Christmas Eve, 1875

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
December 25, 1988
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut USA

Miss Ophelia Husted rose from the rocking chair in her room, where she had been reading her Bible, and walked to the window, though why she did so she could not tell. Ophelia parted of the curtains and gazed outside.

The landscape beyond on this Christmas Eve in 1875 would have been a delight for an artist to paint on canvas. It had been snowing for almost two days. The bare hills and forests around the old Husted homestead on North Maple Avenue, where she was spending the holidays, were covered with layers of snow. The pines and spruce trees seemed as if cake icing have been spread upon their limbs by an overly enthusiastic baker.

The Husted Homestead on North Maple Avenue, Greenwich, Connecticut. Image captured October, 2014. 

The old homestead at the bottom of the hill appeared from the road to be a white gingerbread house, the centerpiece of the child's dream of tasty sweets and other holiday goodies. Several deer foraged in the distance for food at the edge of the brook, then quickly ran off and disappeared.

Ophelia smiled as she turned away and strolled to the writing desk close by. As the candle lantern flickered, she took out a piece of paper, and with pen in hand began to write:

Christmas Eve 1875

Dearest Louisa:

I had set out with mother and my brother William by stagecoach from Bedford at 9 a.m. on Thursday. The clouds hung like a heavy canopy in the winter sky, and we knew snow was on the way. We had packed ahead of time for a trip to cousin Adelia Husted's home in Greenwich. It was so gracious of them to invite us – Pa had passed away in March and Christmas around our farm could never have been the same. Mother still mourns his passing, as we all do.

The roads were very rough, to say the least. We felt every bump on the frozen ground beneath us. Sometimes it was dangerous, it was as if we were going up and down all the time. I had always enjoyed the countryside all year 'round, but this time I was genuinely relieved to finally get off the stage at the old homestead in Greenwich late in the day.

I saw a plume of smoke billowing from the chimney, a warm fire at last! Cousin Adelia came out and greeted us with open arms as usual. Mother brightened up for the first time that day. Adelia led her into the parlor and seated mother next to the hearth.

The Christmas tree was so beautiful! It was embellished with garlands, ribbons of many colors, candy canes, popcorn strings, candles and cookie ornaments. The house was filled with the aroma of pies, roasted goose. Trays of all sorts of goodies were scattered about. Many old friends were at hand to welcome us and fuss over mother. The Christmas spirit was everywhere.

As dusk arrived, the snow began to fall in flurries but thickened quickly. The little children beamed with delight at the thought of building a snowman and having snowball fights, although Uncle Nathaniel frowned a bit when he heard this. I don't think he has forgotten that snowball three years ago that broke the window of his study. It was all a mistake, of course.

The homestead was full of old friends, and the minister from the Congregational Church was at hand, too. You gathered everyone into the parlor and led us all in a beautiful chorus of caroles. Adelia was at Mother's side, holding her hand as the fire danced in the hearth close by. We sang in harmony, though I do recall a friend of Uncle Nathaniel's who was a bit off-key at times.

After the guests had bid us farewell, Mother read to the children, 'A Visit from St. Nicholas.' The children drew near to her place by the fire, listening attentively in anticipation of the joy of the coming Christmas holiday…"

Ophelia's letter writing was interrupted by a soft knock at her door. She put her pen down and got up to see who was there. Opening the door, she saw her brother William, smiling.

"Cousin Adelia sent me to tell you that dinner is being served," he said.

"I'll be there shortly," she replied.

She stepped down the staircase and into the dining room through the parlor. She paused for a moment to gaze at the Christmas tree, which had been lit with candles. All were seated at the table holding hands to say the blessing.

"Ophelia, my dear, would you lead us in our holiday blessings of the Lord?" asked Adelia.

"Yes, of course," beamed the young lady.

The prayer that followed was simple, yet earnest in expressing the tenderness shared by all at the holiday table. Her prayer recalled her father, and her words whispered softly, reached heavenward and caught the ears of invisible angels, who no doubt smiled.

The hearts of those in this homestead and so many others were filled with the joy of Christmas love, warmth, delight, goodwill and wishes for peace on earth.


Jeffrey Bingham 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.