Who would be the winner of the genealogy research lottery today? Just a random choice…just a random number taken from the ship’s manifest…for the Georgia leaving Trieste, Italy, on 30 April 1906. She was leaving for America with my grandmother, a girl from her village.

Her name was Franciszka Fuss. She was the same age of 16, or so she had reported . She, too, had paid for her passage and had $10 hidden in her clothing. She was headed for Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She would be met at Ellis Island by her brother-in-law. Meanwhile, the voyage would take three weeks. What did this new beginning mean to her? Who would discover her true story?

Clues from records were gathered…really just basic facts. In 1910, she married Josef Pacian. She was 17 years old…she had adjusted her age when she applied for passage to America. (She was only 13 when she came alone to America.) Josef was from the same village in Poland as she. By 1920, the couple had moved from Philadelphia to Bucks County, Pennsylvania where they were farmers. The couple had two children, Anthony and Elizabeth. By 1930, she was a naturalized citizen. One more daughter, Amelia, was added to the family. By 1940, Franciszka and Josef continued to farm, but Josef also worked for a engineering firm in Philadelphia. By 1950, two of their adult children remained at home…son Anthony engaged in farming while Amelia was a seamstress in a hosiery factory. In August, 1968, Franciszka died of heart disease. Her husband and children survived her.

Little bread crumbs of facts are scattered for genealogy detectives’ discoveries. What is not found are the little details of Franciszka’s workings of her heart and soul. Her thoughts, her memories, her real story are lost to the genealogist detective who looks for random clues.

3 May 1871 Somewhere crossing the Missouri prairies

Jostled by the movement of the wagon, I daydream to set my imaginations and memories loose. My husband insisted that I ride and not walk today as I am extremely tired. I am enjoying the colorful spring wildflowers along the way. A few more weeks and then new life will come. Lord, let me make it to our final destination.

I dreamed of another journey more than 30 years ago. As a young girl, I left the Alsace region of France with arrival in a place called New York. So many unknowns…such storms at sea to jostle my whole being…seasickness grabbed me. To steady myself, I touched the colorful silk threads in my sewing kit as I thought of the convent school I would attend. There I will learn to make exquisite embroidery pieces. I had prayed…Lord, let me make it to my final destination.

I am brought back to the present reality, but I soon skip to colorful memories of my early marriage years on a farm in Illinois. Surrounded by our children and a land that I fell in love with, I imagine a kaleidoscope of things remembered. I am jostled by the images of those people and times. I bring myself back to the now and wonder about this new land where we will live. Lord, let us make it to our final destination.

As I sit back on the wagon seat, I hold on and balance myself. I feel life moving inside me as I am reminded that this babe will soon be here. I look across the horizon at colorful skies that foretell a future. Lord, let everyone make it to our final destination. Amen.

~Mary Magdalina Kraemer

Note: Mary was my second great grandmother, who was married to Amos Howell Boultinghouse. After the Civil War, they left their older children on their farm in Dupage County, Illinois. The remainder of the family moved to Osborne County, Kansas in 1871. Mary spoke French as her primary language and struggled with reading and writing English. Why the family left their Illinois home to migrate to Kansas is unknown.

24 August 1852 Watertown, Jefferson County, Wisconsin

Dearest sister Elizabeth,
I pen this letter to tell you of my marriage to Andrew Storer. Mr. Storer is the boss of the brickyard where our brothers work. Mother and I helped him out for a time there when we first settled here. Andrew’s first wife died in childbirth so he needed a wife to manage the house and yard.

This land is challenging with its harshness. For a time, Mother and I were the only women settlers in the county. Here on this farm, we are isolated. Indians camp on the lands next to us, but they have never bothered us. Wolves howl at night. I am here alone during the day…a shotgun rests by the door. Some days, Mother comes and spends the day with me to help me with the garden and animals. Soon a baby will be joining our family.

This farm is challenging with its harshness. Ever since we left New York after the death of Father, I have yearned for a home of my own…some place to settle. The log cabin is cold and severe. Mother reminds me that it needs a woman’s touch…but how? The garden is overrun with weeds and yields little. I feel as if I am always at the beginning of something, some place, some time that never gets finished. God, give me the strength to push on and do.

This soul searching is challenging with its harshness. At times, I feel so isolated. I yearn to fill my evenings with books to read, with yarn to knit, with the company of others with whom I can converse. Mother reminds me that I am an adult woman of 19…time for me to take my lead.

I am asking you, dearest sister, to pray for me and my Andrew. We only knew each other for a few months before we wed, and I am soon to be a mother. I need heavenly guidance as I make my way for my family. Pray for me as I do for you.

Your loving sister,
Mary Etta

Note: Mary Etta Soule was my second great grandmother. In July, 1852, she married Andrew Storer. After Wisconsin, they would move on to the Minnesota Territory, Iowa, and finally make a home in Kansas. She was ready to conquer the days of challenges, troubles, and trials. She was home at last.

October, 2023 Chambersburg, Franklin County, Pennsylvania

All the tickets had been sold so it was a full house of the curious, the believers, the skeptics. They were assembling to take a tour of the old county jail. What would they learn, see, and hear? The ticket holders were told a story…

More than a hundred years ago, an inmate gazed outside this cell window. His name was Bill Reed. He had only a week to live. There were children playing on the lawn next door. He called out to them and bid them a good day. He studied the clouds and relived what had happened that day in May, 1911. Dressed in a new suit, hat, and shoes, he had gone to the Mont Alto School of Forestry. He wanted to find his old girlfriend Sadie. She had a precious momento of his, and he wanted it back. When he found her in the school’s kitchen, he demanded that she get the item. She taunted him and threatened to throw it in the fire. As she turned to throw it in the flames, he shot her…he wanted to scare her. He fled. He knew he had hurt her bad.

The story continued as the ticket holders shivered in the dampness of the jail…as they heard sounds…as they heard movement. “Is that you, Bill?” the guide asked. “Yes,” came a whisper.

That next April, 1912, Bill was found guilty of first degree murder and was sentenced to death. A gallows had to be borrowed from a neighboring county. He spent his final days at his cell window contemplating his fate. Why hadn’t Sadie just given him the picture he asked for…the picture of him in his Spanish American War Army uniform…he was so proud of his service? “Just return the picture, Sadie,” kept going through his mind. And so, one day in April, 1912, Bill Reed walked out to meet his Maker. He would be the last man hung in Franklin County, Pennsylvania, for murder.

As the story ended, the ticket holders who made up that full house walked among the spirits of the old jail…among those spirits walked Bill Reed.

Note: Bill Reed is my husband’s 2nd great uncle. Researching his story started when I found his death certificate. It stated that his first vertebrae was broken due to execution. Now the hunt was on for the whole story. Tons of newspaper articles were found written in a sensationalized style.

28 April 1917 Kenneth, Sheridan County, Kansas

Dearest sister Franny,
Once again, my life is taking new me in a different direction. This has been a most difficult decision. I will be leaving Kansas and moving with my daughter Jennie and family to California. I feel as if I have spend most of my life just wandering…settling down for a few years…then moving on. Since my Henry passed, I have been set adrift…not sure when I will touch shore again.

Remember all those years ago when I left Illinois with Father and Mother and the young children? You remained in Chicago to be a domestic servant with the Pierce Family. Then you met and married Dr. Read, and your world changed. Me…I was 14 years old, and I traveled by wagon train across the prairies to Kansas. It all seems like a dream. Change was coming for me, too.

Now, here I am in Kenneth (Kansas) and daydreaming where life is taking me. I sold Henry’s livery business to a young man. I am taking the money and going to a far off place named Riverside, California. This time, I will be taking a different kind of train…a railroad one. We will be traveling over 1,200 miles…I have never gone so far. A change is coming for me.

Why are we making this change? Promises of warm, sunny days versus the hard winters of the plains…jobs and opportunities versus uncertainty… new beginnings versus old lives. Once as when I am leaving Illinois as a young girl, I am now leaving Kansas as an old woman for the golden promises of California. A change will be waiting at the the train station for us.

When we get settled, I promise to write to give you my new address. I promise to tell you of the glories of golden California.

All my love,
Your sister Lottie

Note: Lottie (Charlotte) and Franny (Frances) Boultinghouse were my great grandaunts. They maintained most of their sibling relationship through letters. They were parted at a young age so only these missives could keep them connected. Lottie was married to Henry Korb while Franny was married to Dr. John Read. A most pair loving of sisters…

May, 1871 Somewhere in Kansas

“At least, ten miles today…at least, ten miles today…at least,” commanded the voices in my head. Some days the grasslands and trails are wide and open while some days they are treacherous enough to slow us down. Oh, at least, ten miles today.

The voices in my head kept repeating conversations between myself and my farm neighbor. “Old man,” I could hear him say, “what are you doing? You’ve got a homestead here in Illinois. You’ve got married children and grandchildren here who will not be moving on. You’ve got youngins to raise. Didn’t I hear tell that a new baby is on the way? So, you want to pick up and drag your family across the way to Kansas for free land…why, your pa fought off Indians to keep this free land right here for you.”

As I looked out across the grasslands, I brought my mind back to the present. We had to cover at least ten miles this day on the wagon train. My family and I had to make it in time to settle in somewhere before the baby came. Walk, push on, keep going…I hear these words over and over as I watch over my family. We will be getting off the wagon train at Fort Leavenworth, a protected place to stay until we get supplies and are ready to finish the trip.

As we walked with the wagon and wife Mary rode, I kept my eyes on the horizon. At least, we have gotten this far…just over yonder is our new home.

~Amos H. Boultinghouse, 53 years old

Note: Amos is my second great grandfather who settled his final home in Osborne County, Kansas. After arriving in the county, his wife Mary gave birth inside a tent. Mary was French so the new son was named Lafayette. Why did Amos leave their home in Illinois? The reason is unknown.

25 September 1910 Tilden Township, Osborne County, Kansas

As I worked through the early morning, I was humming a little ditty. An overwhelming feeling of contentment had taken over. It was finally all completed…the construction of our farmhouse and the three barns. It had taken 12 years to get to this point. Alleluia, our home is now our home.

When we first married less than 20 years ago, we had drifted from Kansas to Louisiana. My husband Wash worked on the docks of the Mississippi River. Imagine a farm boy taking a job like that with a wife and baby to support! I prayed that God would show him the way back home. We returned to Kansas and bought a little farm. My heart rested at peace.

Wash had a cousin who bought and sold farms. This cousin convinced him that he had a more suitable farm to sell him than the one Wash currently owned…more acreage, better land, closer to family. Just like that, Wash made the deal and sold off our farm. The new farm had a rickety, old house on it. What in the world had he been thinking? We now had 4 children…and just how did he think we could live in that house? So we prayed and waited for our dreams to be fulfilled.

Finally twelve years later, we have a home. Lumber had to be hauled to our property. Carpenters and neighbors had to be asked to help with the house raising and barn raisings. I hand sewed curtains and quilts. I scrubbed and cleaned. I created a chicken yard complete with a coop. We were now raising seven children, ranging in ages from 2-19. A home…so sweet the sound and thought of it.

To celebrate our new homestead, we are hosting a barn dance on Friday night…complete with three musicians. Now won’t that be something! I am making a list of things my girls and I can do to get ready. For now, I will stop daydreaming, count my blessings, and start my day.

~Mina Storer

Note: Sarah Almina “Mina” Nickel Storer is my great grandmother. She and Wash were married for 55 years. Another child graced their family for a total of eight children. She was the consummate farm wife who spent much of her life on that homestead.

May 25, 1875 Bloomington, Osborne County, Kansas

As I lay down on my personal patch of the prairie, I smoothed out my skirts so I could stargaze. Always I enjoy this time of day to come out here and think. The skies are just brilliant as they fill themselves with diamond stars…a symbol of a blessing that is found in the Old Testament.

At 42 years of age, I feel as if I have lived by roaming this land…not settling in one place…obedient and loyal to a husband who has wanderlust. Finally, we are making our home here, and we plan to settle at last under this panorama of stars.

Oh, these stars and the night light! They seem to reach out and beg me to proclaim their brilliance and wonder. During this quiet alone time, I can use them to number my list of the people, places, and things I love most. Yes, they are a symbol of that blessing given long ago to Father Abraham. Now that blessing has been passed to me.

As I start to leave this sacred space and my meditation time, I think about putting my children to bed. I think about my husband Andrew telling me about his day. I think about that blessing given long ago: “I will number your descendants as the stars in the sky.” Now in this moment, God is using the stars as symbols of blessings coming to me and my children. Amen.

~Mary Etta Soule Storer

Note: Mary Etta is my second great grandmother. To me, she is a symbol of great strength, courage, and resilience. Amen.

Searching the Wyoming night skies for answers, she looked for solutions and resolutions to her life’s questions. For too long now, she had ridden hard on this trail ride termed her life. She had been abandoned, left homeless and penniless with no direction on her life’s compass. How did this happen to her? When would this rough ride be over?

Life began in 1925 when she lived with her parents near the oil fields in Casper, Wyoming. Her first years were filled all the wonderments of childhood. Her father taught her to love the outdoors. To her delight, he kept baby foxes for pets. He gave her the gift of loving horses and riding. He taught his little daughter to hunt and fish. He showed her about guns and shooting. Suddenly, her life changed and became upended eight years later with her parents’ bitter divorce. With the separation, she seemed to have been abandoned by her father. She rarely saw him. For the rest of her life, she would search for someone she loved as much as her father.

During her senior year in high school, she became infatuated with a good looking, fast talking, smooth operator named Kem. He had graduated the year before. Swept off her feet, she dropped out to school to marry him. At that point, her life took a drastic downward spiral.

From 1942 to 1972, she would marry eight times. Two she would marry twice. Each marriage would last an average of 18 months. Most of the divorces were the husband filing against her for indignities. She was the mother of one son, whom she gave to her remarried mother. The boy was adopted and had a name change. It was like sand sifting through her fingers with no real home or love to claim as only hers.

When she passed away in 1989, only two marriages were listed in her obituary. She left no money for her burial expenses. Would she be laid to rest in an unmarked grave?

A visit to the Willow Grove Cemetery, Buffalo, Wyoming, tells her final story. The tombstone inscription bears an obvious mystery. Could a genealogy detective solve it?

Note: For many years, I did not know the identity of Jack Coffee. Today as I searched Ancestry, I noted several new records for Betty Lou. Two of the records revealed that she had married John/Jack Coffee in 1959 and in 1964. He had stepped forward to place a tombstone in her final resting spot. Peace be with you, Betty Lou.

An elderly gentleman from our community had a genealogical request for me: would I do a newspaper search for him. His grandfather was a Civil War veteran, and he wondered if there was a mention of him receiving a pension. Did a short newspaper article contain that information? Well, indeed, it did…along with some other interesting reports.

The elderly gentleman, who had requested the information, was well known in our town since he had been a Justice of the Peace for almost 40 years. He had stories galore to tell about cases and criminals. Little did he know…or I…that I would uncover a criminal case about people in his family.

Among the research finds for his family, there appeared “National Inquirer” type reports of two brothers who were counterfeiters. They counterfeited nickels in 1894. They were caught. They were jailed…they escaped…they were caught…they were remorseful.

When I presented the elderly gentleman with the research articles, I said, “I included research about the counterfeiters.” He was stunned…what…who in his family were counterfeiters? When he saw the names, he related that the men in the article were his grandfather, father, and uncle. He was never told his father was a counterfeiter. He was never told his father had been in jail. He did remember that a playmate had teased him about his “Daddy being a jailbird.” At the time, he thought the playmate was picking on him. He never questioned it with his mother. The secret was not divulged.

An elderly gentleman came and asked me to do research…it was 2016…more than a 100 years since his dad broke the law. His family had never talked about it.

Note: I also did research for a lady who had questions about her grandparents. Two of her grandfathers had been murdered by their brothers. She knew nothing about it…her family never talked about it.