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 good-bye.

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 right 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 somethingI 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.

Author Unknown