Neighbors Ann Bilansky and Lucinda Kilpatrick stopped at a St. Paul drugstore while running some errands in late February 1859. Bilansky spent 10 cents on a jar of arsenic, saying she needed it to poison the rats that had been chewing up vegetables in her cellar.
Two weeks later her 52-year-old husband, Stanislaus Bilansky, died. He was buried after a coroner's jury ruled it a natural death. That night Kilpatrick told Police Chief John Crosby what she hadn't initially divulged — that her friend had just bought arsenic.
Stanislaus' freshly buried corpse was exhumed the next morning and a single crystal seen through a microscope "resembled arsenic," according to a local druggist.
That sketchy scientific evidence led to Ann Bilansky's gawker-filled hanging at 5th and Cedar streets in downtown St. Paul. She became the first white person legally executed in the 48 years that Minnesota doled out capital punishment — and the only woman ever killed by the state.
"She procured poison and then administered it. ... She sat by the bedside of her husband, not to foster, but to slay," Gov. Alexander Ramsey wrote in vetoing legislation to commute her death sentence to life.
More than 160 years later, Ann Bilansky's execution remains punctuated with question marks: Were both Ann and Lucinda involved with the same blue-eyed carpenter, John Walker? Did the financially strapped Stanislaus poison himself, something he'd apparently attempted before? Did Ramsey veto the bill that would have saved Ann to protect his brother Justus, who sat on the jury that convicted her? If innocent, as she maintained right up to the gallows, why did Ann break out of jail and hide near Lake Como — only to be arrested a week later, dressed in men's attire and headed on foot with Walker to St. Anthony?
"It is impossible … to determine with certainty whether justice was served by the conviction of Ann Bilansky," Matthew Cecil wrote in an extensively researched article for Minnesota History magazine in 1997. "As to the murder charge, reasonable doubt appears to exist. … The trial was clearly flawed."
Before the hangman slipped a black cloth bag and noose over her head, Bilansky said she was made a sacrifice to the law. "I die without having had any mercy shown me, or justice …" she said. "Your courts of justice are not courts of justice, but I will yet get justice in heaven."