Mrs. Gable, an elderly retiree, walked slowly toward the general store, mentally balancing her budget. She wanted to pick up the essentials in one trip without wasting a single cent.
Her social security check was decent for the time—about thirty-two dollars. Between that and her small property—a garden, a vegetable patch, her cow, Daisy, and a few chickens—she got by just fine.
But the old woman hated unnecessary expenses and counted every penny. Whatever was left over from her check, she sent to the city to her two daughters. What else could she do? Life hadn't been easy for either of them. Her eldest daughter's husband had met with a terrible accident.
The man was now disabled and could barely walk, so Megan had to work for two to support both her son and her ailing husband. The youngest, Sarah, had three small children and wasn't working while she stayed home with the little ones. Her husband's wages were modest, and they lived strictly from paycheck to paycheck.
Wrapped up in their own family struggles, the daughters rarely visited Mrs. Gable. When they did come, it was mostly for supplies—jars of preserves, jam, vegetables, and fresh farm eggs. They never stayed long, filling their bags to the brim before rushing back to the bustle of the city. At least they helped with the potato planting and harvest. Well, she supposed she should be grateful for that much.
"Alright, I owe seven dollars for the firewood. I'll pay two this month; the rest can wait. I won't buy any flour or grains; I still have a stash that'll last a while. But some pasta wouldn't hurt. I'll grab a whole bulk bag of the cheap stuff. And I mustn't forget matches and lightbulbs, or I'll have to walk all the way back here," the old woman muttered to herself, so lost in thought she didn't notice a stone in the road.
"Oh! I nearly took a tumble! My own fault, I need to watch where I'm going." Startled, she stopped to catch her breath and suddenly spotted a strange object on the shoulder of the road. "Now, what on earth is that?" Mrs. Gable squinted through her poor vision, stepped closer, and realized it was a wallet.
"My, look at that—black leather, probably expensive. I wonder who could have dropped it?" The old woman stood there uncertainly, not knowing what to do. She cast a furtive glance around and then tucked the find into her pocket. "Can't just leave a wallet in the middle of the road. No telling who might find it. Better it stays with me until the owner turns up."
After walking a few more paces, she stopped again, peeked curiously into the wallet, and let out a sharp gasp.
"Good heavens, that's a fortune! Look at this! A ten, another ten, a third... and so many fives! Lord have mercy! It's fifty-five dollars in total. That's nearly two months of my checks!"
There was also a small clear window in the wallet with a photograph of a beautiful young blonde woman. The old woman pulled out the photo and looked at the back. She saw some writing, but the script was very fine, and her failing eyes couldn't make out a single word. Typical—she'd forgotten her glasses again.
***
The local store was crowded. Hardly surprising, as it was payday for the local seniors. But the clerk, Molly, wasn't exactly known for her speed. The line moved at a crawl while Mrs. Gable stood there, thinking.
"Maybe I should leave the find with Molly? She could ask around with the customers. Plenty of folks come through here all day. It might do some good."
She considered it, then immediately changed her mind. That cunning woman didn't inspire much trust.
"Hey, Mrs. Gable, you just going to stand there with your mouth open? Come on, tell me what you're buying," the irritated clerk barked.
Snapping out of her reverie, the old woman bought her necessities and left the store, but suddenly turned back and stood in the corner.
"Forgot something, did you? Come on then, spit it out."
"Well, I was just wondering..."
"Need some good flour? Take this one. You won't regret it. A bit pricier, but it's the best quality," Molly said, thumping a large bag of flour onto the counter.
"No, I've got flour. It's not about that."
"Then what is it about?" Molly asked, her interest piqued.
"I wanted to ask you something."
"Well, ask! How long are you going to take?"
A long silence followed. Finally, Mrs. Gable worked up her courage.
"You don't happen to know if anyone around here lost something?"
"Not that I've heard. Why? What's the matter?" Molly asked suspiciously.
"Never mind, forget I asked," the old woman replied fearfully, quickly slipping out of the store.
Molly rushed after her.
"Wait, Mrs. Gable! Where are you going? Did you find something? Tell me!"
Mrs. Gable waved her off and walked briskly toward the road. Once home, she opened an old wardrobe and took a large jewelry box from the shelf. She hid the wallet inside and shoved the box under her bed.
Then, settling comfortably into her armchair, she began to worry. "Some poor soul is probably frantic looking for their money, and here it is sitting in my box. Maybe they worked hard for it. I know better than anyone how hard it is to earn a living. I put in my years, after all."
***
The next morning, the elderly woman headed back to the store. She didn't want to ask Molly for help, but she saw no other way.
"Good morning, Molly," she said politely.
The clerk gave a dismissive nod and continued fumbling with the merchandise. The old woman stood silently at the counter, waiting for Molly to deign to speak to her.
"What's the silence for? Tell me what you want. You here for bread?"
"Well, actually... I found a wallet on the road yesterday. I was hoping you'd ask around. Maybe the owner will turn up."
"And how much money is in this wallet?"
"You're far too curious, Molly. That's none of your business."
"Oh, Mrs. Gable, you don't trust me," the clerk said, sounding offended. "And you should! If you'd given me the wallet, I would've settled the whole thing myself."
"No, Molly. You never know..."
"Fine. You buying anything?"
"No, I'll be going. But you ask around, alright? Keep an ear out."
Returning home, the old woman took out the wallet again, recounted the money, turned the photo of the blonde beauty over in her hands, and slid the box back under the bed. "Well, we'll wait a bit. Molly will spread the word soon enough; maybe the owner will finally show up."
But no one came to Mrs. Gable's door that day, nor the next. Then, early the following morning, there was a loud pounding on the door. "Who could that be at this hour? Could it be for the wallet?"
The old woman hurried to the door, opened it, and saw the local handyman, Victor.
"Hey, Mrs. Gable... I'm here for the wallet."
"Oh? You're saying it's yours? And who told you I had it?"
"I was at the store yesterday. Molly told me. Said you were looking for the owner," the man said unsteadily, breathing a cloud of stale beer over her.
"Weren't you careless, Victor? I suppose you'd had a few too many?"
"Oh, don't I know it. I'm a fool. Tried to put it in my pocket but I was so loaded I must have missed. Then I realized it was gone!" the man said, suddenly animated.
"And what color was the wallet?"
"It was brown, Mrs. Gable."
"And how much money was inside?"
"About ten dollars."
"Well, Victor, it seems I didn't find your wallet. The one I have isn't brown, and the money doesn't match. You'd better go look somewhere else."
"Listen, can you at least spare three bucks? I need a drink to take the edge off. I'll pay you back when I get paid, I promise."
"Go on, get out of here. The Sheriff lives just down the road, you know. Don't test me," the old woman snapped decisively.
"Alright, alright, I'm going," Victor muttered, frightened, and quickly hurried out of the yard.
***
A few days passed. The whole neighborhood had heard about the find, but the owner still hadn't appeared. Whenever Mrs. Gable showed her face outside, the local women would rush over to interrogate her. What kind of wallet was it? How much money was in it? But she just greeted them and went about her business.
Suddenly, an idea struck her. "There was writing on that photo! I should have put my glasses on and looked closer." The handwriting was small but elegant and clear. This time, peering through her lenses, she managed to read it syllable by syllable:
"To my dear ar-chi-tect, Mr. Miller. To who? Who is this Mr. Miller?" The old woman wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Ar-chi-tect? Oh, like a builder! Such fancy words they use these days."
The next morning, she got ready for her errands. She had to go to the town hall to pay part of the firewood bill. She decided to bring the photograph just in case. "Who knows, maybe they can tell me who this man is."
After paying for the wood, she went to see the Town Supervisor.
"Listen, Jim, you wouldn't happen to know who an ar-chi... oh, wait, I forgot the word."
"An archduke?" Jim laughed loudly.
"I didn't bring my glasses. Here, take this and read it," she said, pulling the photo from her pocket.
Jim took the photo, turned it over with a puzzled look, and then read the inscription.
"Architect Miller? Yes, I know him. He's the lead designer on the new municipal complex they're building."
"That's it! Architect! I can never remember. So, tell me where he is; I need to find him right away," Mrs. Gable chirped impatiently.
"He went back to his office in the city."
"And how am I supposed to find him now?" the persistent woman asked.
"Are you planning a trip to the city, Mrs. Gable? What's so important? Come on, tell me what's going on."
"I found a wallet the other day. It had this photo in it. And there's a lot of money inside. I want to return it as soon as possible. I'm sure this Mr. Miller of yours is worried sick."
"Hold on now, don't worry. I have his number written down somewhere. We'll give him a call and sort it out. Why don't you have a seat? You shouldn't be standing on those legs," Jim said sympathetically, rummaging through his desk.
"Oh, thank goodness," the old woman replied with relief, sitting down to rest.
The Supervisor pulled out a notebook, flipped through a few pages, and soon found the number.
"Hello, Mr. Miller. No, it's not about the project. I have something else for you. Did you happen to lose a wallet out here? Yes, yes, it's been found, safe and sound. You can thank one of our residents, Mrs. Gable. When you come down next week with the blueprints, you can pick it up."
Hearing this, the old woman grew agitated.
"I'll run home and get it!"
"No need to rush, Mrs. Gable. Mr. Miller will be here next week. He can stop by your place himself," Jim said with a smile.
"No, I don't want someone else's money in my house. It makes me uneasy," the old woman cried, quickly heading for the door.
Less than twenty minutes later, the black leather wallet was on the Supervisor's desk.
"Here, Jim, take it. See what a nice wallet it is? Finally, the owner is found. And one more thing—you should count the money yourself, alright? It's fifty-five dollars in total."
"Alright, just to put your mind at ease, I'll count it. Everything's there, fifty-five dollars," Jim said cheerfully, tucking the wallet into the heavy steel safe in the corner.
"Thank God! Now I can rest easy. I'm going home."
"Go on then, Mrs. Gable, get some rest. You've done enough running around today. Thank you so much."
"Goodbye, Jim."
Once Mrs. Gable had left, the Supervisor muttered to himself, "Good for her. We should find a way to thank her."
The old woman felt as light as air. she practically flew home. "Thank the Lord! It's like a weight off my shoulders. I thought I'd never sleep through the night again."
***
A few days later, a polite middle-aged man paid a visit to the honest retiree.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gable. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
"Come in, come in," the old woman invited happily, guessing this was the architect, Mr. Miller.
"Oh, I think I brought some snow in with me, I'm so sorry."
"It's quite alright, don't you worry about that. Sit down, and I'll make some tea."
"Oh, please don't trouble yourself. I have to be going; there's a meeting at three. I just came to thank you. It wasn't just about the money. That wallet was a very special gift. Thank you, thank you so much!" the architect said sincerely, holding out a ten-dollar bill. "Please, take this."
The woman politely but firmly refused.
"I was happy to help. I won't take any money for it. Please don't ask again."
Miller smiled warmly, thanked her once more, and wished her a pleasant evening.
"Wait, young man! Forgive an old woman's curiosity. Who is that woman in the photo? She's a real beauty!"
"That's my wife, Helen."
"Well, you should thank her, not me. If it wasn't for her writing on the back, how would I have ever found you?"
***
When her next social security check arrived, the old woman went to the town hall and ran into the Supervisor in the hallway.
"Morning, Mrs. Gable. Here to pay for the wood?"
"Yes, I have the next installment right here."
"Actually, it's already been paid in full."
"What do you mean?" the old woman exclaimed in confusion.
"You helped someone out. And he wanted to help you back. I think you know who I'm talking about."
The woman froze for a second, and then it dawned on her.
"It was him, wasn't it? The ar-chi... oh, for heaven's sake, I've forgotten it again."
"Yes, that's the one. Who else?"
"Tell him thank you for me. And thank you, too!"
Walking home, the happy retiree smiled and whispered to herself, "What a wonderful man he is, that ar-chi-tector, Mr. Miller."
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