Lost Wallet

A LETTER IN THE LOST 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. "