She had been with me from the start…kind of like a guardian angel. She and her husband were the first of my people I looked for when I got a subscription to Ancesty. I have been following the bread crumbs of clues she left behind for 20 years now. Little by little I have fleshed out her story.

When I first found her in records based on a clue from my aunt, I was in awe. Here she was…a Polish girl who came to the United States on her own. My aunt stated she came in 1911. I found her on a ship’s manifest from that year. Her name, her age, it had to be her. Looking for her in Census’ records was difficult as I could not find her and her new family. Finally, I had a breakthrough…someone suggested that I just put the first names of the members of her family and the city in which they lived. Bingo…I found her…her new surname was misspelled in the 1920 and 1930 Census. Lo and behold, in the 1920 Census she listed her arrival date to this country as 1906…so for several years, I had the wrong girl. When I requested her naturalization papers, it confirmed 1906 as the year of immigration.

Through census records, city directories, marriage records, and a ship’s manifest, I have been able to glean much about her.  The records unveiled her parents’ names, her brother’s and sister’s names, physical addresses, occupation, children’s names, parish registration, and other little bread crumbs in piecing her story together.

Her naturalization record included her photo. It is the first clear photo of her that I have found. Also this document revealed her physical make-up.

So for the past 20 years, I have been looking for her. She has stayed with me in the search…kind of like a guardian angel. Who is she to me that she stays so close? She is my babcia, Polish for grandmother. She is my dad’s mother. She is my grandmother. Part of my first name comes from her.  She is Anna Mroz (Polish for frost). She married my grandfather, Franciszek Slabik. I have never met her…but I plan on it one day.

28 April 1906                                  Trieste, Italy

Brother Antoni,
We have finally arrived here. The journey here was long and hard and uncertain. We came by foot, by cart, and by train. I am a stranger in a strange place and will travel to an even  stranger country. I am grateful to you for sending money back to Galicia so I could join you in this new land. The possibilites for our futures are such dreams. I pray that much will bless us in America. I understand that we will be sailing on Monday, 30 April, and will arrive about 3 weeks later in New York. I am so glad that I am traveling with Franciska and her brother as being alone would make me very anxious. We were told that the name of our ship is the Georgia. I must confess I told a lie at the ticket office. I stated that I am 16 years old versus the  the truth of being 14. I am so excited that at the end of this journey, I will see The Lady in the harbor. I am told that she is most beautiful.

Until our meeting day,
Your sister Anna

 

Note: Anna Mroz is my paternal grandmother who came from what is now Poland. The address in Greenville, Connecticut, was a post office box for the Saint Joseph Polish Church there. Polish emigrants could have their mail sent there. The Catholic parish also helped the immigrants with adjusting to this new world. Anna and brother Antoni most likely worked at the Shetucket Company cotton mills for a few years. Anna would relocate to Nicetown, Philadelphia. This begins her story in America, when the Georgia finally arrived on 24 May 1906.

17 October 1965 Winchester, Virginia

Note To My Older Self:
The days will come when this sacred name will kidnap you with nostalgia, fill your heart up, and make you yearn to see her once more. You will long to be in her shadow along with the many faces and places that raised you from childhood to young adulthood. She made you who are…you are going to inherit her spirit and soul. Now you are so young and maybe cannot feel it or see it, but you will witness it becoming so. Her name throughout your lifetime will be a seal upon you.

Her name has many different meanings. She was named at one time “the bread basket of the Confederacy”. She was called by the Native Peoples “Daughter of the Stars”. Later in your life, you will assign her a name synonmous for “home”. Her name is…the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. You will always love her. You will always be near to her. You will always revere her as a sacred person and place.

Note: This is where I grew up. I had to leave her when I was young to move to Pennsylvania. I miss her and visit her often.

22 May 1825 Fox River, White County, Illinois

As I work outside in the garden, I do some of my deepest thinking. Just as I do a physical digging, hoeing, and planting, I do the same with my mental thoughts. How in the name of the Lord’s Providence am I going to weed out all the unthinkable that will come our way? I have little recourse. I have little powers as a mother and a woman. I have little abilities that can save us.

This is the third summer my husband Daniel is not here. In that time, I have learned that I am entitled to one third of the farm as Daniel left no will. All the goods in the house do belong to me. Who doesn’t belong to me is our children…my precious son and daughter. The children are the property of their father. Without his protection, my son can and probably will be taken from me to be bonded out to a farmer as an apprentice. My boy Amos is only 7 years old…how could this happen? In the meanwhile, my adult stepsons have promised on their word that they will help out.

Each swipe of the hoe on the earth is like a silent prayer being prayed. Each planting of a seed is like asking God to plant strength and resilience inside me. Like the promise of a good yield in the garden, I feel the promise of an unexpected faith and strength to subside me and my family. As I brush my hands together as I end my work, I place the hoe back by the cabin. The hands together are like a silent Amen as I finish my prayer of petition. “Lord, give me unexpected strength to meet this trial.”

~Rhoda Howell Boultinghouse

Note: Rhoda was my second great grandmother. With the death of her husband Daniel in 1823, she had to face many trials alone. Her fears of her son being taken from her were realized on 27 July 1835 when he was bounded out to Benjamin McCallister in Christian County, Kentucky. From Illinois to Kentucky…where will the Boultinghouse story lead next?

30 May 1823 Fox River, White County, Illinois

Dearest Mother and Father,
It is with deepest sorrow that I tell you my beloved Daniel has passed. He was working in the fields with little Amos when he collasped to the ground. Our boy ran to me and his sister for help. We could do nothing. We were helpless and grief-stricken.

Since the children and I are alone on the farm since Daniel’s passing, our neighbors the Ralls have commited him to eternal rest in their family cemetery. I can take the children to the grave to leave flowers and mementos. I fear in time his unmarked grave will become just a part of the plains. With such sorrow in my heart, I can barely think.

My children Amos, who is five years old, and Matilda, who is nine, are so young to be fatherless. I have asked my stepsons to enter into guardianship for them. I am also asking them for protection on the farm. My mind is all discombobulated in trying to figure out what will happen to us. I am relying on God to overshadow us with His Divine Providence.

In a few days, I will journey to the county seat in Carmi as I am accompanied by my stepson Kennison. Daniel’s debts will be paid off and money owed him will be declared. A sad journey, indeed. May God give me the strength to do what is just and right.

In closing, dearest parents, I ask for your prayers and good intentions toward our little family.

Your loving daughter,
Rhody

Note: Rhody (Rhoda) Howell and Daniel Boultinghouse are my third great grandparents. Their son Amos Howell Boultinghouse is my second great grandfather. Together they settled in White County, Illinois and are counted as a founding family in that county. Rhoda’s appearance at the county courthouse in Carmi on 3 June 1823 is the last written record of her. What was her life like after Daniel’s passing?

14 April 1839 Fox River, White County, Illinois

Dearest son Amos,
As I sit here writing to you, I ask the Lord to keep you safe in New York. Since you enlisted in the Army last year, you have been so far away from us. You are seeing places we will never visit. I put my trust in the Lord to keep you faithful and prudent. You are so young yet there is a fire in you.

As I look out over our prairie farm, I notice your absence in the fields as you would work side by side with your brothers. When we have meals, I note that your chair is empty…I long for you to fill it once again. When I want to soothe myself with reading the Lord’s words, I find your letters tucked in our Bible.

My question for you is what sent you so far from us when you enlisted. What made you make that choice? Perhaps, your father’s and grandfather’s senses of defending our peoples and our lands sent you to it. I pray that this decision sends you back safely to us. I long for your homecoming.

Your sister Matilda sends prayers. She and Henry will be married in July as they are most anxious to start farming.

Blessings, my son
Your loving mother (Rhoda Howell Boultinghouse)

Note: Rhoda Howell Boultinghouse was my third great grandmother. She was widowed when her son Amos (my second great grandfather) was only 5 years old. Amos enlisted in the U. S. Army in 1838 when he was 19. He would later reenlist in 1861 as a member of the 55th Illinois during the Civil War. Both are very dear to me.

14 April 1930 Alton, Osborne County, Kansas

Dear Sister Clara,
A quiet morning as I pen this letter…cows have been milked, eggs gathered, boys been feed, got dishes to wash. Looking out my kitchen window as I study the day with a cup of coffee in my hands. Planning my Monday washing, I want to get the clothes on the line early. Then I will spend a magical morning doing an act of love…baking my sugar cookies.

My sugar cookies bring my family to the pantry to rob the cookie jar. Oh, they do not think I notice how quickly they disappear. When my son Andrew’s two girls come for a visit, that cookie jar is the big attraction. Little Merna Mae and Mary Lee just grin and savor those cookies as they visit on the front porch. My boys Marvin and Les, who have worked tirelessly on the farm all day, enjoy them along with a glass of milk in the evening.

I usually bake them on Mondays. Sometimes, I use “the leftover from Sunday” mashed potatoes if my flour supply is low. Nothing like the aroma of cookies being taken out of the oven. So glad Mother taught me how to bake when we were little. Now I am passing this recipe on to my girls.

Breakfast dishes, laundry to hang out, cookies to bake…what a sweet life I lead.

Your loving sister,
Mina

Note: Sarah Almina Nickel Storer (1872-1957) was my great grandmother. A simple life lived on a farm…rich in blessings…loved and cherished by her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren…what more contentment can one find?

Wednesday, 1 February 1843

The winter winds swirled through her bonnet as she stood at the railing by the river. This was Manhattan, where Mary had lived since emigrating from France. In just a few days, she would marry a young soldier from Fort Columbus. It was surreal…she did not fully comprehend what was expected of her. So many things she did not understand. She was fourteen years old. Her fluency in English as a second language was very minimal. Her new husband would be taking her a thousand miles from what she knew. He had told her the land was called Illinois. What was her true future?

Monday, 1 February 1863

The winter winds swirled through her shawl as she stood by the barn fence. The mother of nine children, Mary was in charge of this Illinois farm as her husband had been called off to war. He was far away fighting with Grant and Sherman. Letters came infrequently. Her mind reviewed all the tasks for the day and which of her children would help with what. Her youngest was a toddler and the oldest eighteen. She was 34 years old. She longed to see her husband walking along the prairie and returning to them. What was her true future?

Friday, 1 February 1883

The winter wind swirled through Mary’s skirts as she stood by the railing by the corral. Living in Kansas, she and her family owned a farm earned by the Homestead Act. Her children now numbered eleven. Her oldest Mary had been killed in a farm accident and was buried on this property. Each day, she struggled with her grief as she worried about Mary’s small children. Her husband Amos had been injured in the war so farm work was difficult…yet he never complained. She was 54 years old.  What was her true future?

Friday, 1 February 1901

The winter wind swirled through Mary’s sweater as she stood by the railing on the front porch. Her Amos was gone…taken by a stroke eight years past. Her children were scattered, but her youngest boy Lafe lived close by. Lafe had asked her to come live with him, his wife, and three young ones. She felt frail and fragile. She had little money. What was her true future? She was 72 years old.

Wednesday, 31 December 2025

The winter wind swirled through my hoodie as I stood by the railing on my back porch. As I gazed out at the farmer’s field behind the house, I thought of my second great grandmother… Mary Magdalina Kreamer Boultinghouse. I have admired her resilience, her ability to face unknown futures, her faith, her strength. She died in April 1901. Did her dreams of the future include visions of her descendants?

July, 1863 Alton Camp Prison, Illinois

Dearest daughter Lizzie,
I hope this letter reaches you so you know I did not choose to abandon you. I am a long way from our home in California. I am so far from you in distance but close to you in my heart.

When I journeyed back from California to Arkansas, I was intent on conducting the business I had at hand and returning back to you. That was not in God’s plan for me. When the war broke out, I felt it was my duty to fight with the Confederate Army. I enlisted in Captain Hawthorn’s Company K Arkansas Infantry. I have been captured and placed in a camp. I will not likely see you again as it seems there is no way to survive this hell on Earth.

When your mother and I left Arkansas with you as a small baby, we fully intended to make it to California and seek our fortunes. We wanted a bright, shiny future for our family. That was not God’s plan either. Your mama died days after leaving the wagon train and making it to California.

In leaving California, I placed you in the care of the Carpenter family. I knew they would take great care of you in my absence. Now I am asking them to raise you to your womanhood as I will not be there.

Sending you my love, my dear girl. Please be comforted in knowing my last days are spend in thinking of you and reaching out in love. Godspeed, my girl.

~Your loving father, Zack Boltinghouse

P. S. Zack (Zachariah) Boltinghouse is my first cousin on my maternal side. Just this summer, I came across his tragic story. He and his wife Patsy arrived in California in 1852 as they sought to cash in on the California Gold Rush. Their daughter Mary Elizabeth was less than one year old. In 1861 when the war broke out, Zack was back in Arkansas to take care of this father’s estate. He never made it back to his daughter and California. When he was captured after the Battle of Helena (Arkansas) on July 4, 1863, he was detained in the Alton Camp (Illinois) which he died. He is buried in a common grave in what is now known as the North Alton Confederate Cemetery.

As I reach across time, as I reach across the country, as I reach across the computer keyboard, I can be at the library. Physically, I have not been to this library since my girlhood and a visit to my grandparents’ Kansas farm. Technologically, I can visit the Osborne Public Library from my Pennsylvania home whenever I wish.

Right there at my fingertips is the digitized Osborne County Farmer, a weekly paper. In the digital stacks, I can retrieve issues as far back as 1870 when the county was first settled. There I can read snippets of information about my ancestors…news of social gatherings, weddings, funerals.

As a child I never thought to ask questions of my maternal grandparents about whom from our family came before us. I did not know names, stories, burial places, facts, whatever could satisfy my curiosity now. Right now, it all waited for me at the library.

When I first explored these virtual stacks, I researched information about second great grandparents who had never been mentioned. In fact, when I found their names and mentioned them to my mother, she replied that she had never heard of them. Imagine, I was the first!

I discovered, for example, that my second great grandfather Amos Boultinghouse was getting a raise in his Civil War Veterans’ pension. I learned that my second great grandfather James Nickel was a respected horse trader in the county, and he was well known for his sense of humor. Second great grandfather William Henry Stevens, another Civil War Veteran, was the patriarch of a large family that came from England and New York to settle in the county. Second great grandfather Andrew Storer was a successful sheep farmer and planter of many trees on the prairie. He also brought the first hog to the county. At the library, these discoveries awaited my typing in a few keywords.

Treasures are found at this library by using my love of research and doggedness to look for answers. Right there…at my fingertips…right there at my computer. Thank you, Osborne Public Library, to having the county paper digitized for reader and writers like me who want to go back in time.