Coming Home
On October 25, 2025, I spent a wonderful and wonder-filled evening reliving my childhood at the Market Street Bed & Breakfast, formerly the "Old Ladies' Home" in Jeffersonville, Indiana. The Old Ladies' Home where I spent most of my childhood between the ages of three and fifteen tending to and entertaining the residents with my grandmother who was matron of the home.
A Home with a Long Memory
Built in 1881 by George and Barbara Pfau, the grand Second Empire mansion at 330 W. Market Street began its life as a stately private residence before becoming the Old Ladies’ Home in 1906, a charitable refuge for elderly women, including widows of Civil War veterans. It remained so for nearly eight decades, including the years 1960–1984, when the home continued to offer care, community, and dignity to the women who lived there.
The mansion endured the devastating 1937 Ohio River Flood, which filled it with fourteen feet of water, yet it remained a steadfast part of Jeffersonville’s landscape. After the Old Ladies’ Home closed in 1984, the building became the Haven House Homeless Shelter from 1985–1996, until two fires forced its closure and left the structure abandoned for six years. In 2002, Steve and Carol Stenbro purchased the deteriorated mansion at auction and began a meticulous 3½‑year restoration, ultimately reopening it in October 2005 as the Market Street Inn Bed & Breakfast. This period is deeply significant because it represents the mansion’s identity as a place of refuge, stability, and compassion, a legacy that continues today as guests step into a beautifully restored home filled with history, resilience, and welcome.
Crossing the Threshold
Walking through the door into foyer was overwhelming. I did not realize how long it had been, or how long I had procrastinated returning, until I was actually in the doorway. Standing there, I was overcome by emotion, wondering why I had waited so long. The home truly has a presence and I felt it.
The owners quietly but graciously welcomed me and scurried to retrieve the key to my room when I announced that it was not only the home, but them I had come to see. I could tell they were surprised by this, as they both stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me. I said "I grew up in this home" and then apologized that it taken me so long to come to see them, but that I wasn't sure how they would react or if they would even be interested. When I explained I had photos to show them, they were as excited as I was. We sat in the parlor talking for quite some time.
Sharing the Past
Through our conversations, I realized they knew little about the home’s history that was the most memorable part of my life beginning around 1965 until 1981. They only knew of its years as a homeless shelter. They were delighted by the photos and memories I shared—especially the details about the interior layout that answered questions they had wondered about for years.
It was magical being back in the home and seeing the loving care the Stenbros had poured into it. I hope to stay there again someday.
The Magic of October 25
In 2019, my cousin Becky and I traveled to the Smoky Mountains in Gatlinburg to spread her husband’s ashes at one of his favorite places. We stopped in a little store, and I bought an orange 2019 commemorative Smoky Mountain coffee mug. I later posted a photo of that mug with a loaf of delicious pumpkin bread my cousin had baked on Facebook.
When we returned to my cousin's home in London, Kentucky, she asked if I would like to visit our grandmother’s grave before I returned to my home in Indiana. I hadn’t been there since her funeral in 2000. When she opened the gate, I walked straight to the headstone. “What’s today’s date?” I asked. “October 25th,” she replied. I pointed at the headstone. Our grandmother died on October 25th. I said to my cousin "I think she was expecting our visit today!"
And here I was on October 25, 2025 the 25th anniversary of Mamaw's passing, falling asleep in the same bedroom—next to the very same fireplace where I had slept as a child at the Old Ladies’ Home with my Mamaw.
The next morning, before checking out, I sat down for a lovely breakfast with a warm mug of coffee. I glanced at the mug in my hands and thought… surely not.
I picked up my phone, searched, and found the Facebook post from our Gatlinburg trip.
The mugs were identical—same logo, same color, same date.
What are the odds?
Just one more bit of magic, reminding me that my Mamaw is still with me, watching over me.
~Lacy Gray
