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.
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
with a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30
years ago!"
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 only had three dollars
and a letter that was almost 60 years old?
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.
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..."
"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.
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 the
letter?" "Not only did I read it, I think I know
where Hannah is."
He grabbed my hand and said, "You know
something, mister, I was so in love with that
girl that when the letter came, my life
literally ended. I never married. I guess I've
always loved her."
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?"
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 stunning. 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.
As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on
a wallet someone had lost on the street. I
picked it up and looked inside to find some kind
of 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
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 a powder blue stationary 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 anymore because her
mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she
would always love him. It was signed,
Hannah.
"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual
request. I'm trying to find the owner of a
wallet I found. Is there any way 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 ask them
if they wanted her to contact me. I waited a few
minutes and then she was back on the line. "I
have a party who will speak with you."
"Would you know where that family would 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.
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 the chance, she might be in the day room
watching television.
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."
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 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."
On the eighth floor, the 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?"
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."
"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.
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."