She had already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Joe never thought twice about the money. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way. He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance that they needed, and Joe added "...and think of me".

 

He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight. A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The cash register was like the telephone of an out of work actor, it didn't ring much.

 

Her waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed that the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Joe.

 

After the lady finished her meal, and the waitress went to get her change from a hundred dollar bill, the lady slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. She wondered where the lady could be, then she noticed something written on a napkin. There were tears in her eyes, when she read what the lady wrote. It said, "You don't owe me a thing, I've been there too. Someone once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here's what you do. Don't let the chain of love end with you."

 

Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could she have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard. She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's gonna be alright, I love you Joe."

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