Once there was a milliner named Augusta Brown who lived in a Victorian mansion in Philadelphia. In the front of her elegant home was a hat shop for all the beautiful ladies hats that she made. Each morning, Augusta admired her busy shop with bustling customers. She loved making hats almost more than anything. She looked at herself in the mirror with her latest hat and smiled. Every handmade hat was unique and special.
“What would I do with myself without my hats?” she asked herself aloud.
Since her husband died two years ago, Augusta had been so lonely. To avoid thinking about his passing, she threw herself into her work and just kept going. From the street, passersby admired her seasonal window displays with hats of every kind.
At Christmas, she made an especially stunning display with hats on a well-lit Christmas tree. On the top of the tree, she would hang her annual red and white Christmas hat.
“Every Mrs. Claus in town would surely like to wear an Augusta Brown hat!” her advertisements said. She had hired someone to hang the posters all over town.
She was known for several types of hats, including pillbox, cloche, peach basket, large-brimmed, and fascinators with their feathers. Customers could place orders for any fashion hat imaginable with a matching parasol, gloves, and a scarf.
Augusta had started “Augusta Brown Hats” with Ike, her husband. As a way to build the business, Ike insisted that she hold ladies card club meetings once a week. Augusta felt like the card club was an “ace up her sleeve” when it came to marketing her hats. During card club, she always sold twice as many hats as on normal days.
“I’ll hide in the back of the house!” Ike used to say with a laugh when visitors came to the shop for card club. “You and the ladies would never want a man around.”
The ladies of Philadelphia loved to play cards, eat desserts, and buy Augusta’s hats! Augusta always encouraged them to buy hats for their friends and relatives as well, especially at birthdays and holidays. Ike even bought a Victrola from the Victor Talking Machine Company to play music for the card club.
“Just don’t turn the music up too loud!” he would say. “I’ll be napping when the ladies come over.”
When no one but Augusta and Ike were in the shop, the couple would dance to the latest popular songs. Ike would put on “A Little Bit of Heaven” and “Smile and the World Smiles With You” almost every night. Augusta missed dancing with him and could hardly bear to think of it. “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” was their favorite holiday song, which they danced to each Christmas Eve. Now the Victrola sat in the corner, and Augusta hardly ever used it.
These days, Augusta spent most Christmas holidays alone, re-reading her favorite book “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austen. She still held ladies card club, but mostly to continue her weekly hat special, more than anything else. Her heart wasn’t really in the game anymore. She didn’t gossip and giggle with the ladies the way that she used to do.
“Two for the price of one this Christmas!” Augusta said to the ladies. She also advertised her yearly Christmas sale in the window. “If business doesn’t pick up by spring, I’m closing the hat shop and moving to Boston,” she told the card club. “I’ve given this all I’ve got!”
“Boston?” one of the ladies declared and slapped her cards down. “Mercy me, Augusta, there’s nothing in Boston but beans, ice, and Yankees with their noses in the air. You’d freeze before you sold your first bonnet!”
“Mrs. Winthrop, at least there would be no memories of Ike there,” Augusta murmured. “And perhaps I could start fresh with dresses instead of hats.”
“Oh, dresses! Dresses can’t keep you warm at night, my dear. What you need is a man with strong arms—and a proper waltz,” another lady said.
“Clarabelle, I agree. Speaking of warm hands, I heard Mr. Andrew Knight is back in town, staying with his sister. Unmarried, handsome, and terribly fond of Christmas puddings,” a gossiping card-playing lady teased with a wink. “Now that’s the sort of business that should pick up.”
“Bless your heart, Mrs. Pritchard!” Augusta said. “Ladies, I am speaking of business, not romance. But if romance sold hats, I would be the richest woman in Philadelphia.”
“Well, sometimes they’re the same thing, Augusta,” Mrs. Winthrop said. “One fine gentleman and suddenly you’ve sold out of hats for all his sisters, cousins, and aunts!”
Augusta passed, not wishing to bid higher on her hand in Bridge and poured herself a hot cup of tea with lemon and sugar. She nibbled on tea sandwiches and scones with Devonshire cream until the card game was finished. Despite the opinions of the ladies, Augusta thought she would certainly soon be on a train to Boston.
The next afternoon, a man walked into the shop with a black, broad-brimmed gambler hat covered in snow. As he opened the shop door, the Victrola started playing “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” all on its own: “That glorious song of old . . . from angels bending near the earth . . . to touch their harps of gold . . . peace on the earth, goodwill to men . . .”
When Augusta heard the music, she knocked over her spools of thread, and string went flying every which way. For a moment, she felt like Ike was almost in the room with her.
“Let me help you with that,” the handsome gentleman said. He picked up several spools of thread from the floor and placed them back on the counter.
“Oh, the Victrola turned on by itself,” Augusta said. “I can’t imagine how it would do that . . . I didn’t even crank the handle.”
“Well, maybe someone else wound it up, and you didn’t know it,” the stranger said with a smile.
“It’s just a fluke, that’s all,” Augusta said. “My husband has passed away. I run the shop by myself.”
“Sorry to hear that,” the gentleman said, still gathering the spools of thread and stacking them in rows. “My name is Andrew Knight,” he continued. “I live with my sister and her husband near Franklin Square.”
“Oh, I see . . . Now, before the afternoon gets away from us, how can I help you, Mr. Knight?” Augusta asked. She knew that the women from the card club must have sent him to the shop. So, she studied his face with curiosity. Handsomer than most of her customers—too handsome, she thought, for her to allow herself the luxury of being carried away.
“I’d like a red pillbox hat for Lynn, my sister,” Andrew said. “It’s a Christmas gift, and I need something special.”
“I was sure you were going to say that you wanted a hat for your wife,” Augusta said, as she wrote the order.
“No, I’ve never been married,” Andrew said, adjusting his gambler hat. “I’ve never found the right woman.”
Since Augusta knew that Andrew’s love life was none of her business, she changed the subject. It wasn’t her place as a businesswoman to discuss personal matters with him.
“Your red pillbox hat will be ready on Friday,” she said. “Have a good evening.”
Augusta spent the next few days sewing Andrew’s red pillbox hat—a bright, fitted hat with a bow on the side. When Friday came, Augusta made sure the Victrola was covered and put away in the corner.
“It’s the Friday before Christmas! No funny business!” she said to the machine, as she tied ribbon on Andrew’s hatbox.
When Andrew opened the shop door that afternoon, the Victrola’s record magically started turning as the arm went into motion and dropped on the record. It began playing right where it left off. “From heaven’s all gracious King! The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing . . .”
“So, you must have cranked the Victrola this morning?” Andrew said. He stared at Augusta in an awkward moment.
“No, I’ve been too busy with my Christmas orders to bother with that old Victrola,” Augusta said. “Now, here is the hat for your sister. If she needs any minor adjustments after she tries it on, please let me know.”
Andrew took the hatbox and held it at his chest. He wandered around the shop and admired Augusta’s store. They both laughed as the Victrola continued to play the Christmas carol. She began to dance, and Andrew caught her hand and spun her around.
Then, he finally turned to her and said, “Would you like to go to Christmas Eve dinner with me and my family?”
“Oh, why . . . um . . . well . . . yes, thank you. I don’t have any immediate plans. I’m probably moving to Boston, and I’ve almost bought my train ticket . . . and plan to start a dress company . . . but yes, thank you,” she said.
“Good, I’ll meet you here at half-past five on Christmas Eve,” Andrew said. “Be sure to wear a fancy fascinator!”
When Andrew arrived at Augusta’s shop door on Christmas Eve, the Victrola began playing again. She felt as if Ike were watching over her; his familiar sandalwood-and-tobacco cologne lingered in the air, and for a heartbeat she swore she heard him whisper her name.
“Never in my life have I ever been so haunted!” Augusta said, as she rushed toward the Victrola to turn it off, but Andrew stopped her.
“Augusta, would you like to dance with me?” Andrew asked, taking her hand.
“Well . . . I suppose so,” Augusta said. Then, Andrew twirled her in a circle. She reluctantly rested her head on his shoulder through all five verses of the carol.
Although she put up a fuss for months, Augusta never bought a train ticket to Boston to start a dress company. She stayed in Philadelphia with her hats and eventually spent each Christmas with Andrew as her husband.
The couple danced to the Victrola for the rest of their lives, grateful for the midnight hour when love itself became clear.
Copyright 2025 Jennifer Waters
Pen Jen's Inkwell Podcast version:
Once there was a milliner named Augusta Brown who lived in a Victorian mansion in Philadelphia. In the front of her elegant home was a hat shop for all the beautiful ladies’ hats that she made.
“What would I do with myself without my hats?” she asked herself every morning.
From the street, passersby admired her seasonal window displays with hats of every kind. At Christmas, she made an especially stunning display with hats on a well-lit Christmas tree. On the top of the tree, she would hang her annual red and white Christmas hat.
“Every Mrs. Claus in town would surely like to wear an Augusta Brown hat!” her advertisements said.
She was known for her pillbox, cloche, peach basket, fascinator—feathers fixed to a comb, and large-brimmed hats. Customers could place orders for any fashion hat imaginable with a matching parasol, gloves, and a scarf.
Augusta had started “Augusta Brown Hats” with Ike, her husband, who died from a stroke two years ago. As a way to build the business, Ike insisted that she hold ladies card club meetings once a week.
“I’ll hide in the back of the house!” he said, laughing. “You and the ladies would never want a man around.”
The ladies of Philadelphia loved to play cards, eat desserts, and buy Augusta’s hats! Ike even bought a Victrola from the Victor Talking Machine Company to play music for the card club.
“Just don’t turn the music up too loud!” he would say. “I’ll be napping when the ladies come over.”
When no one but Augusta and Ike were in the shop, the couple would dance to the latest popular songs. Ike would put on “A Little Bit of Heaven” and “Smile and the World Smiles With You” almost every night.
Now the Victrola sat in the corner, and Augusta hardly ever used it—only once or twice since Ike died. “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” was their favorite holiday song, which they danced to each Christmas Eve.
These days, Augusta spent most Christmas holidays alone, re-reading “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austen. Lately, she felt like closing the shop and trying something new, but she kept it open for something to do. She still held ladies card club, but mostly to feature her weekly hat special, more than anything else.
“Two for the price of one,” Augusta said, advertising her yearly Christmas sale in the window. “If business doesn’t pick up by spring, I’m closing the hat shop and moving to Boston,” she told the card club.
“Boston? What’s in Boston?” one of the ladies’ card club members said. “Nothing but snow, ice, and cold . . .”
“There will be no memories of Ike, and I can start a dress company instead of a hat shop,” Augusta said.
“It’s not really business that needs to pick up. Romance in your life needs to pick up!” a card-playing lady said. “You’re busier than ever with your hats! What you need is to find yourself a good gentleman, like Ike.”
Augusta folded her hand of cards and poured herself a hot cup of tea with lemon and sugar. She nibbled on tea sandwiches and scones with Devonshire cream until the card game was finished. Despite the opinions of the ladies’ card club, Augusta thought she would certainly soon be on a train to Boston.
The next afternoon, a man walked into the shop with a black, broad-brimmed gambler hat covered in snow. As he opened the shop door, the Victrola started playing: “That glorious song of old . . . from angels bending near the earth . . . to touch their harps of gold . . . peace on the earth, goodwill to men . . .”
When Augusta heard the music, she knocked over her spools of thread, and string went flying every which way.
“Mrs. Brown, let me help you with that,” the handsome gentleman said, picking up the pieces of thread.
“Oh, it’s just that I haven’t played the Victrola in years,” she said. “I must have bumped it or something . . . and it turned on by itself. I can’t imagine how it would do that . . . I didn’t even crank the handle.”
“Well, maybe your husband wound it up, and you didn’t know it,” the stranger said, smiling at her.
“It’s just a fluke, that’s all,” Augusta said. “My husband has passed away. I run the shop by myself.”
“Sorry to hear that,” the gentleman said, still trying to gather the spools of thread and stacking them in rows. “My name is Andrew Knight,” he continued. “I live with my sister and her husband near Franklin Square.”
“Oh, I see . . . Now before the afternoon gets away from us, how can I help you Mr. Knight?” Augusta asked.
“I’d like a red pillbox hat for Lynn, my sister,” Andrew said. “It’s a Christmas gift, and I need something special.”
“I was sure you were going to say that you wanted a hat for your wife,” Augusta said, writing the order.
“No, I’ve never been married,” Andrew said, adjusting his gambler hat. “I’ve never found the right woman.”
“That’s none of my business, is it?” Augusta said, kindly with hope. “Your red pillbox hat will be ready on Friday.”
Augusta spent the next few days sewing Andrew’s red pillbox hat—a bright, fitted hat with a bow on the side. When Friday came, Augusta made sure the Victrola was covered and put away in the corner.
“It’s the Friday before Christmas! No funny business!” she said to the machine, tying ribbon on Andrew’s hatbox.
As Andrew opened the shop door that afternoon, the Victrola began playing right where it left off. “From heaven’s all gracious King! The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing . . .”
“So, you must have cranked the Victrola this morning?” Andrew said, staring at Augusta in an awkward moment.
“No, I’ve been too busy with my Christmas orders to bother with that old Victrola,” Augusta said. “Now, here is the hat for your sister. If she needs any minor adjustments after she tries it on, please let me know.”
Andrew took the hatbox and held it at his chest. He wandered around the shop, admiring Augusta’s store. Then he finally turned to her and said, “Would you like to go to Christmas Eve dinner with me and my family?”
“Oh, why . . . um . . . well . . . yes, thank you. I don’t have any immediate plans. I’m probably moving to Boston, and I’ve almost bought my train ticket . . . and plan to start a dress company . . . but yes, thank you.”
“Good, I’ll see you at half-past five on Christmas Eve,” Andrew said. “Be sure to wear a fancy fascinator!”
When Andrew arrived at Augusta’s door on Christmas Eve, the Victrola began playing again. “Never in my life have I ever been so haunted!” Augusta said, rushing toward the Victrola to turn it off.
“Augusta, would you like to dance with me?” Andrew asked, taking her hand, and twirling her in a circle.
“Well . . . I suppose so,” Augusta said, reluctantly resting her head on his shoulder through all five verses of the carol.
Although she put up a fuss for months, Augusta never bought a train ticket to Boston to start a dress company. She stayed in Philadelphia with her hats, spending each Christmas with Andrew as her husband.
The couple danced to the Victrola for the rest of their lives, grateful for the midnight hour when love itself became clear.
Copyright 2015 Jennifer Waters
Dedicated to my great-great aunt, Augusta Brown, a milliner who held ladies card club with her Victor Talking Machine Company Victrola. Ike Brown was her husband.
https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/a-christmas-hat-spoken-word-narrated-by-jen-waters
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