I had retired from teaching after 30 years and was looking for a new hobby. A pottery retreat in Charleston seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore my creative side. My son David had booked a charming hotel for me in the historic district, just a short walk from the studio.
The pottery studio was a converted carriage house with exposed brick and large windows that let in plenty of natural light. I felt a sense of belonging among the other students, and our instructor, Marge, made everyone feel welcome. On my third day, I took a break and strolled through the historic district, admiring the blooming crepe myrtles and colorful homes.
That’s when I met a young woman with a fussy baby. She asked to borrow my phone to make a call, and I hesitated for a moment before offering to dial the number for her. The conversation was brief and cryptic, with the woman saying “It’s moving. One hour. You know where.” before hanging up and leaving.
I watched her go, wondering what was going on. My son David later warned me about strangers and potential scams, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that the woman was genuinely in need.
Two days later, two detectives showed up at my hotel door, asking about the phone call. They believed the woman was Eliza, someone connected to a sensitive investigation who had gone missing. I told them everything I knew, and they left with a sense of hope that I might have provided critical assistance.
After the detectives left, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I had been a part of something bigger than myself. On my final evening in Charleston, I received a mysterious note under my door from Eliza, thanking me for my kindness and telling me that she and her baby were safe.
The note also mentioned that my small act of kindness had helped open a federal case. I was left with a sense of wonder and a newfound appreciation for the power of human decency. I realized that sometimes, the smallest acts of kindness can have a profound impact on others’ lives.
