The following is from “Deep Water—Murder, Scandal, and Intrigue in a New England Town, by Kenneth M. Sheldon.
The road leading to William K. Dean’s home was a winding country lane that rose gradually, twisting and turning, passing fewer than half a dozen houses until it reached a point overlooking the town of Jaffrey, New Hampshire. In 1918, Jaffrey consisted of two villages: Jaffrey Center, which lay to the west with the larger and grander homes of the more affluent residents, and East Jaffrey, a typical New England mill village with a river running through it, the factories, railroad depot, and homes of millworkers nearby. Jaffrey’s residents were a mix of hard-rock Yankees whose parents and grandparents had tilled the soil, raised sheep, and cleared the hillsides, living alongside recent immigrants who worked in the mills and factories.
On the evening of August 13, 1918, William Dean rode down to East Jaffrey in his buggy, reluctantly leaving his wife Mary at home. The Deans had been happily married for 38 years, but in recent years Mary had begun to suffer from a mild form of senility that was attributed to “softening of the brain.” While not a complete invalid, she was nevertheless prone to memory lapses and occasionally mixed up her words.
Neighbors who saw Dean driving to town that evening thought he seemed somber and distracted, as if something was weighing on his mind. It was a Tuesday evening, the night that stores in East Jaffrey stayed open until 9 p.m. to accommodate those who could not conduct business during the day.
Dean first stopped at Goodnow’s, the flagship store of a dry goods chain that would eventually spread across New England. He made a few purchases, then walked up the street to the post office and Duncan’s drugstore, which shared a building. He chatted with a friend named Georgiana Hodgkins, then crossed the street to drop off some laundry at Meyers dry goods store. He crossed back over the street, bought some currant buns at Vanni’s market, then walked back to his buggy parked behind Goodnow’s.
According to Georgiana Hodgkins, Dean gave her a ride to the nearby home of her brother-in-law, Charles Rich, who was perhaps Dean’s best friend. Just before Dean and Hodgkins arrived, Rich had sustained a kick in the face from his horse and was bathing his wounds with the help of his wife, Lana. Dean visited with the Riches for a time and then headed home.
It was twilight of a sweltering summer day, and as Dean drove his buggy out of town, children were playing in the road—not unusual at a time when few horses or vehicles would come along to interrupt them. Dean rode past the home of Mrs. Emma Chouinard, who beckoned to her children to let him pass. According to Mrs. Chouinard, he tipped his hat “in his polite way,” and continued on his way. A number of other villagers, relaxing in hammocks or rockers on their porches in hopes of catching a cool breeze, also saw Mr. Dean as he drove by.
They waved, bid him good evening, or simply nodded pleasantly. They did not know it was the last time they would ever see him.
By the fall of 1918, the United States had been at war with Germany for over a year. The war brought victory gardens, Liberty Bonds, and reports of German U-boats prowling the waters off the East Coast. Despite the war, day-to-day life in East Jaffrey proceeded as it had for decades, much as Thornton Wilder described it in Our Town, the quintessential New England play set in the southwest corner of New Hampshire. “You come up here on a fine afternoon and you can see range on range of hills—awful blue they are,” says the Stage Manager, who narrates Our Town. “And, of course, our favorite mountain, Mount Monadnock’s right here—and all around it lie these towns—Jaffrey ‘n North Jaffrey, ‘n Peterborough, ‘n Dublin . . . ”
The Stage Manager, from his vantage point in Peterborough where Wilder wrote the play, could well have seen William Dean’s hilltop home some six miles away to the southwest. At the time, most of the region had been cleared of trees to provide pasture for sheep and wood for fuel, and incidentally providing unencumbered views of mile upon mile of rolling hills.
The Deans lived in a small bungalow perched on a windswept knoll a hundred yards off the Old Peterborough Road. Past the bungalow another hundred yards was a large summer house that the Deans had built and which they had been forced to begin renting out when finances became tight. Between the two houses and down a slope was a barn where Dean kept his few animals: one or two cows, his horse, a flock of white turkeys for which he was locally known, and an assortment of stray and cast-off animals that the Deans had taken in.
According to Mary Dean, her husband arrived home at about 9:30 that evening, his usual time when returning from the village. He brought in his purchases, ate one of the currant buns he had purchased in town, and smoked a cigarette. At about 11 o’clock, he went to milk the cow; Dean was viewed as somewhat eccentric by his neighbors in that, contrary to accepted practice, he milked his cows at noon and midnight, so that he could sleep late in the morning.
The Deans were accustomed to staying up into the early hours of the morning, reading by a light that locals reported could be seen a great distance away. Before he headed to the barn, William told Mary he would return at midnight and asked her to have a hot supper ready for him when he returned. He took a lantern and pail and left to do his chores.
Mary heated some soup and waited for William’s return, but he didn’t come. An hour passed, then two. She began to grow anxious; the Deans were creatures of habit, and it was unlike him to deviate from his usual routine. She felt certain some mishap had befallen him. Why else would he leave her alone for so long?
She waited through the night, occasionally dozing, then startled awake by the rustling of wind in the trees or the shrill bark of a fox in the woods. Her husband never returned.
“Deep Water—Murder, Scandal, and Intrigue in a New England Town,” by author Kenneth M. Sheldon, was released June 15 by Down East Books.
“Deep Water is a true story with all the elements of a classic Agatha Christie mystery,” says Sheldon. “Red herrings, multiple suspects, and enough plot twists to keep you guessing until the end.”
“Deep Water” is based on Sheldon’s extensive research into the Dean murder, which included thousands of pages of FBI documents, grand jury testimonies, newspaper accounts, private correspondence and the archives of the Jaffrey Historical Society.
“I began writing Deep Water because I thought William Dean deserved justice, even at this late date,” he says. “The truth needed to be told, to whatever extent I could uncover it.”
Sheldon was formerly the West Coast bureau chief for Byte Magazine. His writing has appeared in publications ranging from Acoustic Guitar to New Hampshire Magazine and Yankee Magazine, where he has been a regular columnist. He is the author of several books, including “Welcome to Frost Heaves,” a collection of Yankee humor written under his pen name Fred Marple.
Sheldon will read from “Deep Water,” discuss the process of its writing, answer questions and sign copies of the book on July 9 at the Jaffrey Civic Center at 10 a.m., with additional readings on July 30 at 10 a.m. at the Monadnock Center for History and Culture in Peterborough and on Aug. 4 at 7 p.m. at the Hancock Town Library. All events are free and open to the public.
For information, go to the author’s website at kenshel don.com or email ken@kensheldon.com.