I’ve buried three husbands, two cats, and one perfectly good sofa, and I can tell you this much: things don’t stay where you put them. Not love, not memories, and certainly not hats.

The trouble started last Thursday, which might’ve been Wednesday depending on whether you count by weather or mood. The church ladies were planning the annual cemetery cleanup, and I decided it was high time to tidy up the resting spot of my third husband, Carl Dean.

Now, Carl Dean wasn’t my best husband; that honor goes to my first, Elmer Ray, who could dance a waltz like it was prayer. But Carl was dependable. He fixed what broke, mowed what grew, and never once complained about my cornbread, even when it turned out hard enough to tile the porch.

So I got to thinking I ought to leave something nice by his grave. A token, a keepsake, something that said thank you for all the years you didn’t fuss. His favorite hat came to mind right away: that brown felt one he wore to every fish fry and funeral, like it could keep him dry from grief.

I found it in the hall closet, sitting proud on the shelf where it had been since the day of his funeral. I dusted it off, sighed a little for sentiment, and marched down to Highland Cemetery, hat in hand.

Now, Highland Cemetery’s been there since before sin got its legs. The stones lean like they’re whispering secrets to each other. Every family in town’s got somebody underfoot there, and I know most of them by first name, both living and dead.

I found Carl’s headstone easy enough: “Beloved Husband, Fisherman, and Champion of Quiet.” That last part was my doing. Carl never said much, but when he did, it was generally to remark, “That’ll do.”

So I knelt down, said a few words about missing him (most of which were true), and set the hat right on top. Looked perfect. Felt right. Until I stepped back and noticed something.

The stone said Carlton Dean Hensley.

Now, my Carl never answered to Carlton in his life. He said it made him sound like he wore shoes right inside the very house. I realized, with a small but mighty horror, that I’d just decorated the grave of Carlton Hensley, my second husband’s cousin.

And the worst part? They’d both been buried side by side, because Highland Cemetery has a sense of humor.

I gasped, clutched my pearls, which were plastic but dramatic nonetheless, and looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the scandal of the century.

And of course, there was Miss Lurleen Cobb, perched on a bench with her binoculars, pretending to “birdwatch.” That woman hasn’t seen a bird since Truman was in office. She saw me all right, saw the hat, saw my confusion, and was already halfway to the First Baptist gossip line before I’d even righted myself.

By sundown, half the town knew I’d buried the wrong husband’s hat, and the other half was wondering which one I meant to honor.

Now, the thing about Piedmont is once a story gets going, it don’t stop till it’s had supper, dessert, and coffee. Before the week was out, I’d heard tell that I’d been seen “conversing” with the spirit of both husbands and that the hat had mysteriously vanished come morning.

Truth is, it did vanish — but not mysteriously. I went back at dusk, took it off Carlton’s grave, and gave it a good talking-to. Then I put it where it belonged: on Carl Dean’s stone, which was just one row over. I even tucked a note inside it that said, “Sorry for the mix-up.”

I don’t suppose the dead hold grudges, but just in case, I’ve decided I’ll be cremated. That way, nobody’ll have to guess where to put my hat.

Still, every now and then, when I pass the cemetery at dusk, I swear I see two shadows side by side, one wearing that brown felt hat and the other tipping its brim just so, like it’s having the last laugh.

And knowing Piedmont, I wouldn’t put it past them.

*****

And now, if you’ll indulge me, I’ll throw in this bit of shameless self-promotion. New Yesterdays is available through the following links: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon. If you haven’t gotten your copy, just click on any of these links to get it today! Ol’ Big Jim will thank you a hundred thousand times.