Sarah is now opening a trunk in her mother’s closet, which she had seen before, and often asked, “What’s in the truck, mother?” “Oh, nothing important,” her mother would reply or say something similar. Today is different. Mom has passed away and is not here for her to ask once again, “What’s in the truck?” She thought, “If it wasn’t important, why did her mother keep it all these years? “
Sarah’s mother, Mary, was an open book about her life except for one thing: her family. Only in passing did she share stories from her childhood, but only mentioning her mother, brothers, and sister. Sarah knew little about her mother’s “people.” In the South, we often refer to our family and close friends as “our people.”
As she grew older, Sarah became curious about her mother’s “people” but learned not to bring up the subject. She left the “mystery trunk” to last as she went through her mother’s things. Now that her mom was not here to say no, Sarah cautiously opened the truck, not knowing what she would find.
The hinges on the old trunk creaked as Sarah lifted its lid. She found some legal documents, her parent’s marriage license, and other things. Then she noticed a small box containing pictures that looked like her mother as a child, but she wasn’t sure. A few photos of a family that she didn’t recognize. However, written on the back of one photo was “my younger brothers Rev. Charlie, Ab, and Mercer.” Sarah thought, “Who’s younger brothers?”
She dug further into her mother’s past and saw an envelope named Uncle Charles and a return address. Sarah laid the envelope aside and kept digging. One day, she got the courage to write to Reverend Uncle Charlie. To her surprise, Uncle Charlie responded with a letter: “Hello, Mary. I’m so glad you wrote. I am your great-uncle Charles, a Baptist pastor and a younger brother of your grandfather Sam.” (Sam and Charlie were two of seventeen siblings.)
In the months ahead, Sarah and great-uncle Charles corresponded. She learned family stories and names she had never heard. The one big question for Sarah was, “Why did mother never mention ‘her people’?” She would soon have her answer.
Sarah’s mother, Mary, was the oldest daughter of Sam and Mary Ella. Sam married his sweetheart on December 31, 1882. Soon came two sons and a beautiful baby girl, Mary, named after her mother. Mary’s young life was typical for a family in the reconstruction of the South, that is, until age 16. Mary found herself with child and not married.
The reputation of many Southern families would rise or crumble according to strict adherence to society’s expectations. Mary mustered the nerve to tell her mom and dad about her “situation.” Back then, when a family had a “situation,” the young lady would go “visit family” just far enough away for the news to not reach home, and after nine months or so, she would return. While her mother’s face displayed disappointment, her dad was so furious that he threw her out of their home, hoping to save the family’s reputation.
As the anger of Mary’s father (the Reverend Sam) lessened, he expected her to return home, but she never did. Month after month, Sam and Mary Ella waited. Sam became desperate to find his oldest daughter, so he changed jobs and was hired by a railroad company as a food “butcher boy.” (In the 1880s, the U.S. colloquialism Butcher and Butcher Boy referred to a vendor of candy, fruit, sandwiches, newspapers, etc., on street corners and trains, at sporting events, etc.)
This new job on the trains allowed him to repeat the question in every train car and depot: “Have you seen Mary?” For years, he traveled and asked that question. Sadly, Sam and Mary Ella’s marriage could not withstand the stress of how Sam handled the “situation” with their daughter, and they divorced in 1915.
As their letters continued, great Uncle Charles would tell Sarah more about her grandfather’s “people.” Charles contacted his brother Sam and told him about his granddaughter, but no one knew if Sarah and Sam ever met. Sarah’s grandmother, Mary Ella, died in 1935 and was buried with her “people.” Sarah’s grandfather, Rev. Samuel Bartley Culpepper (my great-grandfather Mercer’s older brother), died in 1941 at 83, probably still asking, “Has anyone seen Mary?”
Dirt Road Diaries 