Vanished At Christmas: Two Mysteries That Will Make You Question Everything

Written By Kaelyn Moore

Today, I want to tell you about two winter mysteries that have haunted New York for over a century. The first is about Dorothy Arnold, who disappeared on a cold December day in 1910 after leaving a bookstore in Manhattan. And the second is about a devastating Christmas night fire in Staten Island in 1843, and the legend of the witch who started it.

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SOURCES

POLLY BODINE

DOROTHY ARNOLD

TRANSCRIPT

Today, I want to tell you about two mysteries that have truly kept me up at night

The first is about a girl who walked out of her home into the middle of a busy street in new york city and then vanished into thin air

And the other is about a mysterious fire that happened on Christmas night in staten island, and the legend of the witch who started it. 

A reminder that if you love true crime that reads like gothic horror, disappearances that make you question everything, and urban legends that ended up being TRUE. you are in the right place because you are just like me. I upload once a week so make sure youre subscribed. 

December 12th, 1910 was a cold but clear day in New York City. Dorothy Arnold wore a crisp blue suit, and velvet hat. . She walked leisurely, but with purpose, from store to store. The sidewalks were laced with ice, but the young woman was sure footed, and never stumbled.


Gladys King saw her from not far away, waving until her friend waved back. The two women met outside the bookstore, and chatted for a brief while. Her friend seemed in good spirits, the two of them talking about an upcoming party they would both be attending. It was not a long conversation.

Dorothy said that she was going to meet her mother for lunch at the Waldorf Astoria, so she really needed to be on her way. Gladys wished her well and the two women parted. Dorothy turned to wave once, then twice, then turned fully to walk toward Central Park, which she had to cross in order to get to her lunch.

It was a fairly normal interaction, but that would be the last time that anyone ever saw Dorothy Arnold, alive or dead. And it begs the question, where was Dorothy really heading, and what happened to her?

Welcome back to heart starts pounding, a podcast of horrors, hauntings and mysteries, I’m your host, Kaelyn Moore. 

Jinx, our friendly ghost,  and I have been sitting here scaring ourselves reading about these two old timey mysteries I’m going to tell you about today, isn’t that right Jinx? 

They both feel very classic heart starts pounding. Back when our show was alot of mysteries and crimes from the 1800’s. And it made me think, I’m curious which episode was the first one you guys listened to. The one that made you keep listening to the show. You can comment wherever you listen. 

Every now and then I’ll get a message from one of you like Lydia, Heather, or Aaron (or my dad) saying that you’ve been listenening SINCE THE BEGINNING and I just can’t believe it, so thank you thank you thank you. 

Ok, Let’s get back to it. 

Dorothy Arnold had an enviable life. She was the daughter of Francis R. Arnold, one of the owners of a successful perfume import business. Neither she, nor her brothers or sister, wanted for anything. 

And being a woman of high society meant that expectations of her from her family were pretty clear: She was to make a good impression among the upper crust of Manhattan, and find a respectable man to marry. But that didn’t seem to be exactly what Dorothy wanted. From a young age she had a bit of an independent spirit. First of all, she went to college — not a typical choice for women of the era. 

And that’s because she didn’t want to sit around high society on her husbands arm, she wanted to be an author. After her graduation, she eagerly wrote short stories and started sending them off to literary magazines.

When she brought this ambition up to her family, they just made fun of her. From what I can tell, it seems like they treated her life’s ambition as a phase she would grow out of once she decided to start a family. Dorothy, to her credit, was not deterred. She continued writing, and opened a PO Box under her own name so that her parents wouldn’t see her correspondence.

She asked her father if she could have her own apartment in Greenwich Village — the famous haven of artists and bohemian creatives. Francis said no, telling her that “a good writer can write anywhere”. There wasn’t much Dorothy could do about that. She’d be financially reliant on her parents until she got married. Or, until she sold a short story or a novel.

In late November of 1910, Dorothy traveled to Washington, DC. She intended to stay with Theodora Bates, a friend of hers from college, who was teaching in Washington. Theodora welcomed Dorothy, but was shocked at how moody she was. Thanksgiving morning, Dorothy refused to get out of bed. Then something even stranger happened: A heavy envelope arrived for her, even though it was a holiday and regular mail was suspended.

Theodora handed Dorothy the envelope. To her surprise, she just tossed it aside. Theodora was concerned, but didn’t ask any more questions.

She figured that maybe the envelope was a rejected manuscript. But then again, how would they have gotten her address? Was there something else in that envelope?

The next day, Theodora awoke to find Dorothy already up and fully packed. That was odd, she thought Dorothy was planning on staying through the weekend. Dorothy’s story now changed, She said she always meant to leave by Friday. And with that, she quickly left her friends house

It seemed like something changed in Dorothy after this, the moody, moping girl Theodora was with all week was gone, and Dorothy was back to the swing of her social life. She planned a tea party for her college friends, set for Tuesday, December 17th. The invite list included 60 of her former classmates. It was going to be a huge deal, the kind of high society gathering that her parents wanted her to partake in. 

Dorothy herself never showed up. The party was set for five days after she disappeared…

Late in the morning of December 12th, she dressed to go out. At 11:30am, she told her mother that she was going to walk to 5th avenue to buy a dress for a big event that was coming up. Her younger sister Marjorie had a coming out party soon, and she didn’t have anything to wear. Her mother would have been thrilled at this. Dorothy now taking her social engagements seriously, instead of holing up in her room to write. So she offered to tag along with her daughter to help her find a dress. But Dorothy got kind of quiet, and declined her mother’s offer. She said that she would call when she found a dress that she liked.

Her mother watched as She stepped out of the door and began her walk downtown. It was 20 blocks between their home on 108th street to 5th ave and 59th, where she intended to do the bulk of her shopping. She stopped at a candy store, Park & Tilford’s. The salesgirl at the counter greeted her warmly, recognizing her from previous visits. Dorothy purchased a box of chocolates, which she stored in her muff. Then, she walked to Bretano’s bookshop. She purchased An Engaged Girl’s Sketches by Emily Calvin Blake, perhaps inspiration for her next work of short fiction.

Outside Bretano’s, is where she ran into her friend Gladys King. After that, she turned toward Central Park, and went on with her day. Her mother sat by the phone expecting a call about the dress, but the phone never rang.

 By the time dinner rolled around, she started to grow concerned. Dorothy never missed a meal. So, she and her husband started calling neighbors and parents of friends, asking if Dorothy had visited them. but no one said she had…

Her mother started to panic, but a woman of her status could never look stressed, So when anyone asked about Dorothy that night, her mother lied. She even told one friend that Dorothy was at home, she’d just gone to bed early with a headache.

But All night passed without any word from Dorothy. Over breakfast the following morning, the family realized they had to do something. Francis was adamantly opposed to contacting the police, though. The last thing he wanted was a scandal. They would handle this quietly. 

Dorothy’s brother John contacted a lawyer friend, John S. Keith. Keith was not much older than Dorothy, but he was tasked by the Arnolds with quietly leading the investigation, alongside Dorothy’s brother.

They knew for a fact that she’d been at 5th avenue that day — she’d charged both the chocolates and her book to the family account. But what they didn’t know was where she went after the book store.

Keith and John searched her room for clues that could tell them where she’d gone. And that’s where they found a few interesting things… 

So Dorothy left a number of letters behind, some with foreign postmarks. What’s more, there were ashes in her fireplace, like she’d been burning papers recently

They didn’t know what the pages had been, but John had a theory. Dorothy had been sending her short stories to various publications, including the well-known McClure’s magazine. If one of her stories had been rejected, maybe she burnt the remains in the fireplace out of shame. They couldn’t really be sure, but That was all of the thought they gave it.

Keith searched for several weeks for any trace of Dorothy. Not finding any evidence that she took a train, he broadened his search to hospitals and morgues, in case something horrible had befallen her. Three cities later, he was empty handed. So, finally, Francis went to the professionals.

He brought the case to the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the famous organization of private investigators. And they jumped on the case immediately, it definitely helped that the Arnold’s were a high status family. Multiple Pinkerton agents combed the city, interviewing friends and acquaintances of Dorothy’s, piecing together every step of her final day:

But they hit the same exact wall that everyone else did. They never could determine what happened to her after she met with Gladys.

The news broke to the public on January 25th, 1911, over a month after Dorothy disappeared. The press, unsurprisingly, went into a frenzy, seeking out a statement from the Arnold family. 

And of course, the Arnolds didn’t know anything, but something they said ended up leading police to the first real suspect….

Ambience- investigative, mysterious, a little bit more pulsating

During an interview, journalists asked Francis if Dorothy vanished because he was too strict with her suitors. Yes, they immediately wondered if she was mad she couldn’t have a boyfriend. 

Francis responded that it was actually quite the opposite, he actually wished she spent more time with men instead of writing poems or whatever in her damn room. Well, actually, as long as it was men who were worthy of her. He added, “I don’t approve of young men who have nothing to do.”

This comment was pointed enough that the journalist wondered if there was a specific man that Dorothy knew that Francis didn’t approve of, so he began asking around. Soon, he found out that Dorothy did have a suitor. George Griscom Junior was his name, and Dorothy’s family did not like him.

The journalist found out that Griscom was actually vacationing in Italy at the time of Dorothy’s disappearance. Was that the source of the foreign postage found in her room??

The two of them had been close for a while — they’d met while she was in college and struck up a relationship. He’d visited the Arnold family over the summer of 1910 with an offer for Dorothy’s hand in marriage, but he was turned away. Francis thought that an engineer from Philadelphia wasn’t suited for his heiress daughter.

And at first, this seemed like another overstep in parenting, can they let this girl live at ALL? She can’t be an author, she can’t date the guy she wants. 

But however much her family disapproved, it seems like Dorothy liked George — the September before she vanished, it was discovered that she’d spent a week with him in Boston, after telling her parents that she was visiting Theodora. People who saw them there said they acted very couply, walking around together hand-in-hand. Dorothy even pawned some of her jewelry in order to pay for the hotel room they were staying in.

But this all begged the question- did the two elope?

Eventually, the Arnolds managed to contact Griscom and his family. John, Dorothy’s brother, went with her mother to Florence, where he confronted Griscom. According to one report, John greeted Griscom with a punch to the face. Dorothy, though, was nowhere to be found. 

John did took a letter from Griscom, written by Dorothy herself, which ended with this chilling passage:

”Well, it has come back. McClure’s has turned me down. All I can see ahead is a long road with no turning. Mother will always think an accident has happened.”

This was the first new clue they’d found in months: insight into Dorothy’s mindset at the time of her disappearance., though her actual intentions remain unclear. 

Did the letter mean she was thinking of taking her own life? That she wanted to flee and start a new life? What “accident” was she anticipating?

Well, If she’d been meaning to run away, she probably would have packed more than she did. She didn’t have enough on her to start a new life, and she left her most valuable pieces of jewelry in her room, along with a significant amount of private correspondence. 

Her family didn’t necessarily believe she took her own life though, either. She didn’t leave a note, and her family believed that she was clearly planning for her future. Her upcoming tea party, the book she bought to read, these don’t sound like the plans of someone who intends to kill herself.

Her father had an inkling that she had been killed and thrown in the Hudson river. But by who? And why? That, he couldn’t really answer. 

By February 25th, no new leads had turned up. After 75 days of investigating, police officially closed the case. Dorothy somehow vanished into thin air, in the middle of New York City. As the years passed, her father eventually wrote her out of the estate. He was convinced she was dead, though no one could say for certain. 

However, Five years after Dorothy disappeared, another clue would arise. One that actually may have been the piece of the puzzle they were missing. 

In a Rhode Island prison, a man named Edward Glennoris was serving an 18 month sentence for sending a threatening letter to a priest. In the spring of 1916, he confessed that the guilt was driving him mad. Not guilt over the letter to the priest, no that guy deserved it, but guilt about another crime he knew of. One that involved Dorothy Arnold. 

He was ready to open up. This is the information he gave police. 

Years ago, he and a friend had been contacted by a wealthy man, he didn’t give a name, who would pay them $250 to help him dispose of a body. He and his friend met the rich man in a 7th Avenue saloon. The man took them in a limousine to New Rochelle, where they buried the body of a young woman in a cellar. Glennoris was adamant that he didn’t see the killing of the poor girl, just her body.

Naturally, this story provoked great interest in the press, but when the warden tried to follow up in mid-April, Glennoris denied that he ever said any of that. A month later, he doubled back again, saying he’d been frightened off initially by powerful men who wanted to keep him silent, but now he’d found his courage again. He would talk for the low price of a pardon and 50 dollars to pay his outstanding fine. Inspector Williams of the NYPD heard him out, following his story for 2 months.

The investigation went nowhere. They identified several houses in New Rochelle that matched Glennoris’s description, but no basement had a hidden body in it.

So that’s the end of it, right? Yet another dead end, leaving us to forever wonder what became of Dorothy Arnold?

Actually, no. There might have been a bit of truth in that confession. And we know that because of ANOTHER confession that came out later. 

On April 9th, 1914, two years before Glennoris started spreading his wild stories, a private home in Pittsburgh was raided by the police. But not because they believed there were bodies in the basement. The home, owned by two doctors, functioned as a private, off the books hospital. A group of doctors operated an illegal abortion clinic out of the basement, which included an operating table and a pair of heavy duty furnaces.

Dr. H.E. Lutz, one of these doctors, would later confess that sometimes, patients who came in for these illegal services, would die from complications due to the procedures. And when that happened, they discreetly dispose of them. One of the patients who had died during an abortion, and had been cremated, he confessed, was Dorothy Arnold.

Now, this was not easy for her family to hear, and they denied that this ever happened for the rest of their lives. But the timing makes sense. If she had seen Griscom for a week in September, by December she would have been fairly positive she was pregnant. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean this theory is perfect by any means. The Pinkertons couldn’t find evidence that she’d taken a train out of town on the day she disappeared. How would she have gotten to Pittsburgh if not by train? Griscom was in Italy this whole time, so there’s no way he could have done anything…

But it seems to be the best answer we have, even if her parents forever insisted it was impossible. Could it be the case that they didn’t know their daughter very well? That they had an idea of who she was in their head, but that she was someone else entirely?

Now, the next Winter mystery I want to tell you about starts how most of my favorite heart starts pounding episodes begin. With an urban legend….Let me tell you about the Witch of Staten Island.

In a cemetery in Staten Island lies the body of one of the most infamous women in New York history. they call her the Witch of Staten Island

It’s said that today, if you go to her grave, nestled amongst the stones in Fairview cemetery, you can hear her cackle in the wind. You might even be able to glimpse a reflection of flames on her tombstone, symbolic of the victims she burned alive. 

The story goes that on Christmas night over 120 years ago, the witch of staten island locked a mother and her child inside of their home and set it on fire as an offering to the devil on the lords holiday. She danced around the flames, laughing her signature laugh at the sight of the poor souls trapped inside. 

Her story was so infamous, If you’d gone to PT Barnum’s American Museum in 1844, you would have seen this woman’s likeness in waxwork — an old crone with evil eyes and prematurely withered skin. Newspapermen sold wood carvings of her on the streets to passersby, and everyone who was anyone had an opinion about her horrible crimes. 

The truth is, there really was a great fire on the island all those years ago, and the woman who is buried beneath this tomb stone was put on trial for it. But Was she really a horrible old crone who murdered remorselessly? Or was the whole thing just a witch hunt against a complicated woman?

It all started on Christmas Night, 1843. A man named Isaac Cruzer was walking through Granite Village, a small community in Northeast Staten Island, when he saw a plume of smoke rising from the chimney of a nearby cottage. Something was off about the smoke — it was thick and dark, not like a clean hearth fire.

Cruzer realized that he was seeing a house fire in progress. He and his friends shouted out, and soon everyone was converging on the burning cottage. Even though it was so late at night, the neighbors were quick to act, passing buckets from the tavern to the house, throwing water through the burst windows.

By the morning, the fire was quenched. The house still stood, but inside it was charred black.

Granite Village was a close-knit community. Everyone knew whose house this was: Captain George Houseman, an oyster man currently at sea with his schooner, the Whig. He was safely out of danger… but he was not the only one who lived there. Walking through the house, Cruzer and the others found a pair of bodies. It was George Houseman’s wife Emeline, and Eliza Ann, their 18-month-old daughter.

Dr. William Eadie was brought in for a postmortem examination of the bodies. It was an unspeakably awful task for him, because he had been the Houseman’s family physician. What he found on the bodies was more awful still:

Emeline had deep rough scars on her arms, what looked like defensive wounds. A black silk handkerchief was tied around her wrist in a sailor’s knot — it looked like some kind of restraint. Most gruesome of all, part of Ann Eliza’s skull was separated from her head. A fire wouldn’t have done this.

This was a murder. 

That same day, December 26th, 1843, the Whig came into harbor and Captain George learned of his family's murder. He was on a ferry to shore when he ran into his younger sister, Mary. Mary had already heard what happened, in fact, she had visited Emmeline often while George was away because she was often scared to be home alone while her husband was out. She told him what happened as gently as she could, and watched as her brother crumbled. Who could have done this, he thought? The couple didn’t have any enemies, at least, not that he knew of. 

Arrangements were made for the funeral on Wednesday, December 27th. George’s family, the Housemans, and Emeline’s family, the Van Pelts, were all in attendance, as well as a significant chunk of Granite Village. The Housemans were a respectable family of Staten Island, which at this point in history had a population of only 10,000 people. It was a small and proud community, standing apart from the riff-raff of New York City across the water.

By the end of the funeral, John Van Pelt, George’s father-in-law, was grumbling to the other members of the family. He’d been thinking it over and something was not sitting right with him about this crime. 


A small crowd gathered around him and John kept sorting through the details he knew about the murder, when all of a sudden, he announced that he thought he might know who killed his daughter and granddaughter. 


There was only one person he knew of who had seen Emeline and her daughter while George was away. George’s younger sister, Mary.


She’d been, as far as John knew, the last person to see Emeline and Ann Eliza alive. He knew that she’d been over to visit on December 23rd, just two days before the fire. 


He also knew that George had given Emeline a gift before he left for his journey, $1,000 in silver. Not many people outside of their family would know about this, but Mary would. 


But anyone who had seen Mary recently should have had some serious questions about this. This crime was incredibly violent, and Mary….was eight months pregnant… she wasn’t very agile.


Maybe you or I today would have questioned this accusation more. But Mary was somewhat of a black sheep in the community already. And before long, all of Staten Island was saying that she killed Emeline for the thousand dollars in silver, and then returned to burn the evidence on Christmas night.


Mary Bodine was 33 years old at the time, but she was already something of an outcast among the people of Granite Village. When she was young, she was known by the nickname “Polly”, just like her mother. At age 15, she married a sailor named Andrew Bodine, with plans to start a family. Unfortunately, Andrew was severely addicted to alcohol and abused Mary physically.


Mary did something unheard of at the time: After 3 years of marriage, she took the two kids and left him. She couldn’t technically get a divorce — at the time, divorce was possible, but only on grounds of infidelity, a charge the accuser would have to prove in court. It was always an invasive, humiliating process. Mary took the simpler route of being married to Andrew Bodine in name only. In practice, she was a single mother. 


And this put a target on her back From 1928 on, she was a “fallen woman” who could not be trusted. When she tried to start a grammar school after her separation from Andrew, she couldn’t find enough families who would willingly let their kids be taught by her. To work, she had to go to Manhattan, away from the judgmental eyes of her Staten Island neighbors. She grew to resent her childhood nickname “Polly”, instead choosing to go by “Mary” in her correspondence.


What made the rumors worse was that in late spring of 1843, she got pregnant. No one knew who the father was, and she wasn’t telling.


Ambience- mysterious, eerie 


On December 29th, while Staten Island households locked their doors and brought out their muskets, another suspect was caught coming from the mainland, accompanying Mary’s son. He was not known around those parts, so immediately provoked suspicion from the Sheriff. His name was George Waite, an apothecary from the city. Mary’s young son was his apprentice.


Under interrogation, he also revealed that he was Mary Bodine’s lover. She was carrying his child. We’ll talk more about him in the moment, but his movements are just as suspicious as Mary’s.



That same night, Mary’s brother-in-law knocked on the door of the Houseman residence. He told the family gathered there that all of the neighbors believed Mary was guilty of the murder. Mary immediately put on a veil, a hood and a shawl, and went out the back door, into the cold, rainy night.


We don’t know if she fled in a panic or because of guilt, but either way, the result was the same: she immediately became a fugitive of justice.


It was December 30th, 1843. Mary was on the run. The previous night, she’d abandoned her home of Granite Village, trudging eight miles through the woods and country roads until she could sneak aboard the Ferry to Manhattan. It was an impossibly punishing trek. Remember: she was eight months pregnant at this time. (I’m eight months pregnant right now and I’m out of breath just reading this script so I really don’t know how she did it)


She went for the one place she knew she would be safe — George Waite’s apothecary shop. The shop, however, was locked up. She didn’t know that George was in custody. So, she pivoted, and stayed at a boarding house not far away. She didn’t stay long, however. Once she heard other guests gossiping about the murders, she put up her hood, and went back out onto the freezing streets.


Mary had nowhere to go. She trudged through New York overnight, and on Sunday morning, fell asleep among a group of churchgoers.


When finally someone recognized her, they recognized how utterly drained she was. They told her to go back to her family and friends. Mary broke down, saying that they were the first ones to turn on her.


But she was out of other options, it seems. And On New Year’s Eve, she turned herself into the authorities and was jailed on suspicion of murder.


Meanwhile, George Waite’s apothecary shop had been searched. There, officers found a string of coral beads that resembled a necklace worn by Ann Eliza. George Waite repeatedly denied knowing how they got there. It was later discovered that George owed $2,000 to Mary’s father, which he had yet to repay.


More damning still, he had a letter from Mary, which read in part: 


Mr. Waite, you can’t imagine my troubles, as I slept with Emeline last. I want you to get a suit of clothes to come and see me with Albert. Close the store. You will be examined concerning my coming to New York on Monday. You and Albert must say that Albert came to the Jersey Ferry for me, and I remained with you all day, with the exception of 15 minutes, when I went to Spring street to get a basket mended, and was going to stay some days, but her brother came to let me know. Come to the Island; you will be treated well. The store and all is going to be searched. Hide the things where they cannot be found.


This letter wasn’t public knowledge yet, but to the police it seemed to be an attempt by Mary to establish an alibi for herself on Christmas Day.


Did she murder her sister in law? Did George? Did both of them do it together?


While police had been searching for Mary’s whereabouts, a justice of the peace had been investigating a number of missing items from the burned cottage. These all turned up at 3 different pawn shops. The pawnbrokers all said that a mysterious woman came in on the day, introduced herself as “Mrs. Henderson”, and pawned the items.


The justice brought the three pawnbrokers to the Staten Island jail where both Mary and George were being held. All three of them said that Mary was the one who sold them the stolen items.


If you know anything about modern investigative techniques, you can probably see the problem here. The pawnbrokers were only shown one potential suspect, which biased them towards positively identifying her. These were the days before witness lineups, which are designed to rule out any possibility of misidentification.


On Wednesday, January 3rd, Mary went into premature labor while in custody, due to the exhaustion of the last week. And without access to proper care, Her child, tragically, did not make it. 


This is unimaginably devastating. And the fact is: she didn’t even have time to mourn. The people of New York were already going for her throat.


This whole time, newspapers had been printing every lurid detail they could find about her. And when they found out she’d had a stillbirth in prison, the rumor mill went WILD. they started to accuse her of infanticide, saying that she’d smothered her child in her cell.


Reporters wrote about the torrid affair between George Waite and Mary Bodine, and started to sell woodcuts of both of them alongside their papers. The woodcuts of Mary were inaccurate, showing her with sunken eyes, a withered face, crone-like. Remember, she was 33.


While the real woman was suffering under the pressure of accusation and a traumatic labor, the press created a version of her as this Witch who eagerly killed women and children.


Mary Bodine went to trial thrice over the following two years. Ahead of the first trial, Edgar Allan Poe wrote: “The trial of Polly Bodine will take place at Richmond on Monday next, and will, no doubt, excite much interest. This woman may, possibly escape — for they manage these matters wretchedly in New York.”


His attitude was typical of the public’s at the time: Of course she was guilty. Only an incompetent court would rule otherwise.


One of the only prominent figures who never accused her was her brother, the husband and father of the victims. Through the entire process, he only spoke publicly when asked to speak in court. Otherwise, he stood silently by his sister, never accusing her, but never defending her either.


Her defense team had a daunting task before them: They didn’t just have to establish reasonable doubt — they had to divert suspicion away from her onto anyone else. George Waite was the primary alternative suspect, as he had a potential motive, and less personal connection to the victims.


Mary wouldn’t have killed Emeline for money. The thousand dollars of silver possessed by George Houseman wasn’t even kept at their home. It was with George and Mary’s father for safekeeping, something that Mary knew. 


If she had wanted to steal that money, she didn’t even need to involve Emeline at all.


George Waite, however, might not have known this. He might have assumed the money was left at home. However, Waite had an alibi, provided by Mary’s son Albert, who placed him at his alchemy shop all weekend.


In short: George had a motive, but an alibi. Mary had no motive, and no alibi.


Mary’s first trial ended with a mistrial.


Then, she was tried in Manhattan, where she was found…. guilty. However, her lawyer appealed to the Supreme Court, on the grounds that the jury had been biased against her by the intense media coverage of her case. The Supreme Court found this argument compelling, and agreed to a third trial.


In the third, she was fully acquitted, to her immense relief. On May 21st, 1847, she was finally released from jail.


So who really killed Emeline Houseman and her child on Christmas Night, 1843?


The list of suspects isn’t long. Besides Mary, there’s George Waite, but George Waite was never tried. While Mary spent over 2 years in jail, he spent only six months, and was bailed out after the mistrial in 1844.


The other culprit is the least satisfying. During the trials, the defense lawyer brought up the supposed motive for murder: The thousand dollars of silver that George Houseman brought back from a recent voyage to put into savings. This was public knowledge not just among his family, but among the crew of his ship, the Whig. Sailors talk, and sailors steal. It’s very likely that some nefarious actor or gang from the city heard about the rich sea captain from Staten Island, and took the trip to make themselves rich. But when they broke into the Houseman residence on December 25th, and found that the money wasn’t there, everything went wrong.

And when there’s a scapegoat as popular as Mary Bodine, any actual evidence is likely to get lost in the noise.

Ultimately, even though she was legally a free woman, Mary was guilty in the court of public opinion. She inherited enough money from her father to live on, but she became a recluse for the rest of her life, living on the edge of Staten Island. For fifty years, her only visitors were her two adult children. All the while, her story would fester from a true crime narrative into the whispered tales of the woman who lives in the cottage down by the water.

And those stories didn’t end when she died, either. To this day, stories of the Witch of Staten island swirl about, especially around christmas. But was Mary a murderer, or the perfect scapegoat? We may never truly know….

If you want to learn more about the story of Mary Bodine, the book The Witch of Staten Island by Alex Hortiswas one of the main sources we used in our research, and I highly recommend it.

Kaelyn Moore
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