Young, popular, and beautiful, Annie McMaster's future was full of promise. She was, after all, engaged to marry Daniel Kenley, 14 years older than her and well respected in the town of Havre de Grace. Daniel once worked as a bridge builder, but had landed an enviable position with the federal fish commission.
Annie's family rented a comfortable frame cottage on Stokes Street near the center of town. She lived with her mother Susanna, her brother William, and her sister Alice. Her father had passed away after moving the family to town from Cecil County somewhere near Elkton.
Annie McMaster, described as cheerful and bright, did the unthinkable during the early morning hours of June 4, 1889.
Holding her brother's revolver so near her chest that her clothing was burned, Annie ended the promise of her very bright future. The report of the revolver echoed through the quiet streets of Havre de Grace alerting the town that something fatal had happened. A neighbor, Mrs. James Hand, rushed into the house to find Annie's mother, Susanna, leaning over her dying daughter. The sight had to be gruesome. Annie lied on her family's sofa for an hour, blood flowing freely, before she passed away.
The suicide of a young lady, known to be likable and pleasant, shocked the town of Havre de Grace. Hundreds came to the family's house on Stoke's Street to pay their respect and view Annie's body lying in a casket. Remember, Annie lived during a time when corpses were laid out and viewed in the homes of the deceased.
Annie McMaster's body was buried in a family plot at Angel Hill Cemetery in a peaceful setting near the hill's crest. She was just 21 years old.
The source of Annie's desperation followed her to the grave. One account tells of a disagreement between Annie and Daniel the night before Annie committed suicide. The couple had paid a social visit to the house of one of Annie's sisters who lived nearby.
What was said between the Annie and Daniel? Did Daniel break the engagement? We will never know.
The story of Annie McMaster, like the story of Hattie Stone, has long faded from the memory of townsfolk. Then again, there are always those distant memories of the tales told to us during our childhoods. The fear evoked by those stories seems to stay with us always though the details somehow became vague.
While growing up in Havre de Grace, is it possible the someone told you a ghostly story about a young lady, possibly nameless, that haunts a house on Stokes Street?
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