schoolhouse?”
4 7
B E T H
G U T C H E O N
“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Foss said. She seemed surprised that I had
to ask. “That was a schoolhouse—it was the old schoolhouse out to
the island. After it was closed, Miss Hamor had it brought across on
the ice one winter.”
“Really!”
“That’s quite common around here. That schoolhouse was
brought across, and some people in the summer colony, they brought
over a barn and made it into their living room. I’m told that; I’ve
never been in it.”
This was news to me, and I was suddenly full of questions. Of
course later I came to know a great deal about the island. Once the
gasoline engine was invented, there wasn’t the advantage there had
been in living out at the edge of things, close to the fishing grounds
and handy for the coasting trade. With an engine you could get out
there almost as quick if there was wind or not; you just had to get up
earlier in the morning. And the days of the great sailing vessels that
called on the islands as they traveled from the Maritimes up to Boston,
well, those days were mostly over anyway by the turn of the century.
“Course, there are islands where people stayed, gas engines or
no,” said Kermit. Mrs. Foss had paused in her dealing envelopes into
slots to read some postcards. Everyone expected this, and, along with
many others, in later life I’d often send a greeting to her on the edge
of a postcard I was mailing to someone else in the village. “The truth
is people started to remove from Beal back in the nineties, after the
murder.”
“The murder,” I said. My skin pricked, and I stopped trying to
get through to Hoover.
“Yes, there was a murder out on Beal in . . .’eighty-six, was it,
Nella B.?”
“Eighteen eighty-six. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. A
girl called Sallie Haskell killed her father with an ax. There was a trial
4 8
M O R E
T H A N
Y O U
K N O W
up in Unionville. . . . It was a terrible thing to happen in a little island
village.”
Killed her father! Was that what I had seen crawling across the
bedroom floor? An old woman who had killed someone once? Was I
so sure it was a woman? Was it a murdered man? The more I thought
of it, the more I thought that I had heard something about it; it was
the kind of tale that gets whispered among the sleeping bags at camp-
outs. A girl murderer, a lonely island. But I certainly didn’t know it
was this bay, or that island.
“What happened to her? Sallie Haskell?”
“Why, they couldn’t convict her. They tried her twice. The first
time the jury was hung, and the second time they acquitted.”
“Yes, reporters come up from all over New England for the
trial,” said Kermit. “My father went to the first one, every day. Course,
the state was dry at the time, so reporters didn’t have much to do with
themselves except make things up. Not many wanted to come back
up here for the second one.”
“What happened to Sallie afterwards?”
“She came back here,” they both said, as if this made perfect
sense.
“But she didn’t go back to the island,” said Nella B. “She stayed
in Dundee, where she had family, and lived in a little house by herself.
She tried to teach school, but the children were so interested about
who she was, she couldn’t get much else through their heads. And
every little while the press would dredge everything up. Anniversaries
of the murder, that sort of thing. In her later years, she hardly went
out.”
“Wore nothing but black, and only went out after dark,” said
Kermit. “The children tended to follow her about, otherwise.”
I was growing afraid to ask more about her. But I couldn’t help
wanting to know what she was like, had they known her?
4 9
B E T H
G U T C H E O N
“Yes, I knew her quite well,” said Mrs. Foss. “She was quiet.
She was always grateful for what you did for her. I’d take her her
mail, when she got any, and visit a
4 7
B E T H
G U T C H E O N
“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Foss said. She seemed surprised that I had
to ask. “That was a schoolhouse—it was the old schoolhouse out to
the island. After it was closed, Miss Hamor had it brought across on
the ice one winter.”
“Really!”
“That’s quite common around here. That schoolhouse was
brought across, and some people in the summer colony, they brought
over a barn and made it into their living room. I’m told that; I’ve
never been in it.”
This was news to me, and I was suddenly full of questions. Of
course later I came to know a great deal about the island. Once the
gasoline engine was invented, there wasn’t the advantage there had
been in living out at the edge of things, close to the fishing grounds
and handy for the coasting trade. With an engine you could get out
there almost as quick if there was wind or not; you just had to get up
earlier in the morning. And the days of the great sailing vessels that
called on the islands as they traveled from the Maritimes up to Boston,
well, those days were mostly over anyway by the turn of the century.
“Course, there are islands where people stayed, gas engines or
no,” said Kermit. Mrs. Foss had paused in her dealing envelopes into
slots to read some postcards. Everyone expected this, and, along with
many others, in later life I’d often send a greeting to her on the edge
of a postcard I was mailing to someone else in the village. “The truth
is people started to remove from Beal back in the nineties, after the
murder.”
“The murder,” I said. My skin pricked, and I stopped trying to
get through to Hoover.
“Yes, there was a murder out on Beal in . . .’eighty-six, was it,
Nella B.?”
“Eighteen eighty-six. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. A
girl called Sallie Haskell killed her father with an ax. There was a trial
4 8
M O R E
T H A N
Y O U
K N O W
up in Unionville. . . . It was a terrible thing to happen in a little island
village.”
Killed her father! Was that what I had seen crawling across the
bedroom floor? An old woman who had killed someone once? Was I
so sure it was a woman? Was it a murdered man? The more I thought
of it, the more I thought that I had heard something about it; it was
the kind of tale that gets whispered among the sleeping bags at camp-
outs. A girl murderer, a lonely island. But I certainly didn’t know it
was this bay, or that island.
“What happened to her? Sallie Haskell?”
“Why, they couldn’t convict her. They tried her twice. The first
time the jury was hung, and the second time they acquitted.”
“Yes, reporters come up from all over New England for the
trial,” said Kermit. “My father went to the first one, every day. Course,
the state was dry at the time, so reporters didn’t have much to do with
themselves except make things up. Not many wanted to come back
up here for the second one.”
“What happened to Sallie afterwards?”
“She came back here,” they both said, as if this made perfect
sense.
“But she didn’t go back to the island,” said Nella B. “She stayed
in Dundee, where she had family, and lived in a little house by herself.
She tried to teach school, but the children were so interested about
who she was, she couldn’t get much else through their heads. And
every little while the press would dredge everything up. Anniversaries
of the murder, that sort of thing. In her later years, she hardly went
out.”
“Wore nothing but black, and only went out after dark,” said
Kermit. “The children tended to follow her about, otherwise.”
I was growing afraid to ask more about her. But I couldn’t help
wanting to know what she was like, had they known her?
4 9
B E T H
G U T C H E O N
“Yes, I knew her quite well,” said Mrs. Foss. “She was quiet.
She was always grateful for what you did for her. I’d take her her
mail, when she got any, and visit a
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