in September 1911 a handsome, middle-aged widow in a small New England town is quietly doing her chores on a Saturday morning — she has the ironing board out, and maybe she has already sprinkled the curtains she is about to press, and she is chatting with the guy she’s hired to paint a bedroom. The next thing you know, all hell has broken loose: There is blood, and chaos, and neighbors tromping in and out, littering the floor with golden leaves from hemlocks and maples, and there are police, doctors, the local Congregational minister and his wife, and an open bottle of brandy. Nothing is ever the same for the widow from that day forward. The painter is dead, shot through the heart.
In 1911, there are newspapers everywhere in New England; every county has to have its official publication. Often they trade news back and forth when not much has happened locally. Some are connected to the outside world through news agencies like Associated Press, and so you could read the same articles in newspapers all over the nation. Our story makes extensive use of these newspaper articles, and I have edited them severely for the modern reader, always with an eye to comprehensibility but with the knowledge that I must not play false with you. All of them are from Vermont, unless I tell you otherwise. They are all dated, so you can look up the originals if you want.
In 1911, there are newspapers everywhere in New England; every county has to have its official publication. Often they trade news back and forth when not much has happened locally. Some are connected to the outside world through news agencies like Associated Press, and so you could read the same articles in newspapers all over the nation. Our story makes extensive use of these newspaper articles, and I have edited them severely for the modern reader, always with an eye to comprehensibility but with the knowledge that I must not play false with you. All of them are from Vermont, unless I tell you otherwise. They are all dated, so you can look up the originals if you want.
