Ghosts on the Coast of Maine Read Online Free Page B
Author: Carol Schulte
elderly lady? Was Cathy chosen to receive this information because the young artist could have empathized, and thereby helped relieve the lady?
Or was it some sort of warning from her own mother?
Â
CHAPTER SEVEN
BANK ACCOUNT BREAKER
T his house had come to my attention through four Maine residents who claimed it to be haunted, one of whom traveled with me to point out the location. Upon entering South Thomaston, I noticed a spot where a small bridge functioned as the belt between two larger bodies of water, known as the Gig. Around the bend, coming north on Route 73, we came upon a huge block of a house the color of creamed coffee. Its hip-roofed structure dwarfed the neighboring dwellings, some of which were older than the Victorian house in question. There was definitely something about the top of that house that drew my attention. It was not female.
No one was living in the house, so we peeked in the windows that were not sheeted over. The original velvet drapes framed what seemed like an age-old scene from an antique doll house. Wooden carvings of grape clusters studded the stocky legs of a low, wide piano, which stood in front of a conversation grouping of a brocaded settee and chairs. Keeping watch over the piano was the tall, slender sentinel of a lamp. It was topped with colored glass sections of a tulip-shaped shade. As we turned to continue walking, a sharp odor of fire hit my nostrils. Looking around and seeing nothing amiss, I quickly dismissed the sensation.
A room on the east side seemed like a lighthouse unto itself, with an ornate brass table lamp dominating a small area that jutted out from the rest of the house. It was this room that smelled of the sea, with old charts on the walls that hung opposite black-framed photographs of schooner ships. A sea captainâs reading room, for sure.
Although these furnishings were of great value, the house itself looked sorely neglected. The walls were crumbling, the majestic front door was weather-beaten, and the barn attached to the house was leaning on the main structure for support. Above the barn door was a sign spelling out the exact name of the school I had attended for twelve years, and that omen spurred me on to research the place.
The local historian lived several miles down the road, so off we went. He said that a sea captain had built the mansion in 1855, the year after a fire had destroyed his first house constructed on the same plot of ground. This comment triggered my memory about the odor I had encountered. After perusing photographs and old records, we asked about the present owner and found a parallel between his circumstances and the captainâs.
Ghosts will do this. They will often choose to communicate to a person or inhabitant who has been through a predicament similar to theirs. This situation allows for a sympathetic ear, on both sides of the line.
First, the captainâs story: Josiah Thurston, in spite of his rural elementary education, went on to pursue an intellectual career. The Honorable Thurston practiced law for a while until he became interested in business. Then he reverted to family tradition and chose a marine occupation, operating a shipyard on the Wessaweskeag. Translation from the Indian is Tidal Creek Place, nicknamed âThe Gig.â Within eighteen years, he had built nineteen vessels.
Josiah adjusted well. During the first seven years of marriage, which were childless, he spent most of his time bolstering his law and shipbuilding businesses. When the children came, he worked even harder to keep his family well fed and able to continue in the lifestyle to which they were accustomed.
In 1848 this father of a growing brood was elected a Selectman of Thomaston, a job which he took very seriously. He was appointed to a committee which traveled to Augusta, and his law training served him well in the devising of bills and in lobbying the State Legislature for passage of them. Shortly afterwards he became a state
Or was it some sort of warning from her own mother?
Â
CHAPTER SEVEN
BANK ACCOUNT BREAKER
T his house had come to my attention through four Maine residents who claimed it to be haunted, one of whom traveled with me to point out the location. Upon entering South Thomaston, I noticed a spot where a small bridge functioned as the belt between two larger bodies of water, known as the Gig. Around the bend, coming north on Route 73, we came upon a huge block of a house the color of creamed coffee. Its hip-roofed structure dwarfed the neighboring dwellings, some of which were older than the Victorian house in question. There was definitely something about the top of that house that drew my attention. It was not female.
No one was living in the house, so we peeked in the windows that were not sheeted over. The original velvet drapes framed what seemed like an age-old scene from an antique doll house. Wooden carvings of grape clusters studded the stocky legs of a low, wide piano, which stood in front of a conversation grouping of a brocaded settee and chairs. Keeping watch over the piano was the tall, slender sentinel of a lamp. It was topped with colored glass sections of a tulip-shaped shade. As we turned to continue walking, a sharp odor of fire hit my nostrils. Looking around and seeing nothing amiss, I quickly dismissed the sensation.
A room on the east side seemed like a lighthouse unto itself, with an ornate brass table lamp dominating a small area that jutted out from the rest of the house. It was this room that smelled of the sea, with old charts on the walls that hung opposite black-framed photographs of schooner ships. A sea captainâs reading room, for sure.
Although these furnishings were of great value, the house itself looked sorely neglected. The walls were crumbling, the majestic front door was weather-beaten, and the barn attached to the house was leaning on the main structure for support. Above the barn door was a sign spelling out the exact name of the school I had attended for twelve years, and that omen spurred me on to research the place.
The local historian lived several miles down the road, so off we went. He said that a sea captain had built the mansion in 1855, the year after a fire had destroyed his first house constructed on the same plot of ground. This comment triggered my memory about the odor I had encountered. After perusing photographs and old records, we asked about the present owner and found a parallel between his circumstances and the captainâs.
Ghosts will do this. They will often choose to communicate to a person or inhabitant who has been through a predicament similar to theirs. This situation allows for a sympathetic ear, on both sides of the line.
First, the captainâs story: Josiah Thurston, in spite of his rural elementary education, went on to pursue an intellectual career. The Honorable Thurston practiced law for a while until he became interested in business. Then he reverted to family tradition and chose a marine occupation, operating a shipyard on the Wessaweskeag. Translation from the Indian is Tidal Creek Place, nicknamed âThe Gig.â Within eighteen years, he had built nineteen vessels.
Josiah adjusted well. During the first seven years of marriage, which were childless, he spent most of his time bolstering his law and shipbuilding businesses. When the children came, he worked even harder to keep his family well fed and able to continue in the lifestyle to which they were accustomed.
In 1848 this father of a growing brood was elected a Selectman of Thomaston, a job which he took very seriously. He was appointed to a committee which traveled to Augusta, and his law training served him well in the devising of bills and in lobbying the State Legislature for passage of them. Shortly afterwards he became a state
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