When Millicent Throgmorten moved to our small, quiet coastal town she was the subject of much speculation about her bizarre behavior. For one thing, she seemed to cry at the drop of a handkerchief. Why was she so sad?
Bits of gossip and covert observation did little to draw an accurate picture of this mysterious woman who landed in the middle of a peaceful village. We had one constable, one diner, three ministers, and a curious newspaper editor.
My name is Virginia, called Ginny. As the owner and only reporter of the Weekly Messenger, I decided to interview the newcomer as a goodwill gesture. She seemed hesitant but agreed.
“Mrs. Throgmorten, will your husband be joining you?”
Wrong question. The waterworks began as she raced for a tissue and wailed like a heartbroken teenager.
Finally, after tea and cookies, she told me to call her Millie and that she had recently lost her husband. I plunged right in with no thought of niceties, such as tact. We’re pretty blunt around here.
“Oh, my,” I commiserated, “I’m so sorry. How did he go?”
She was stunningly blunt as well.
“He fell off a ship while chasing after his old straw hat!”
I wasn’t quite sure how to continue after that unexpected revelation.
“On the ocean?” She raised one eyebrow filled with unmistakable meaning.
“Of course on the ocean! We were on a cruise. I was waiting for him to join me for a pancake breakfast on deck. It was just awful.”
“The pancakes?”
My attempt to lighten the moment went too far. Her endless tears sprung up like a geyser. I grabbed the tissue box. This wasn’t going well.
Years passed with no answers. I tried to relieve her of information about her past, but one false step and she carried on as if the tragedy had just happened. Something seemed amiss.
Even with help from Sheriff Jim, we couldn’t pinpoint where she had lived or the name of the ship from which her beloved had reportedly plunged in pursuit of his chapeau.
One afternoon, sitting on a park bench with Millie, I casually asked Mr. Throgmorten’s first name. Again, she surprised me.
“I just called him Morty.” I liad to ask, “Is that short for Throgmorten?
“No. Mortimer.” This was getting too ridiculous, but I moved on since I saw no evidence of sobbing in the wings.
“What did Morty do for a living?”
She stared into space for a few seconds and then stunned me once again with a string of baffling clues.
“Import-export. We moved a lot. I didn’t really like him very much. Stole my money. He was scary.”
With no warning, she jumped up and ran down to Bobby Joe’s Café. I found her in my favorite back booth—crying. We ordered coffee and tuna sandwiches and eased back into normal chitchat, although normal for her was often a bit perplexing.
“Uh, Millie. Could I ask why you cry so much? It’s been several years since your husband passed.”
Her eyes grew wide. She raised her hand as if to shut me up and set me straight.
“Hold on, Ginny,” she warned, “I didn’t say he died. I said I LOST him!”
Without thinking or blinking, I plowed on. “So, you think he survived?” She looked around for stray listeners and then with the menu shielding her mouth she whispered, “I do.”
“But, Millie, why in the world do you weep so much? What’s wrong?”
“Well,” she hesitated, “He had the big key.”
“PLEASE, Millie. Tell me what’s going on. The key to what?”
Was she about to bawl again? No, she was smiling! Her voice sounded almost robotic.
“Secret place. Expensive stuff.”
Then, Millie stood up and marched out dabbing at her dribbling eyes. (The woman should have bought stock in the tissue company).
While I was dawdling over my coffee, Pastor Sam came in and gave me a small envelope.
“A strange man stopped by the church with this for Mrs. Throgmorten. He left before I got his name.”
My detective antenna shot up. “You notice anything?”
“Well, he was wearing a funny-looking straw hat and limping.”
I gave the lumpy packet to Millie on Tuesday.
Wednesday, I knocked on her door. No answer.
I peeked through the window. Everything was gone except a little empty blue box in the comer!
Moral: Tears may flow for many reasons. Most folks mourn for lost loved ones, but a few grieve over lost loved things.
Matthew 6:21NKJV For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.