En søt historie i natten?

[Northernlights]

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 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.

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Contributed by Rev. Mary

 

[Hot Midget !]

Oi!!! Jeg greide faktisk å lese hele! *Imponert*

Jeg som stinker i engelsk og alt..Hehe..

 

Var kjempe søt da!

 

Skikkelig lysvåken du og eller???;p

[Northernlights]

Jeg bor et sted som ligger 6 timer bak Norge,så joda,jeg er våken enda ;o)

Men skal snart logge av,for jeg har tusen ting som må gjøres. Vi flytter nemlig,og søndag kommer flyttebilen vi skal leie,og før det er det selvsagt mye som må gjøres.

 

Ei venninne har to jenter på 8 og 10, og de ville hjelpe meg. Men så sier hun de kommer i morgen ...og jeg trenger jo egentlig ikke hjelp i morgen, men etter at alle tingene er ute av leiligheten..

De skal få vaske vinduer ;o)

Og ellers støvtørking her og der.,Skal nok finne noe for dem å gjøre.

Sier jo ikke neitakk til hjelp!

 

 

Vi skal kjøre klokka 5 om morgenen 1.august,hvis det går "min" vei.

Da skal vi stoppe et sted i Pensyllvannia, og sove på et hotell som har digert basseng,sånn at ungene på 15,9 og 21 mnd kan kose seg litt.

16 timer å kjøre,så vi må brekke det i to..

 

 

 

[Veronica,Victor&Adelina<3]

For en nydelig fortelling....

Hårene på armene mine reiste seg flere ganger...

Takk for en fin god natt fortelling:o)

[Newton & Prinsessen på erten]

For en kos historie :-)

[mammatetulla]

Northernlights - du må ikke finne på å skrive sånne ting midt på natta - en stakkars blir helt rørt til tårer... snuft... sitter på jobb og griner

 

EN aldeles nydelig historie - takk Northernlights !

 

nå må jeg finne en plass å vaske de veldig røde øynene - sånn litt diskret

[yasmina]

Flott historie !

[Veronica,Victor&Adelina<3]

Syntes denne historien er verdt å lese...

Dytter litt:o)

[Northernlights]

NB: Det var ikke meg som var forfatteren,men ei dame som er pastor ;o)

Vet ikke engang om den er sann,men har emailadressen hennes, så jeg kunne jop alltids skrive til henne, og spørre?

[Northernlights]

Dyttings

[mayaya]

For en herlig historie!!