Every family has stories hanging from the branches of their family tree, waiting to be plucked and sampled, waiting to be told. Some families have stories that are told every year at the annual family gathering, stories where everyone laughs or gets misty eyed with emotion. Some families have a trove of cautionary tales or adventures. A lot of families have secret stories only whispered to adults. Most families have a blend of all, and mine is no exception.
One of my favorite stories is from my mother’s family. Mother’s family has been in the country for a long, long time. I am the descendant of trappers and traders, Native Americans, farmers and original land grant holders. This story is from when western Pennsylvania was the wild west, the edge of civilization. The story is supposedly about my crazy grandmother’s grandfather. There are many, many stories that are very similar, so even though Grammaw had a knack for tall tales, there is little reason to doubt a good portion of it.
A long time ago, there were some farmers on the edge of the wilderness who heard awesome things about Free Land of Plenty for the Taking just over the mountains to the west. A lot of people were packing up their families and possessions and hitting the trail to bigger skies and opportunities. I come from a long line of joiners, so of course a good portion of my family were swept up in the excitement. My Great-something-Grandparents packed up their two lovely daughters and left as the snow was melting.
They did not go far, just to where the Ohio border would be, when they were attacked by Indians. I suspect, being my family, that they most likely initiated the fight. When they were soundly beaten, horses and daughters stolen, food pillaged and wagons burnt, they gave up the dream of Free Land of Plenty for the Taking. On the long walk home, they concocted a story about how they were just driving along innocently when they were bum-rushed by the Wild Savages. They fought bravely, but there was no helping what happened. The two girls were gone, most likely scalped and dead.
Years later, a French Trapper was hanging out with some Iroquois. He went down to fill his water skins at the river before heading back north when he was approached by a pregnant young white woman dressed as an Indian. The woman explained that she had been kidnapped along with her sister. The Trapper took pity on the woman, and convinced the Iroquois to let the women go with him. He then helped the woman and her sister return to their family, where the woman was quickly married to her sweet heart (who had been pining away for her lo these many years) and gave birth to a baby boy. The sister fell in love with the trapper, and ended up going to Texas where she became one of the wives of a famous guy who has a city named after him.
So, that’s where the family tree branch thins. Was the baby really Iroquois? Grammaw certainly looked Native American. Way back in the day before Teen Mom, illegitimacy was hidden. Should I go on with the family tree based on the husband, who may or may not be my true relative (he did do some awesome stuff, including founding a town that still bears his name, so that could be cool), or should I end it? Was the woman really kidnapped or did she see her chance and run away with the Hottie Indian Brave? In any case, this story has a place on my tree.
WOW. What a fantastic story to have in your family history. You could write a book about it. I really enjoyed hearing about it.