I received an anonymous envelope. Inside was a note from Eliza, thanking me for helping and explaining that I’d unknowingly assisted in opening a federal case. She said both she and the baby were safe, and that my simple act of kindness had mattered more than I could know.Though I never told my son David about the police visit or the note, I realized something important during my time in Charleston. Sometimes the smallest acts of kindness can have ripple effects far beyond what we could ever understand. And while I’d come to Charleston to learn pottery,
I left having learned a deeper lesson about human connection. After retiring from 30 years of teaching third grade, Ellen sought something new—so she booked a pottery retreat in Charleston. On a peaceful walk one afternoon, she encountered a distressed young woman holding a crying baby. The woman asked to use Ellen’s phone for a quick call. Cautiously, Ellen dialed the number and put it on speaker. The woman whispered a cryptic message—“It’s moving. One hour. You know where.”—then disappeared.Two days later, police knocked on Ellen’s hotel door. They were investigating a missing woman named Eliza, who had been set to meet with an undercover agent that night. Ellen’s phone call was the last trace of her. She cooperated, shaken but unsure of what she’d gotten tangled in.