“There she lay in the parlor, her face as calm as if she had never known the harshness of brutal guardians, the agony of poison, the terrible pangs of dissolution. Death had at last given her peace, the peace which passeth understanding.”
“There she lay in the parlor, her face as calm as if she had never known the harshness of brutal guardians, the agony of poison, the terrible pangs of dissolution. Death had at last given her peace, the peace which passeth understanding.”
Lina started awake. A scream had roused her, a girl crying for her mother. She thought of her own daughter, who was ill, but the cry came again from outside the house and a horse and carriage clattered onto Barber’s Bridge.
An old man died and left two children, a boy and a girl. No one wanted them. Their father settled them on the town and the town sent them to the poor farm.
December 11, 1899 dawned gray and cold, rain blowing in waves with the winds up Cherry Street. Agnes Willis spent the day at work as a “scrub woman,” or cleaner, before meeting up with Gilbert Farmer and returning with him to her tenement building at Cherry Court.
It’s early afternoon, not yet two o’clock on October 23, 1879, when Luman Smith returns to his farm in Williston. His little girl runs out to meet him and they go to the barn together, talking of this or that, then turning at the sound of footsteps, his father-in-law coming over.
October 6, 1875. Wednesday morning in St. Albans and Aldis Brainerd is reading the paper. He’s at his house on North Main Street or at his offices in the Brainerd Block. He’s taking breakfast, perhaps, or sitting at his desk when he opens The Daily Messenger.
On Friday, July 24, 1874, Marietta Ball dismissed her class and closed up the schoolhouse. As usual she intended to pass the weekend with her friend Clara Paige and left directly from the school, carrying her nightdress, slippers, and underclothes in a bundle under arm.
The moon was in the window. The bedroom swam silver in its light. Half-past eight o’clock on October 3, 1868, and Hannah Russell lay awake, her husband Perry beside her. He slept deeply and didn’t stir, though wind shook the roof-slates and rattled the shutters and somebody rapped at the side-door.
Henry Beumond worked at Guild & Wetherbee’s paper mill in Westminster. Late in the afternoon of June 12, 1895, he descended to the mill-race to rake out the debris and spied a starch box caught up on the racks. He fished it out and was surprised to see the lid was nailed shut. He pried it open.
The hills were on fire. It was the spring of 1877, windy and dry. In West Jay, Vermont, Mitchell Ploof was at work in his clearing when he smelled smoke and heard a rustling in the undergrowth.
July 28, 1902, a Monday evening. Clarence Adams was driving home from Chester village when two men stopped his wagon. He couldn't make out their faces but one of them had a shotgun. They wanted money, they said, or they'd shoot.
Tressa was up. Lillian Gallup heard movement upstairs and assumed it was her houseguest Tressa Dustin. It was just after eight in the morning. Lillian waited but Tressa didn’t come down. An hour later, Lillian went upstairs and found the guest room empty.