Ironton, Iron County, Missouri May, 1878

As I take my seat in the back of the courtroom, I scrunch myself onto the crowded bench. The courtroom is packed with curiosity seekers. They all want to view the face of the accused woman…accused of murder…accused of murder of a child.

This criminal case had taken many years to come to trial. The accused had used tactics to delay it, to change the venue, to play her cards just right. Were her actions that of a mentally ill defendant or that of a skilled actress? The element of surprise in this case was that the defendant was able to bring the legal wheels of justice to many screeching halts.

On trial is Rosabelle Rebecca Eldridge Freeland Eads Howard Boltinghouse, aged 49 years old. She had been described as “a beautiful fiend in a human body”. So many stories about her…about her four marriages…about her alleged conspiracy to do away with her parents so she could inherit their land…about her dealings with horse thief Joe Howard who had been hung by vigilantes…about her hysterics and fainting in another courtroom in another county. Rumors had it that vigilantes wanted to hang her, too, to get justice done and over. She has been escorted by armed guards from her hotel to the jail in the middle of the night…a hotel she had refused to leave. Doctors assigned by the court have examined her to determine if she was playing it for all it was worth or is really mentally ill.

Rosabelle is accused of murdering a 6 year old boy, whom she had adopted. The murder took place on 1 April 1872. When little Louis Taylor had lied to her about stealing three eggs, she beat him with an axe handle until he was deceased. She asked her lover Charles Eads to help her hide the body. All of this had been witnessed by the boy’s older sister, Mary Josephine Taylor. A few days later, she and Eads left the older sister in a deserted area of mountains to die so there would be no living witness. Eads left for parts unknown while Rosabelle headed to St. Louis.

Eads was apprehended after several years…the older sister had lived and reported the crime to authorities. He was arrested and jailed. While there, he wrote letters to Mrs. Rosa Boltinghouse in St. Louis. Jailers and detectives took note and decided to seek out this Mrs. Boltinghouse as they felt this was his accomplice they were seeking.

When located in St. Louis, she was found to be living with a Frank Boltinghouse. She stated that she was expecting a child as she pleaded with authorities not to arrest her. She was arrested and jailed. Frank came to the jail to see her. He reported that Rosabelle was his mistress. He stated his age as 24 when in actuality he was only 15. They were married in a police captain’s office. There are no records of the expected child…was that another ruse?

And so six years later, the day of the trial has finally come. Dressed in black, the defendant enters the courtroom. She swoons and asks to be lie down on a bench. Groaning and screaming, she attempts to delay the proceedings. This time, Rosa will not be successful. The main witness for the prosecution is the older sister, Mary Josephine, who was left to die. She is now 20 years old and remembers that murderous day so well. She testifies. When the jury returns with a verdict, Rosa is found guilty of second degree murder. It will be three years later when she will begin her sentence of 10 years in the penitentiary. No surprise…convicted at last. But was justice done with serving only a ten year sentence?

~Reported by MaryAnne Slabik-Haffner, 21st Century Time Traveler

Note: Frank Boltinghouse was my second great uncle. Divorce records cannot be located for the couple. The trial was covered by newspapers from Cincinnati, Ohio, to St. Louis, Missouri. Rosa would serve her time, return to St. Louis, and pass away in 1900.

6 June 1823 White County, Illinois

As I stepped out of our dwelling, my eyes survey the vastness of the skies. I look across the horizon to predict what the day will bring. Before me lie endless prairies. This way of living is a challenge to womankind. Mother to my 5 year old son Amos and 9 year old daughter Matilda, I face this day alone without benefit of spouse…my Dane died in April. He was a good man, a fearless man, a God-respecting man.

This past week, I went with my stepson to Carmi, which is the county seat. The courthouse is in a cabin. We made our way there so I could settle my Dane’s debts. I was scared and nervous as these matters were foreign to me, but it was necessary to do so. The clerk told us it is called probate, and these affairs needed to be settled. The last matter to be settled in Dane’s name has been completed.

And now, I try to envision the future and all the challenges set before me. The care of my two younguns weighs heavily on me. My grown stepsons will help us with the farming, patrolling for Indians, procurement of food. I dream of evenings spent by the fire as I recite from memory the tales my Dane told of his service to his country in the Second War For Independence (War of 1812)…of the time he was asked by Governor Edwards to form a company to patrol the Indians. I will also recite the tales of how Dane’s father stood with General Washington in that first War for Independence. I will pray that the courage and fortitude these men had will be carried over in the lives of my children, Amos and Matilda.

And so I pledge myself to face these challenges, despite any and all hardships.

~Rhoda (Howell) Boultinghouse

Note: Rhoda Howell Boultinghouse was my third great grandmother. How she faced the challenges of raising her children alone I will never know. After her appearance at the White County Courthouse in 1823, little else is known of her. Her son Amos would follow in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps as he became a veteran of the Civil War. He was a member of the 55th Illinois Infantry.

1 March 1895 Alton, Osborne County, Kansas

Dearest sister Ella Jane,
With our father’s passing comes the last chapter in our parents’ life story. Mother has been gone these eight years and Father just a few months. So much happened in those years between that may have been overlooked by others. No recounting in Father’s obituary…no mention of this part of his story. Overlooked but not forgotten by most others in our family.

When Mother died in 1887, Wash, Frank, Fred, and I were left alone with Father on this big farm. Little Fred was only 11 and Frank was 16…Brother Wash was 22 while I was 26. Father was too far into grief so I stepped forward to be a maternal figure to our youngest brothers. Suddenly, I was the main caretaker of not only my brothers but the house, gardens, and some of the livestock. A few months after Mother’s death, Father’s sheep farm started to lose money so he sold off his livestock to a farmer in Nebraska. Not only did he lose Mother, he lost the mainstay of the farm.

The good news was…some of the Mennonite farmers in the area were advocating the growing of wheat. They stated Turkey Red wheat could resist droughts and the harsh Kansas winters. It could be harvested in early summer. These farmers had had much success with their crops. There was this ray of hope that Father dared not overlook. He succeeded in saving the farm.

Since you moved to Montana, we have not written back and forth as often as we can. I am happy to report that the young boys are now young men so my job of raising them is done. The farm is doing well under the management of our brother Wash. I have started to step out with our neighbor Frank Whitaker by attending barn dances and socials with him. Hope appears on our horizons.

May this letter find you well and happy.

Lovingly your sister,
Hattie Mae

Note: Hattie Mae Storer was my second great aunt. Her parents were Andrew and Mary Etta (Soule) Storer. Hattie Mae did marry neighbor Frank Whitaker. They remained in Kansas for the rest of their lives. They would be neighbors to her brother Wash and his family.

22 November 2016

Dear Keith,
Friends together for over 50 years, your mama and I had many girlhood and teenage adventures and misadventures. We were the original Laverne and Shirley. Yep, that was us.

Did you ever wonder how your mom got the longstanding nickname of “Cleo”? Did you know she pinned it on herself? Let me tell you about how that came about…

In 1963, we were just entering adolescence. The neighborhood gang of guys and gals would go to the movies every week. James Bond movies were tops on our list. There were also movies that our parents said we could not go to…too adult…like the movie “Tom Jones” was on the forbidden list. Also on the list was Cleopatra, starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Liz and Dick had provided the world with a paparazzi view of the whole love affair scandal. So our parents axed that one off the list.

That summer with that movie and Liz Taylor in mind, your mom stated that she was just as attractive as Cleopatra…that Cleo had nothing on her…why, just look around at her loyal followers. So, Cathy became Cleo. She insisted that was her name, and it stuck. Fondly, I called her by that name for the rest of her life as did others. (By the way, back in those days, kids often had nicknames with quite different birth names. One never knew someone’s real name until their graduation picture appeared in their senior yearbook.)

In sharing memories with you of your mom, I want you to realize that she was someone beyond being your mom. She was a crazy teenaged girl who loved her friends. She was a woman who cherished her friends forever. Then after growing up, she became a mother who was eternally proud of her three children. And so, I remember my best friend Cleo.

Love always,
MaryAnne

Note: Cathy Irene Covert and I were best buds who always stayed in contact and visited one another even after I moved to Pennsylvania at the age of 15. We told stories together…we laughed over our antics and misadventures. We talked about the day we would be old ladies, sitting on the porch in rockers retelling those stories. That day never came…I know Cleo is waiting in heaven so we can finally do that.

His Story:
Cowboy dreams…Wild West…broncos…gunslingers on the street: that was my young childhood world. A Christmas gift of an outfit that would take me through many adventures along with my neighborhood sidekicks and fellow mavericks. We had shootouts and hideouts. We drank Kool Aid to quench our thirst…Kool Aid served up by favorite gal, my mom. We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to slake our hunger. Patrolling the streets, we made sure our homes were safe. Favorite dogs rode by our sides. We wanted to emulate our favorite Western hero, Gene Autry. It was all in the day’s work of a cowboy.

~Dan Haffner
Waynesboro, Franklin County, Pennsylvania
Remembering 1952

Her story:
Cowgirl dreams…Wild West…fast horses (tricycles)…guts and courage: that was my young childhood world. A birthday gift of an outfit that would fuel my imagination and play. I rode with the best of them in our neighborhood. Desperadoes, we took the sidewalks as our own trails to blaze. From sunup to sundown, we heehawed and “Hi yo, Silver, away” as a tribute to our hero, The Lone Ranger. It was all in the day’s work of a cowgirl.

~MaryAnne Slabik
Falls Church, Independent City, Virginia
Remembering 1955

Note: These pictures are among the childhood memories of my husband Daniel and myself. We would ride the trails of love and marriage for 50 years. We await our grand trail ride and reunion in the skies of Heaven.

In the very, very beginning, she was not sure how to do this. She was not sure she could figure it all out. Even starting perplexed her. Where to start? How to start? What questions were there that needed answers?

In the very, very beginning, she had little clues to carry her. Just a few names needed to be checked out. Where would they lead her, those names? How would she figure out how to organize all that data about those names? Who were those names to her?

In the very, very beginning, she researched guidelines. She searched for others who had gone before her and conquered the steps and the organization. She studied their examples. She Goggled names and places while she gathered life stories. She made folders and files. How was she to create a structure to put this all together? Who could really help her? What lessons needed learning?

In the very, very beginning, she jumped in with both feet…an observation by her husband Daniel. She spent evenings, weekends, vacations looking for complete strangers who had blood connections to her. She devoted herself to this journey, this adventure, this birth… the birth of a new genealogist, the evolution of constructing a family tree, the advent of a lifetime of searching.

In the very, very beginning, it was I who did this. It was I who jumped in with both feet. It was I who became a genealogist. And so I remain these 20 years later.

1 December 1853 New Albin, Allamakee County, Iowa

Dearest Mother,
Sending our love to you this Christmas. In fact, I hope this reaches you in time to wish you the best of greetings.

As I write, baby Charlie sleeps beside me. He is all of nine months now. So sweet, so little. I spend most of my days caring for him as it is too snowy and windy to be outside. Andrew is busy outside tending the livestock and caring for the farm. I know he is daydreaming of where we will go next…that man has wanderlust in his soul.

Mother, I have made a resolution for myself. It is this: wherever my husband Andrew wants to venture next, baby Charlie and I will follow without complaint. It has been hard on us to move across the prairies to the next territory. We just made it here to Iowa. Now he talks of moving on to Minnesota. We have been married for less than 2 years and have moved twice.

I further resolve that one day the move will be our last one. I resolve we will build a real home, on a real farm, and live a real life in an established place. I resolve I will gather my children around me and teach them the ways of the Lord.

So, Mother, I wish you a Christmas filled with knowing that we love you and miss you all.

Lovingly,
Your daughter Mary Etta

Note: Mary Etta (Soule) Storer was my second great grandmother. After this date, she and Andrew and their children would move three more times in 22 years. They would raise nine children. In the year 1875, they finally made their permanent home in Osborne County, Kansas. Here they built a real home on a real farm and became successful sheep farmers.

31 August 1900 Bloomington, Osborne County, Kansas

Dearest Father and Mother,
In just a few days, Wash and I are going to do something we have been considering for some time. We feel our little community needs this. The people here need resting places for their beloved departed. We are selling 5 acres of our farmland to the Bloomington Cemetery Association. We will receive $15.

Even though it has not been an official burial grounds, several have been placed at rest. One soul, that breaks my mother-heart, is young Byon Prentess. He was only 11 years old who was laid to rest here almost 30 years ago. Another is Delbert Tunison who was murdered by his brother-in-law over two horses. His grave is unmarked. There is a Civil War veteran who lies here in another unmarked grave…his name is Amos Howell Boultinghouse.

My husband Wash and I are not sure how this started with this acreage becoming a burial ground. None of our kin are buried here. We feel that selling it to the Cemetery Association is fitting and right. We have placed a fence around part of the grounds and graves.

May the souls entrusted to this earth rise in peace and see the face of God.

Lovingly,
Your daughter Almina

Note: My great grandparents, Washington I and Sarah Almina (Nickel) Storer, sold the land on 1 September 1900 to the Bloomington Cemetery Association. Ironically, they are not buried there as they are at rest in the Osborne City Cemetery. There is a historic marker at the cemetery.

8 December 1955 Alton, Osborne County, Kansas

Being the baby of the family, I grew up with two sisters and a brother. Through the years, they had moved on to other places and homes. Letters flew back and forth from time to time. Phone calls to the farm came only if there were a family emergency. So, I discovered two friends I thought of as sisters. Boy, oh boy, did they have different personalities.

One of those gals was Margaret Simpson, who lived a few farms over. A bit younger than I, she was the wife and mother of two sons. She worked hard on that farm: taking care of the chicken coop, growing vegetables in her patch, raising her boys, and other jobs. At harvest time, there was always the chore of fixing the hands a huge hot noon meal. She loved to socialize so if I had time to run to town and stop at her place on the way home, she was there to greet me with a cup of coffee. She was president of the Homemakers Club and loved to organize the events. She was always calm in any emergency.

The other gal was Faye Simpson, who just happened to be Margaret’s sister-in-law. She lived a few farms over in the opposite direction. She loved doing man’s work on the farm and was always dressed in plaid shirts and overalls. Along with her husband, she loved raising horses. She and her husband would travel to Nebraska, Colorado, and Wyoming looking for Appaloosas for sale. She could make berry pies like no one else. Politics was her thing…not like the other women…she wrote letters to the editor of the newspaper…the topic was often about taxes. She was a firebrand of a woman.

When all of us wanted to have a leisurely afternoon, we spent it with other 25 members of the Busy Bee Club. We made friendship quilts, crocheted, knitted. We lunched and (hate to say it) gossiped about the news in the town. Underneath it all, I loved these two like sisters.

~Isabella Mary Boultinghouse Storer

Note: Isabella is my maternal grandmother. I had met Margaret and Faye all those years ago. I loved visiting their farms and riding their horses. I have one of the friendship quilts made by them in 1930.

1 December 1924 Bloomington, Osborne County, Kansas

Savoring the aroma of the coffee beans, I placed them in the grinder. Making that first coffee pot of the day has become such a ritual to me. As the owner of Mamie’s Cafe, I want to greet each day’s guests with strong cups of coffee. My customers like to check my cookie jar for fresh baked sugar cookies to complement their coffee. Often, my husband Lafe will wander in from outside chores to grab a mug. With the post office next door, the postmaster comes over for a cup to take back to his office. I carry a small stock of groceries, and often children will stop by to get supplies for their mothers. When the coffee is on the stove, Mamie’s is open.

~Naomi Ruth (Stevens) Boultinghouse
aka Mamie

1 October 1930 Alton, Osborne County, Kansas
Taking the coffee grinder off the shelf, I am always reminded of my mother Naomi. She gifted me with the grinder so I would be able to get a coffee pot going in the morning. Mornings on the farm get started early…getting up with the chickens I say. My husband Andrew likes to have a cup before heading out to the barn. He says it gets him oiled up so he can get all his work done. Shortly, he will be back to eat his breakfast and have another cup before he heads out on his horse to check the pastures. Soon, I will awaken my two small daughters Merna Mae (age 5) and Mary Lee (age 1). A farmer’s wife is never done with her work.

~Isabella Mary (Boultinghouse) Storer

1 October 1989 Greencastle, Franklin County, Pennsylvania
It was difficult breaking up Mother’s housekeeping goods as she was moving to a retirement home. We packed many things to go to auction. The treasures my sister Mary Lee and I divided up between us would not resemble heirlooms to some folks. Those treasures were items that touched the hands of our grandmother and mother…just everyday kitchen items. We picked items from cupboards, cabinets, and hutches. One of the items I chose was Grandma B’s coffee grinder. She had gifted it long ago to my mother, her daughter. I brought it back from Kansas…I knew my daughter MaryAnne would want it. My daughter is the family history storyteller, and she treasures these props. Let’s see how she uses it.
~Merna Mae (Storer) Slabik

1 December 2024 Waynesboro, Franklin County, Pennsylvania
Carefully, I had placed the coffee grinder above my kitchen cabinets. I had made a vignette with the grinder and a Golden West coffee can along with a wooden rooster and a chicken lamp. They are all symbols of my family: my Great Grandma B’s cafe, my Grandmother Storer’s chicken coop, my mother’s folk art, and my childhood wish of becoming a cowgirl. And so those story prompts inspire me…
~MaryAnne (Slabik) Haffner

A simple coffee grinder from a small town in Kansas carries with it a potload of memories and stories.