The Worthington Hat

It was a gift – a treasure hunt of sorts.  The ceiling began to drip.  First, just droplets like the teasing of a spring rain.  Then it began to swell and bubble.  The handyman was called, swiftly he came.  Frank was used to panicky customers, saw my worrisome look and took it in stride.  Frank’s worn leather work belt strapped snug around his waist; he began the inspection.

I went about my work and stopped when I heard him gasp.  Hastily arriving at the opening of the room, I stood there as if sneaking a peek through a secret hole in the wall.  Frank's face grew puzzled when he held 'it' in his large calloused hand.  He examined the inside and outside of his find as if it were an ancient relict.  In retrospect, it was in some sort of odd way.  His lips curled up and drew a smile.  I wondered if the vintage black ladies hat brought back a memory of long ago.  Startled, Frank noticed me watching him as he laid the hat down upon my desk.

Together we teetered through the possibilities of why the hat was hidden safely away in the ceiling.  Was this the lone treasure?  Where did it come from?  Who was the owner?  Was it someone’s Sunday attire?  Did a child steal it?  Did a husband hide an unnecessary purchase or find a lover’s gift?  Or, was it hidden to protect a long ago secret?  I held the hat, looking at it as if it belonged to my Grandmother, stately she was.

The vintage black straw hat was in impeccable condition.  It saw no aging, no wrinkles, no sagging.  The brim three inches wide, the height slightly more.  The straw was a bit shiny and one could imagine a sheer band and beads dressing it up.  The cream label, “Worthington Hats” was of silk with red stitching notating the year 1936.

Its mystery enveloped me.  I closed my eyes, transported myself back to an era so tempting to imagine.  I took in the scent of it and let my fingers roam.  I laid it upon my head, imagined myself entering a Ball, the room filled with important people.  It was a flicker of thought.  Back I went, to 2007.

Tomorrow I’d go to the courthouse, check the county records, the newspapers and talk to neighbors.  Surely someone would know who lived long ago in the white porched farmhouse.  Could I find a name and a face?  What then after that? 

In the evening I pondered the find and decided to sleep upon it. 

Morning came.  It became clear I decided, the treasure found would remain hidden safe in the same spot.  But first, my pen found its way to paper and I began the story about The Worthington Hat.  It once was a famous hat…….