The Sad Corner
A Haunting Tale of Grief and Letting Go… from Beyond the Grave
On a hill overlooking Greenwich Harbor, on a quiet street called Bicknell Avenue, stood a weathered 300-year-old post-and-beam house.
When we bought the old Bicknell house, I fell in love with the colonial home — two parlors, four hearths, and the faint scent of oak smoke soaked into the plaster. This would be my first home with my new husband.
The Bicknell family had once farmed pigs here, and for two years we worked to return the welcoming old house back into a home. I could imagine my husband and me raising our family there.
As we began renovations, I found myself drawn to the large, spacious attic. It boasted two brightly lit rooms with high-pitched walls and a window in each gable end. Each room was built around one of the main chimneys that radiated warmth, keeping most of the space cozy in winter.
However, one thing about the attic gave me pause. Every time I entered the north room, the corner near the parlor chimney never felt quite right. The hair on my arms would stand up, and the most overwhelming feeling of sadness radiated from that corner. If my back was turned to it, I got the eerie sense that I was being watched.
Where the east room felt warm and inviting, the north room was cold. I told myself it was just the location on the shady side of the house and kept the door shut.
From the extensive repairs we were making, we guessed that the three-story building once housed two branches of the Bicknell family. A parlor and kitchen area on both floors appeared to have been part of the original colonial construction — the same post-and-beam framing, the same horsehair plaster walls.
There was also an old shed on the property, filled with boxes of odds and ends. I went back to ask the elderly ladies we’d purchased the house from if they wanted any of it. They assured me they had sold the house lock, stock, and barrel — anything left behind was ours. I thanked them and returned to explore.
Having a love of textiles, I rummaged through boxes of old fabrics, rolls of handmade tatting, and lace doilies. It was a treasure trove to me. On the bottom of one very old box I found what looked like a fragile newspaper clipping carefully wrapped in a faded floral print, with ribbons folded neatly on top.
I started to read the clipping. It told a sad story — a horrible accident involving a little girl and her pony.
June 1725
Grandma and Grandpa and the two boys, Isaías and Jacob, were on the second floor; the girls slept in the attic. Rose and Lillian shared the north attic room, while Celest and Hanna slept in the east room.
The first two stories had four fireplaces — one in each parlor and a larger one in the first-floor kitchen for cooking and baking — but only a parlor stove upstairs. All the family cooking took place on the first floor, while Grandma usually kept a teapot or a pot of soup warm on the stove above.
The two roof gables formed full-story attic rooms with large windows and storage areas under the eaves. Each room was bright and cozy, with a chimney warming it in winter — though in summer, the windows would be thrown wide to catch the breeze.
Little Rose woke early and ran to her sisters’ window in the south room. The view overlooked the harbor, where her father’s ship was due to arrive from Boston that day. He had promised to bring her a surprise.
“Rose?” her sister mumbled as sunlight flooded the room. “Papa’s ship won’t arrive until after lunch.”
“Shut the curtains,” Nan groused.
Their mother must have heard the small feet running across the floor. “Girls!” Mrs. Bicknell called up the winding stairway. “Up to do the chores!”
“Oh, Rose,” Ivy sighed. “We could have slept a few more minutes. Come on, everyone — you heard Momma. We have chores to get done or you’ll stay home when we go to greet Papa at the dock.”
Nine-year-old Rose bubbled with excitement. “Momma will be cooking a welcome-home feast for Papa. Jacob got a young pig ready to roast today!”
The girls came down the stairs into the kitchen, where their mother had scrapple and eggs sizzling on the cast-iron griddle.
“Rose,” Momma said, “go help Nathan with the chickens and bring the eggs right back so I can bake a cake.”
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Grandmomma smiled as she set a plate of scrapple and eggs in front of the child.
“Yes, Momma,” Rose said. She quickly ate her breakfast, tied on her work apron, and grabbed the egg basket. As she ran out the back door, she heard her mother assigning chores to her sisters. Rose was glad to be helping in the barn rather than stuck at the kitchen sink.
That afternoon the family ate a light lunch. Momma’s cake was ready, and the pig was wrapped in cheesecloth, stuffed with herbs, and waiting to go on the spit. Grandma stayed home while the rest of the family walked down to the docks to meet Papa’s ship.
The ship sailed into harbor with the high tide. Tenders pushed and pulled it alongside the dock. Lines were cast, the vessel made fast, and Mr. Bicknell waved to his family from the deck.
Papa greeted his wife first, then each of his children. He was a doting father and took great pride in them all — but his little Rose was special. When he reached her, he scooped her up in his arms. The small child wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“What did you bring for me, Papa?” she asked.
Her father pointed. “See there.”
Rose turned to see men using a hoist to unload a beautiful dappled gray pony from the deck. Her eyes went wide. “Papa, you brought me a pony!” she cried, hugging him again, tears of joy in her eyes. She had wanted a pony for so long — and this was the most beautiful one she had ever seen.
Rose’s brothers took charge of calming the pony and collecting its tack. The entire family rallied around the girl who had received what Papa called her “grown-up girl’s gift.” Each of his children had received such a gift around the age of ten. With radiant smiles all around, they celebrated Rose’s joy. The look in his little girl’s eyes was all the thanks Mr. Bicknell needed.
From that day on, Rose spent every spare moment in the stable. She fed and brushed Pepper until his coat shone. She whispered secrets to him and tied ribbons in his mane to match hers. It wasn’t all fun and games — Papa insisted her chores be finished before riding — but part of those chores was caring for Pepper, so she didn’t mind.
Everyone in East Greenwich soon knew the cheerful pair — the little girl on her dappled pony with ribbons flying. Pepper was well-trained, and Rose became her parents’ new delivery service. That week she was to deliver an important packet to her father’s accountant and then pick up a pretty floral fabric for new dresses. Afterward, she’d be allowed to ride wherever she pleased — with permission, of course.
Early one morning in late October, her mother told her to saddle up and ride to her friend’s farm to fetch a goose for supper. “Don’t dawdle,” she warned. “I need it in the oven on time.”
Rose, wearing the brand-new floral dress Grandma had made her, saddled Pepper and headed up the hill. As children do, she lingered too long with her friend — taking turns riding Pepper, gossiping, and feeding the animals. By the time she mounted for home, the air had grown sharp and the feel of ice was on the wind. There had been a hard frost during the night, and the day had not warmed much.
Rose and Pepper hurried down Church Street. She didn’t like the steep, narrow roads, but Pepper was sure-footed. She planned her route: Church to Main, then King, Duke, Wine, and home. She would only be a little late.
Coming around the corner too fast from Church onto Main, Pepper’s hooves slipped on the icy cobbles. The small horse and girl slid into the path of a freight carriage pulled by four large draft horses. The team could not stop in time.
People screamed as they watched in horror as rider and pony were trampled. Witnesses later said the screams echoed all the way to the harbor — the crash, the shouts, and the terrible cries of the little gray pony.
Rose heard Pepper scream in pain and kept hearing it. She turned her head; his legs flailed in the air, both front ones bent at wrong angles. A gunshot rang out, and Pepper’s cries stopped. Hot tears ran down Rose’s cold cheeks, and then everything went dark.
She was carried home, pale but still breathing. Jacob bore his baby sister up to her bed, and her mother tucked her in. The family gathered around, tears wetting every face. Isaías saddled up and rode off at full gallop to bring Papa home.
Rose drifted in and out of consciousness. She woke to voices — her mother’s and the doctor’s. She hurt all over. Then she remembered Pepper. She whispered his name again and again as her mother stroked her forehead.
The doctor said miraculously he could find no broken bones. He told the family to keep her quiet and let her rest. He also said it was clear that one of the big horses had stepped on her. The invisible injury deep inside her body lay hidden like a bomb waiting to explode.
That night, as her mother held her hand, Rose cried weakly, “Where’s Pepper?” Her mother tried to soothe her baby girl. Holding her hand as she wept, she stayed until Rose fell asleep. The grieving child died suddenly in the night. Something deep inside had burst, and with one last quick spasm her bright life went out.
Standing in the old shed, ribbon and newspaper clipping in my hands, I felt that same wave of grief rise up around me — sharp, childlike, inconsolable. I took the clipping, cloth, and ribbons back up to the attic, opened the door, and walked to the corner.
“I’m so sorry, Rose,” I whispered. “You’ve grieved long enough, sweetheart. It’s time to let go now — Pepper’s waiting for you.”
The air grew warmer, and the smothering sadness lifted. For an instant, I thought I saw her — a small, waiflike figure in a pretty floral dress, one hand resting on the neck of a dappled gray pony with matching ribbons in their hair.
We sold the house and never got to live in it as a family. Times change, and life changes with them. We moved to another house — a two-year-old home with another ghost.
Author’s Note:
T.L. Humbert is the author of Brain Freeze, Book One of the Regeneration Trilogy — available now on Amazon.
