A Goldens Bridge ghost story passed down through the ages
Note: The following Christmas story, courtesy of Lewisboro Town Historian Maureen Koehl, is loosely based on an obscure ghost tale from the Goldens Bridge-Purdys area. The story reports that on certain Christmas Eve nights, one might just catch a glimpse of a Revolutionary soldier walking along the roadway on his way home.
They say he walks alone on Christmas Eve — the solitary soldier returning from a long, bitter sojourn in General Washington’s army. Dressed in faded patriot blues, his uniform torn and ragged, his boots worn, muddy and snow-covered, but his head held high and his musket on his shoulder, the ghostly figure tramps the deserted road from Purdys to Goldens Bridge weary and anxious to get home to a warm hearth and the loving arms of his family.
Annie knew the story well. This tale of the soldier ghost had been handed down in her Goldens Bridge family for generations. Now a young soldier’s wife, she was sitting in the front room of her farmhouse, her hands working wooden knitting needles and looking out into the darkness watching the snowflakes catching the light from the porch light as they drifted by the window. It was Christmas Eve. The radio was crackling with static, but she could still hear the comforting voice of Bing Crosby crooning the plaintive wish that he’ll be home for Christmas, “if only in my dreams.”
It was 1943. The war in Europe was raging on. Germany had been chased from Russia and the Allied forces were stretching into southern Italy. Planes and ships were battling in the South Pacific, too far away to even imagine. Sugar and gas were rationed, and families had learned to make do to support the war effort.
Annie and Frank had been married a few short months before Frank went overseas. Annie cared for the small flock of chickens, the farm animals and the vegetable garden. Occupying most of her time was their beautiful baby girl, Lucy, whom Frank had only seen in photographs. She was an easy child, always happy, and growing so fast! She was walking and beginning to talk and tossing a head full of auburn curls just like her dad’s. Right now, Lucy was asleep in her crib. Annie put her knitting aside. She was too tired to do anything but snuggle down in the chair by the window, pull the afghan blanket more tightly around her, and watch the swirling snow.
A frosty sky strung with pearly gray clouds had greeted Christmas Eve dawn, but Annie had been up before the sun to feed the hens and water the goat tied out in the barn. The cookies were baked for the family’s Christmas gathering. Luckily, most of the family lived nearby. Snow had been forecast, and there was an iciness in the air. She had felt a premonition all day that something unusual was going to happen — just what, she didn’t know. Perhaps news of some kind, she thought. Her sister was due to have her baby soon; maybe that was it. A Christmas child, how wonderful that would be, she thought.
Annie glanced at the small Christmas tree that she had cut on the farm’s back lot. Frank wanted her to keep up the tradition, even if he wasn’t there to take part. “I’m there in spirit,” he wrote to her. The glass ornaments on the tree reflected the glow of the logs burning in the fireplace. Months ago, Annie had knitted a heavy wool scarf and gloves for Frank and had packed them up with one of her mother’s famous Goldens Bridge fruit cakes and sent the package off, hoping it would reach him, wherever he was, in time for Christmas.
In his last letter to Annie, Frank had mentioned that he was sending “a little something special” for her and a small rag doll for Lucy. She wondered what treasure he had managed to find in the war-torn countryside, but was excited just the same. Annie was determined to stay awake until midnight. Christmas Eve was always such a magical time for her. Often her family had gone to midnight services, and then trudged home through the snow to a post-midnight repast of hot cocoa and fruit-filled Christmas stollen. Tonight she was not going to church; she couldn’t take the baby out on such a cold night.
She wondered what Frank was doing this Christmas Eve. Of course, wherever he was, the sun was already rising on his Christmas morning.
The radio reception cleared and the sound of Christmas carols replaced the popular songs of the day. Annie’s favorite was “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” The mantel clock chimed the half-hour as she moved toward the door for one last look at the snow drifting onto the porch and to see if the sky was clearing. Within her, a kind of anticipation stirred, but she couldn’t place its meaning. With a shiver she closed the batten door and drew the lock for the night. She checked the few presents under the tree waiting for Lucy’s eager hands to open tomorrow morning. One box held a flower-print pinafore made from a feed sack, and the biggest package disguised a roly-poly brown teddy bear that she had made. And there were a couple of books — always a couple of books.
Wearily, Annie settled back into the comfy chair drawing the afghan around her shoulders. The clock said 10 minutes to midnight. Then, suddenly, she thought she saw movement beyond the trees. No, she thought, it must be just the wind tossing the boughs heavy with the snow. She was too tired to move to the window to look more closely, but there seemed to be a figure, rather tall, with a stick or something slung over one shoulder. Maybe a knapsack. Why would anyone be roaming the roads at this time of night, in this kind of weather? And the figure wasn’t moving in the direction of the church. She could just make out the faint ringing of the church bells in the village announcing the first minutes of Christmas Day. Perhaps it was the fabled Soldier Ghost said to walk the Purdys Road on Christmas Eve. Didn’t her mother swear he was more than a figment of history’s imagination? But Annie’s eyes grew heavy and she drifted off to sleep, or did she?
In her mind’s eye she thought she saw a tall man dressed in an old-fashioned blue uniform come through the heavy front door that she had locked just a few minutes before. He walked noiselessly into the living room, touched her hair softly, and silently put a small box under the tree. Then he took a brightly colored rag doll from his knapsack and fixed it to one of the branches of the little tree and, with a wistful smile, faded from the room. The firelight flickered over the dimly lit room and the young woman asleep in the fireside chair. She smiled in her sleep and turned her face to the waning fire. Soon it would be Christmas dawn.