Oh to have been a fly on the wall

So The Legal Genealogist was poking around in old records again last night and ran across some early will books from Outagamie County, Wisconsin. Created in 1851 from Brown County, it’s in northeastern Wisconsin, just west of Green Bay. The county seat is Appleton.¹

The volumes start with wills probated in 1872. And the very first will — on page 1 of Will Book 1 — stopped me in my tracks.

Because it made me think, and it made me wonder…

What’s the story behind this?

The will was dated 1 May 1872, and in it John Colligan left his town lot in Appleton and all his personal property to his wife Julia, and split a 59-acre tract between his two sons John and Edward. Julia was to have the use of the farm until the younger boy reached full age.²

A perfectly ordinary will. Nothing worth looking into for a family history.

Except for one thing. One bequest. A horse, named Kate, to son John.

Doesn’t it make you think? Doesn’t it make you wonder? What’s the story behind this?

How many horses did the Colligans have? Did young John raise this horse? What was it about the bond of boy and horse that made it that important for the father to make this particular bequest in his will?

Then there was John S. Smith’s will, dated 5 June 1872. He left all his personal property to his wife Mary along with half of the income from a piece of land. The land itself and everything else he owned he left to his son Jacob “provided always that he has to work and farm the same as usual, and give half the income and proceeds to my wife, his mother… Jacob shall have the right of controll, use and sell said piece of land only with the consent of my wife…”³

Doesn’t it make you think? Doesn’t it make you wonder? What’s the story behind this?

It sure doesn’t sound to me like John trusted Jacob not to up and sell the farm right out from under his mother. What was Jacob like? And what happened to that farm, and to Jacob’s mother Mary, after John died?

And Thomas Callen of Outagamie County owned two equal-sized pieces of land. In his will, in February 1872, he left one of the parcels to his wife Ann and his “second son Thomas.” The other was to be divided between his “other two sons Andrew and John Edward.”⁴

Doesn’t it make you think? Doesn’t it make you wonder? What’s the story behind this?

Why was the second son Thomas singled out to be joined with his mother in that one parcel of land? Did the oldest and youngest sons not get along with this middle child? Was Thomas closer to his mother than either of the others? What happened to Ann’s interest in this parcel when she died? Did Thomas end up with it all?

Then there was the will of Melissa Burgess. She left all of her personal property to her “beloved husband.” He was also to get the income from the farm or from the sale of her real estate, but he had no right to cut or sell the timber, and her house was going to her parents who had the right to live in it until it was sold. The balance of the estate went to her brother, sisters, and one sister’s children, and her brother was the executor.⁵

Doesn’t it make you think? Doesn’t it make you wonder? What’s the story behind this?

Who the heck was that husband, whose first name never once appeared in that document? Clearly, she had the assets — so who was he and how did they come to be married in the first place? And why didn’t she trust him, not one little bit, with her property?

And clearly Francis Connolly, who wrote his will in 1873, didn’t like one of his son’s girlfriends either. After leaving only $10 to each of two daughters and $300 plus all his personal effects to a third because she had been “very kind” to him, he left two town lots to his son Andrew — but “if he and Alice Stillman ever go together again as man and wife he shall lose Lot 12.”⁶

Doesn’t it make you think? Doesn’t it make you wonder? What’s the story behind this?

Just what in the world had Alice Stillman done to make Francis name her like this in his will? Did she and Andrew ever make a go of it? What happened to these lots — and did the two daughters who got the $10 bequests ever talk to the daughter who got the $300 and the personal belongings… or was there a permanent rift because of the favoritism shown her?

In his 1872 will, Gunther Stroebe took great pains to instruct his son Reinold on his obligations to Gunther’s wife, Elisabeth. Reinold was to get just about everything under the will, except that he was to

give or cause to be given to my wife Elizabeth, after my death annually, in the month of October, forty dollars in money, two barrels of wheat flour at 200 lbs. each, twenty bushels of potatoes, one milch cow and fodder for the same, firewood already split for use enough to last her for her own use through the year, a room or dwelling on the above farm, and in case of sickness nurse and administer such needs as will help to alleviate her wants.⁷

Doesn’t it make you think? Doesn’t it make you wonder? What’s the story behind this?

From the will, we don’t even know if Elisabeth was Reinold’s mother. And did Gunther really think he needed to school Reinold in every little detail — or was he just being one of those careful methodical Germans? Did Elisabeth live long and well on her $40, wheat flour, potatoes, milk and firewood? Did Reinold care for her and alleviate her wants?

And perhaps my favorite of all is the simple and sweet will of Charles Pfening, who left everything he had to his “dearly beloved wife” Mena Pfening, “all of which I bequeath to my said beloved wife as a substantial evidence of my love and affection for her.”⁸

Doesn’t it make you think? Doesn’t it make you wonder? What’s the story behind this?

That kind of a love story wasn’t all that common. How did they meet? What kind of a life did they have together? What happened to Mena after Charles’ death?

Oh, to have been a fly on the wall when these wills were being written… and even when they were fought over afterwards…

And oh what fun to go looking for the answers today… as long as we always, always, stop and think… and wonder…

 
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