I came to this country with her after I married her.”
Yeaton asked Christensen what he was doing the day of the murders. Christensen answered: “During the night my wife was killed I was in Portsmouth. I arrived at Portsmouth about four o’clock the night before.”
“Who was with you when you arrived at Portsmouth about four o’clock that night?”
“John Hontvet and Matthew Hontvet. I was at work for John in the fishing business.”
“Was anyone else with you that night?”
“No, sir.”
“Where did you spend the night at Portsmouth?”
“I was on board till twelve o’clock; after that went up to Johnson’s house and baited trolls.”
“Baited trolls the rest of the night?”
“Yes, till six or seven o’clock in the morning. John Hontvet was with me when I baited trolls.”
“When did you first hear of this matter at Smutty Nose?”
“Heard it from Appledore Island.”
“Where were you then?”
“On board Hontvet’s schooner.”
“Who were with you at that time?”
“Matthew Hontvet and John Hontvet; it was between eight and nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Did you go ashore?”
“Yes; got a boat and went ashore on Appledore Island.”
“Where did you go from Appledore Island?”
“I went first up to Ingerbretson’s house. After I left there I went to Smutty Nose. When I got to Smutty Nose, I went right up to the house and right in.”
“What did you see there?”
“I saw my wife lying on the floor.”
“Dead or alive?”
“Dead.”
“What did you do?”
“Went right back out again.”
The light is flat and muffled, colors indistinct. Thin, dull cloud has slipped over the sun, still rising in the east. I am annoyed with myself for having wasted too much time the day before shooting Maren’s Rock. I walk to the spot where the Hontvedt house once stood. The air has a chill in it, or perhaps it is only that I am chilled because my sweatshirt and shorts are wet. I am grateful that Rich knew not to bring Billie.
I stand in the footprint of the house, surveying its markers. There is little here that will make an outstanding photograph; its purpose will be merely documentary. Unless, that is, I can convey the foundation’s claustrophobia.
I know that it is always true that the dimensions of a house, seen from above, will look deceptively small. Space appears to increase in size with walls and furniture and windows. Yet even so, I am having difficulty imagining six grown men and women — Maren, John, Evan, Anethe, Matthew, and, for seven months, Louis Wagner — living in a space not much bigger than the single room Thomas had in Cambridge when I met him. All those passions, I think, on such a small piece of land.
I find what I think must have been one of the two front doors of the house and stand at its threshold, looking out toward Ap-pledore, as Maren must have done a thousand times in the five years she lived on the island. I take my cameras and lenses from their separate pouches, check the light meter, and shoot a series of black-and-white stills to make a panorama of that view. Directly west of me is Gosport Harbor and, beyond that, ten miles of water to the New Hampshire coast. To my north is Appledore; to my south is Star. Behind me, that is to say east of me, is the Atlantic. I back away from the threshold and stand in the foundation’s center. Beneath me, the floor of that old house has long given way to thistle and wood sage. I find a small patch of bare ground and sit down. Above me, the clouds are growing oilier, as though a film were being washed across the sky. My sweatshirt sticks to my back, and I shiver.
I dig under the brush to feel the dirt. I bring the soil up and massage it with my fingers. In the place where I am sitting, two women died. One was young, one was not. One was beautiful, the other not. I imagine I can hear Maren’s voice.
21 September 1899
THE MORNING AFTER we arrived on the island of Smutty Nose, John went off with a man named Ingerbretson to Portsmouth to secure more provisions and also to see about a schooner that might be for sale. In order to make a living on Smutty Nose, around which we were told was an abundance of mackerel, cod, flounder, haddock, and menhaden, John would have to have his own boat plus full gear for fishing. This would be a great expense, and would largely exhaust John’s savings,