Writer Wendy’s weekly installment

The wheeled suitcase lay partially hidden by the stage, a small, raised platform across the parking lot from the picnic tables at our free food site.

When I got there to help my friend Michelle disperse hot lunches in the freezing temperatures, she was standing over the case, which had contents spilled across the stage, its top resting at the edge, while it sat on the concrete below.

Michelle runs The Mobile Closet, which gives donated clothes free to those in need; right now she’s doing a roaring trade in hats, coats, socks, and blankets. Plus a tent here or there.

Michelle toed a pink hoodie. “I want to check these out, but I don’t want to hit a sharp.” (This refers to drug paraphernalia, not markers.)

I found some food service gloves and began a careful examination. The case had clearly been rifled, probably someone had found it and taken anything of value. Indeed, there was nothing but clothes: a white sundress, a few more sweatshirts, some leggings. While everything was akimbo, lines in the clothes showed they had been neatly folded for some time.

Flipping the top of the case over, I read “Natalie Cecil” in huge silver letters. We looked at one another. Michelle shrugged. “Never heard of her.” She knows the names of almost every homeless person in Wytheville.

I walked around the service building housing the free food café; it was closed, which was why we were there to hand out lunches. No one hurt in the bushes, behind the dumpsters, or any of the other places homeless people sometimes camp until someone sees them and calls police.

When I got back to the platform, Michelle said with a smile, “Don’t turn around. The police are watching us.” My careful search at close proximity to the building had prompted a good citizen to take action.

The police watched us rifle the clothes. Declaring the clothes clean, the officers suggested Michelle put them into her Mobile Closet.

Michelle put up online that she had the case, asking people to pass the info around. The only nearby Facebook profile by that name didn’t match the clothing size. No one came forward, and the contents were soon dispersed.

Who is Natalie? Where is Natalie? Is she all right? Who rifled the case, and what was in it before that disappeared into someone else’s possessions?

We will never know. It feels like the universe closed over a rip through which someone’s daughter, sister, best friend walked.

Wherever you are, Natalie, we are praying for you.

Come back next Friday for more from Wendy Welch