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| The Benjamin Mead House, Cos Cob. Circa 1697. Photo: August 2014. |
by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
November 26, 1986. Page A9.
Many, many years ago, in those days when the majestic maple trees that emblazon the autumn foliage and shed the numerous homes of Cos Cob today were nothing more than the height of a country gentleman of yesteryear, a young girl named Emeline lived with her family in what is now the historic Benjamin Mead homestead on Orchard Street.
The old salt-box styled house has stood on its foundations since the early 18th century. (Note: the Benjamin Mead House was built in 1696) Young Emeline was born there along with all her younger brothers.
For a 12-year-old girl, she was quite phenomenal. Generally shying away from playing with the other girls from school, Emeline was a tomboy of sorts, who preferred a game of stickball with the boys. Besides school, playing with the boys of Cos Cob and grudgingly helping her mother with household chores, she spent time at her father's carriage repair shop on the Boston Post Road, where she harassed and groomed the horses.
One Thanksgiving holiday was quite memorable for little Emeline. Thanksgiving arrived seemingly early that year for everyone. The weather was cold, just as it said it would be in the Old Farmer's Almanac. Yet the anticipation of this great holiday New England can call its own brought warmth and joy throughout the village. Though the trees had long before dropped their leaves, and the frost had hardened the earth, the fireplaces in all the old homesteads that dot the farms burned with an invitation for one and all to enjoy the cozy warmth of the holiday brought for family and neighbors. Even the most moody and glum souls wore a smile on their faces.
Except Emeline. Thanksgiving did not thrill her very much. For her, there were endless chores, her mother always ordering her about, preparing the feast and watching over her younger brothers. Family and friends of her parents would be constantly in and out the door, and there would be no time to play.
So, the night before Thanksgiving, Emeline went off to bed, her mother and father ushering all the children to their rooms. Later, with the table set and everything ready for the next days' feast, Emeline's parents let the hearth-fire die out ad went upstairs to sleep.
Many hours passed in the night when Emeline awakened to the sounds of footsteps coming from the living room downstairs. Rising out of her bed, she quietly tip-toed past her parents room and went downstairs.
To Emeline's astonishment and surprise, an old man stood next to the living room hearth, which was blazing once again. The old an had white hair on his head and a beard. He wore a long black cloak and carried a walking stick, which he leaned against the wall next to the fireplace.
He turned and saw Emeline watching him.
"Did wake you?" the old man asked.
"Who are you?" gasped Emeline.
"Who am I?" the stranger asked, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. "Who are ye?"
The little girl stood in silence, suddenly noticing that the stranger did not cast a shadow from the light of the blazing hearth.
"I, young lady, am the ghost of Benjamin Mead, and I built this house a long time ago. I now who ye are, little Emeline."
"What do you want, why are you here?" queried the little girl. Her eyes were wise open with shock.
"Oh, I come by pretty often, though you can't see me unless I want you to. I come by the check up on things. The place looks pretty good, except for that small leak in the roof over the kitchen. Tell your father to take care of that."
Benjamin Mead went over to the dining room, where the table was set for the Thanksgiving Day. "You must be excited," said the ghostly figure.
"No, I don't like Thanksgiving much at all. It's all work and shores, and people coming in and out of the house all the time," said Emeline.
"What?" the ghost bellowed out. "Thanksgiving is a day to be thankful for all the blessings we all have. Good health, a good harvest, family who take care of you. Just think how bad the Pilgrims had it back in the early days."
"What happened to them?" asked Emeline.
The ghost of Benjamin Mead sat down in a rocking chair next to the hearth and motioned for Emeline to sit near him.
As the fire continued to blaze, he told the little girl about the story of the Pilgrims in Massachusetts.
Benjamin Mead turned to Emeline. "When times became good they had a feast, like the one people have every year at this time. Tell me, child, what do you have to be thankful for?
Emeline took a deep breath. "Well, I have my folks and my brothers, even if they do annoy me sometimes. I am doing good in school, too, and I have my friends. Then there is my grandmother. She likes me more than the boys 'cause she says I have "spunk" as she calls it.
"That's good," said the ghost. "Thanksgiving is a time for togetherness and thanking God for our good bounty and harvest, and the blessings of the past year."
With that, Benjamin Mead's ghost got up out of the chair.
"It's getting late for a young lady like you to not be in bed. Happy Thanksgiving to you, Emeline," said the ghost.
"Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Benjamin Mead," smiled the little girl.
Emeline was halfway up the stairs when she ventured back down to the living room, having forgotten to let the ghostly visitor out the door. She was bewildered at the encounter she had just had with the stranger. Having forgotten her manners for guests, she walked around the corner into the living room, only to discover that the ghost of Benjamin Mead had departed, and to her astonishment, that the hearth fire was out, and its coals without a shred of warmth in them.
Jeffrey B. Mead, who lives in Greenwich, is a direct descendant of one of the founding families of the town. He is a free-lance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society.
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