End of the line

When doing a surname study, women become less consequential, as the tradition of taking a husband's name--and giving that same surname to progeny--effectively ends the line for the study's purpose. A woman magically appears when she marries into the line; parents are noted, but siblings, cousins, etc. are not added or investigated. Daughters fall into two categories: those who died without marrying (sometimes early, sometimes outliving their parents by several decades), and those who marry and have loads of children, but with a different surname. Both effectively end the surname line. 

But the women are there, as it takes two to tango, and there would be no lines at all without them. 

As many genealogists know, the interesting stuff is between the lines: the birth, marriage, and death records provide us with a general framework, but things get interesting when we find their footprints and fingerprints elsewhere: a census record that shows relatives living with siblings, parents--or just next door. Ship manifests that show who travelled to the new world as a family, and who ventured out on their own. Newspaper clippings about women buying and selling property (once they were widows, of course). 

There are heartbreaking moments too. The 1900 census is hard because of columns 11 and 12: number of children born, and number living. According to the census instructions for the enumerators, "stillborn children are not to be counted." Stillborn children didn't count in Catholic tradition, since the child never "lived" and could not be baptized, adding to the heartbreak.

This is echoed in cemeteries: today, there are separate sections, festooned with balloons and stuffed animals, for children who die--a practical solution, since modern young parents are unlikely to have purchased a family plot. But a mere two generations ago, young parents did purchase a family plot, because children didn't always make it, and that was a known entity. The family plot may contain one large stone with "father" and "mother" marked on it; other, smaller stones will say "son" or "daughter" -- all with the names and dates and perhaps a solemn or humorous epitaph. And then there may be even smaller stones, with just initials or "baby" or "child" with one date. 

Every now and then, a stone will include a woman's maiden name. I'm guessing it's that generation's family historian who made sure it happened. We silently bless this person, as it gives us one more search avenue--especially when it comes to searching for her obituary. We note with a sigh how often the "maiden name of mother" field is left blank on a death certificate.

Widows, as mentioned above, enjoyed a certain freedom and a higher level of risk. A young woman with small children needed to remarry to have the financial support for her family. There are plenty of entries of children who are surrendered and adopted out, along with work house entrances for the mothers. There are very few exits, except to the pauper's graveyard next door. But for those who made it to the new world, and whose husbands had built an estate with a bit of land and some money in the bank, there was some breathing room. She often had a house--paid off--where some of her adult children (and if she was lucky, grandchildren) lived, so she had some financial stability as well as no risk of loneliness.  

Every now and then, a newspaper clipping lets us know a woman has appeared in court, usually the wronged party in divorce proceedings, but more often on the defense for having used her feminine guiles for less than upstanding activities. At least one widow of a saloon keeper plead ignorant that she had to renew her liquor license, but the bench was lenient (and likely a customer in this one-saloon town). 

In a small town, newspapers tell us tales of young misses who might belong to a social club, or entertain cousins from out of town, or who sing and/or play piano for a school production. These young ladies, nearly always described in flowery terms, are the ones who become engaged, marry (with equally flowery reporting) and lose their surname to history.