Crista Cowan: 0:01

Stories that Live In Us is a podcast that inspires you to form deep connections with your family, past, present and future. I'm C rista Cowan, known online as The Barefoot Genealogist. I've spent my whole life discovering the power of family history and I know that sharing the stories that live in you can change everything can change everything. I always knew that my mom's ancestors moved from Tennessee to Northwest Arkansas in the 1830s. As a matter of fact, my grandparents were born there and loads of cousins still live there but there was a lot I didn't know. For example, I knew that the Civil War affected Northwest Arkansas, but I didn't always know what side of that battle my ancestors sympathized with or how they fared during that time. I knew there had been some members of the family who had served on both sides, but there was a lot I didn't know. A few years ago on Ancestry, I got a little leaf hint on one of the cousins who lived in Arkansas at the time. Now she had been born in Georgia and I didn't know when she'd come to Arkansas. It was much later than the rest of the family, but there was this little leaf hint and it told me that she had written a letter to her children and grandchildren, about her migration from Georgia to Arkansas and about her time in the Civil War and the effect that that had on her for the rest of her life. And I was intrigued and interested. But then I started reading the letter and I was completely enveloped in her story, not only the story of perseverance and the little details that she shared, that brought her experience to life for me, but also what it revealed about my own ancestors. So here are the people you're going to hear about and from my three times great grandfather is a man named James Lawrence. He was called Uncle Jimmy by most of his extended family and some of the community members that weren't even related to him. He was the first one who brought a large group of his family in the 1830s from Tennessee to Northwest Arkansas. The letter writer is a young woman named Martha Brown. She was born Martha Mills and she is Uncle Jimmy's niece. Now I will just give you a word of caution that this letter was written in 1890 by a woman in her later years who had been raised in the southern United States. So there is some vernacular in this letter that is not language we would use today. I will also warn you that, as she describes some of the events of the Civil War, that there are some hard things to hear, but I think it's so important that we hear their stories and their words wherever possible. So that's what we're going to do. Here's the letter Written by Martha Mills Brown the 22nd of February 1891.

Crista Cowan: 3:32

I was born in Walker County, georgia, near Lafayette, the county seat, on December 1st 1848. My life passed pleasantly and uneventfully, as most children's lives do, until the summer of 59, when my parents began to talk of moving to Arkansas, which was the topic of conversation of both men and women of our neighborhood. I well remember sitting for hours at a time listening to my parents and grandparents, uncles and aunts talk of the great West, meaning Arkansas. We, the children, really believed it. It a paradise. But what a sad mistake. It was finally decided that my father and his family and two uncles and their families were to move to Arkansas. The ensuing fall, my mother's parents were to follow in one or two years. My grandfather was a well-to-do farmer. Likewise, he had a great deal of business to tend to before leaving Georgia. All was jubilant over the prospects, except my poor grandmother. She shed many bitter tears. It seemed as if she had a foreboding that she would never see her children anymore. But my grandfather assured her that she would soon be with them all again. Soon.

Crista Cowan: 4:42

All the preparations were hastily made for the journey. My father made a visit to his parents in Chattanooga County and bid them a long farewell, as they had no intention of ever coming to Arkansas. A few weeks before we started on our journey, my father's three brothers came to bid us goodbye and if they could not possibly persuade my parents to remain in Georgia as they were not all elated at the prospect of going to Arkansas. Everything being ready, we started the 1st of October 1859. Our company consisted of nine grown persons, 11 children, five good ox teams and wagons. We had a long and slow but very pleasant journey. We were all in good health and the weather was fine. We children would walk for miles building bright castles in the air of our future home in Arkansas.

Crista Cowan: 5:31

The only drawback in my pleasure was in passing the large Negro farms we could. We could see blackheads sticking up among the white cotton as far as our eyes would let us see. The last that we would see at night was the Negroes going to their quarters. The first in the morning was them going to the cotton fields. About sunrise the women would go by with large wooden trays on their heads heaped up with corn cakes, many of them cooked in the ashes. This was the only food these poor mortals who worked most day and night had to appease their hunger. Who could blame them if they did steal? And as far as their clothing, they were near as naked as law would allow a human being to go. I saw women with no clothing except a toe sack fastened about their waist and a rag fastened about their shoulders. I will not dwell long on the scene. It makes me shudder to this day. Who could, knowing all this and much more, be opposed to Negro freedom? When we crossed the Mississippi River, we began to leave them a measure. As we reached the mountains we left them most entirely. I never saw but one family of them until the Missouri shove-outs, as they were called, brought them into our neighborhood in 1862 and 1863.

Crista Cowan: 6:47

We arrived at our journey's end on November 4, 1859. We first stopped at Uncle Jimmy Lawrence's, my mother's uncle, where we stopped for a few days after traveling five weeks. In a few days my father bought a farm or tract of land on which he intended to make a farm. The place was known as the Locust Grove Precinct, 50 miles from Batesville on the Batesville Marshall Road. The first day I spent on that place, I believe, was my first day of real trouble. The place was three miles from Uncle Jimmy's Mother had taken fever and ague after our arrival, so Papa thought it best to take my elder sister and myself home early in the morning and return and bring Mother in the evening with the three younger children. Amanda and I looked forward to a day of enjoyment looking over our new home, but we could find no pleasure there. We went from place to place trying to shake off the gloom, but still the foreboding of evil was with us. I've sometimes thought it was a premonition of what was to befall us ere long on that place. That sounds superstitious and I don't believe I am. After a long and wearisome day our parents arrived. Mother was well pleased with our new home. Papa soon had a new residence and barn built and a little farm cleared out. We really had a beautiful home. Papa's had a new residence and barn built and a little farm cleared out. We really had a beautiful home.

Crista Cowan: 8:08

Papa's poor health was our greatest drawback. His health had been failing 11 years and now he was not able to do any farm work at all. In March of 1860, my infant sister died, my first relative I ever saw dead. How we grieved for her. It was so sad to give up the little babe, but other troubles were soon to follow. In the spring of 1861, papa took sore eyes from which he never recovered. In 1862, my four-year-old sister died. Oh what a sorrowful time that was. We thought nothing could be worse than giving up our sweet little sister. But alas, greater sorrows awaited us. We really felt thankful that those two little girls were safe in heaven. Oh how often I have wished that I had died when I was young. Oh how the poor people of Arkansas did suffer from 1862 until 1866.

Crista Cowan: 9:04

First the healthy, young and middle-aged men were called into the service of the rebellion. Then the old men and boys were called. The women struggled bravely to clothe and feed the soldiers. Mother followed the plow while nursing babies lied in the fencing quarters. I remember well learning to plow my brother Thomas, two years younger than I learned to plow, at the same time plowing a roundabout. Papa said we'd done as much plowing as one good hand could do. We were very proud of our accomplishment. At 14, I could plow, hoe, tie up grain, chop wood and drive a team as well as any boy my size and besides I could knit, sew, cook, spin and weave, and so could most of the other girls my age.

Crista Cowan: 9:50

My mother said she'd been expecting a war for some time, that God would not permit slavery to go on much longer. When the 90 days was given for the Union people to move north, mother insisted on going. She prophesied the worst. Papa thought it best to remain at home. He didn't think that the war would last long, but he could not do anything anywhere and no one on either side would molest him as he didn't take sides with either party and didn't think he had an enemy in the world. Times rolled on bad enough. We thought there had been several men taken from their houses and shot down like dogs. Others' feet were burned into a crisp and then hung until they were almost dead to make them tell where someone was when they did not know.

Crista Cowan: 10:37

I remember one instance of a neighbor of ours, whose hair was white as cotton. He had several sons in the federal army, but one was in the rebel array. The old man and his wife, two daughters, one daughter-in-law, all lived together. A gang of soldiers came through the country Colonel Jackman's men, captain Cecil's company. They caught up with the old man and asked him where his sons were. He told them he did not know. They told him he was lying that his sons were in hiding and he knew where they were. He told them he did not know. They told him he was lying that his sons were in hiding and he knew where they were. The old man didn't know that his sons were in the army.

Crista Cowan: 11:12

They pulled his fingernails out by the roots, stripped off his clothing, tied two ropes around his neck and then tied them to two of their saddles and ran up a gravelly hill dragging the old man. When they reached the top they raised him to his feet and repeated their questions. He told them he did not know and they told him they would hang him until he was dead if he did not tell where his boys were. He was permitted to put on his clothes. They swung him up by the neck to a limb. The limb broke and he fell to the ground. Then they ordered him to show them to his home, which was about a mile away. He was driven home like a brute into the presence of his old wife and daughters. There they repeated the questions the old man answered. I have told you the truth. After abusing the family, they took the man about a quarter mile from the house and shot him several times and left him. The family heard the shots of the gun and went. They found the old man dead. They carried him home and dug a shallow grave in the edge of the yard and buried him. The neighbor women were afraid to help them.

Crista Cowan: 12:21

This was in the summer of 1864. The most painful part of my story is yet to come. This was in the summer of 1864. It was 27 years ago. Tonight.

Crista Cowan: 12:56

The 15th of February never comes, but it brings sad memories to me this day, to me this day, at this point, in this letter, martha stops writing for a week, and when she picks back up again, you can tell that the act of writing this letter has really taken it out of her. And maybe it's that she's trying to decide exactly what to include and what not to include, because from this point on, things get even harder for her and her family. February 22, 1891. After one week's waiting, I've tried hard to collect my wits and steady my nerves for this task. My feelings have been wounded today and I fear that I will fail to write what I indeed, but I will try, with the help of my Redeemer. It was Monday, february 15, 1864. The sun rose and shined on me that day at our work as usual, but oh God, what we were to witness before another sunrise. Oh, that we could have been spared.

Crista Cowan: 14:08

Father was feeling better than usual that morning and said to Mother, as it was a nice day, he would attend to some business in the neighborhood that had been put off for some time owing to his bad health and blindness. As he was almost blind, he returned in the evening, bringing with him my Aunt Julia Lawrence and her four small children to spend the night with us. Everything was quiet in the neighborhood so far as we knew. Everything was quiet in the neighborhood so far as we knew. At almost sunset that evening our nearest neighbor, wade Campbell, came to our house and insisted on Father lying in the woods with him that night. He said he thought there was going to be trouble. Father told him that it would not do for him to lay in the woods in his feeble health and that he didn't have an enemy and could do nothing for either party, and he was satisfied that no one would bother him. Amanda and I listened to their conversation. She said to me I wish Papa would go. I believe he will be killed if he stays at home. Supper was cooked and eaten as usual.

Crista Cowan: 15:08

Father retired early, as was his custom by nine o'clock. All had retired except Mother, aunt Julia and Amanda. They were sitting up at work when they heard some unusual noise. Mother opened the door and looked out toward the big road. She saw four men standing in the yard in a whispering conversation. Several more were engaged in hitching horses. The four separated, two starting around the house, the other two to the front door. Mother asked what it was they wanted. They answered we want to know who's in the house. She told them no one but her family. As they came in four of them, mother offered them seats. One sat down. They wore federal overcoats with the collars turned up. Each carried an army pistol in his hand. Three remained standing, one done about all the talking.

Crista Cowan: 16:01

I was sleeping on a trundle bed drawn out in the middle of the room. Their entrance awoke me. I will tell it near as I can. As it happened. There was a great deal done and said in a short time. The spokesman said to mother we're Captain Napier's men. Where's the old man? Before mama could answer, papa raised up in bed to answer and said here I am. Then they said we're feds. Are you a sessionist? Papa said I am not the sound of those words in my ears to this day. Those were the last words he was allowed to speak, but thank God they were the truth. He tried to speak several times after that but was prevented by striking over the head with their pistols. The next was come out here and give an account of yourself. It hurt me to hear the sound of those words. It hurts me to this day. They used violent oaths all the time. Perhaps that is why I cannot stand to hear them now.

Crista Cowan: 17:01

As Papa got out of the bed, two took a hold of him and dragged him to the fireside and pushed him down in a chair. Mother carried his pants to him and begged them to let him put them on. They cursed him and said he didn't need them. They asked for money. Mother gave them the pocketbook. They threw it down without opening it. They poured live coals of fire on his poor feet. They dressed him, said they were badly burned. They ordered mother to get a rope to hand him with. She refused. They made an attempt to take the cord out of the trundle bedstead but failed. Then three of them started to drag him out of the house. Amanda and I held to him. They told us to let him go or they would shoot us, that they intended to kill him. We didn't let go. Papa tried to tell us something but was stopped by a blow over the head. My brother, thomas, 12 years old, tried to get outdoors but was stopped in the doorway by a blow from another one of their pistols. All this time mother was pleading for poor father's life with her three-month-old baby in her arms. There were several pistol shots. Then all was darkness and the next thing I remember we were all out in the yard. Mother was screaming at the top of her voice. Papa and Thomas were missing and the murderers had fled.

Crista Cowan: 18:13

As the smoke cleared away, one man came into the house on all fours, got a hat and went out. The same way, amanda came to me and said Martha, I'm shot. I said no, you're not shot. There were no shots fired, it was only caps busted. Yes, I am. Look at the blood. She opened her bosom and showed me where the bullet had entered, just above the left breast and came out below her right shoulder blade. I ran to mother and told her Amanda was shot. Aunt Julia got her to go in the house and to bed. She was suffering terribly now and did until she died Wednesday evening at two o'clock.

Crista Cowan: 18:50

Aunt Julia was doing all she could for sister Mother and I was hunting and listening for Papa. In about half an hour we heard him groan twice. We ran to him. I got to him first. He handed me his hand and looked up at me. Thomas heard him from where he was hidden and came to him and said Pa, are you shot? He said no. Mother came and raised him up and sat down with his head and shoulders on her lap. He was lying in a great pool of blood but his breath had left him.

Crista Cowan: 19:21

About this time. Parson, oa Mabry, who lived about one and a half miles from us, came to us and said he'd heard Mother's scream. Papa had run about a hundred yards from the house and fell against the fence. It was a bright, moonlit night and what a horrible sight it was to see. Papa was shot in several places. I never knew just how many. We thought he died from loss of blood.

Crista Cowan: 19:42

In my mind I can see him now just as he looked that night. Mr Mabry helped us carry him to the house. We then left and went for some of our neighbors. They came to us and did all they could for us. We got a doctor the next day, but he could do nothing for my poor little sister. She was in her right mind and talked freely until a short time before her death. She said she knew one of the murderers. His name was T Johnson. He was a Missourian who lived about four miles from us. Her breath left her just as they were putting Papa in his coffin.

Crista Cowan: 20:19

For weeks after I could not realize that what had taken place was true. It seemed as if it was too horrible to be true, that it was a terrible dream. Oh how I tried to wake up and find that it was not true. But alas, it was a great deal more than I can write or tell. I have never told even what I have written on these sheets. My tongue refuses to tell. As I have said before, my father was always a union man but never spoke his sentiments.

Crista Cowan: 20:51

On the night of the murder, a number of men went to a neighbor's house about dark, about a mile from ours, whose name was Honeycutt. He was a union man and was lying out at the time waiting for an opportunity to go into the federal army. They told the women they were federals and wished to find some union men they could talk with as they were scouring the country. And the women believed them. They told them my father was a good Union man and that they could rely on him. They came right to our house and did just what I have related. We've never heard who all those men were. I was informed, I think correctly, in the summer of maybe 1881, the names. Of the four that came to our house. Three of them were from Missouri Hancock, abernathy and T Johnson. We were not acquainted with them. The other was an Arkansas man raised in this county, robert Seypert. I hope and pray justice will be meted out to each and every one of them. Vengeance is mine and I will repay saith the Lord.

Crista Cowan: 21:53

We stayed at home until the next August, but not unmolested. We were robbed several times. They took the dress my sister had on when she was murdered. It was a new Lindsay dress. She and I had put on new dresses. That Sunday morning she was killed in hers and mine had two holes shot through it. I never did see how I escaped being killed too, but I was spared for some purpose. The good Lord only knows that. I hope it was for some good purpose.

Crista Cowan: 22:22

I've written these pages so that my children could know that their mother suffered. I cannot tell them, and it has been a severe trial for me to write what I have written. It is every word true, although it may seem untrue to the reader. I have not told it one. Half as bad as it really was. I could not either with tongue or pen and ink.

Crista Cowan: 22:44

We left our home in August 1864. Mother told people she was going to try to go to Springfield, missouri, where she had a brother and sister. It was rumored that we would start on Sunday. On Sunday evening there was 10 or 15 men past our house going on to overtake and rob us that night, some of the same men that were at our house the night of the murder. We did not start until the next day, and then we went over the mountain instead of over the Marshall Road, as was expected. Our persecutors lay in wait for us until Tuesday, then went back to see what had become of us. They were very angry when they learned that we had gone across the mountain, for they feared to follow us in that direction. They told the neighbors that if they had found us they would have taken everything we possessed except the clothes we wore. Mother hired a neighbor man to go with us across Blue Mountain and stay all night with us. He was a good man but a rebel. I shall never forget that night. We barely got 10 miles from home. The next morning, louis Bradshaw left us at our camp and returned to his home. Our enemies were afraid to cross the mountain.

Crista Cowan: 23:50

Our company consisted of my mother and her five children, I being the oldest, I was 15 years old my Aunt Julia Lawrence with her four little boys, the oldest eight years old, the youngest two. Each family had an old wagon and a very good yoke of oxen, some cornmeal and bacon that we had managed to get away from home. We were not molested and we reached Louisburg in about 10 days. We camped there about a week and was joined there by two other families Mrs Baker and her six children and married daughter Mrs Alexander and her two small children. They only had one ox wagon. Mrs Baker and several of the children were sick. Mr Baker and Mr Alexander were in Springfield, missouri. So was my uncle, john Lawrence, in the Federal Army. We were trying to get there.

Crista Cowan: 24:34

We left Louisburg with many fears as we had to go through a very dangerous community. My mother and Mrs Baker thought it a good idea for them to claim to be widows and the others to all be their children. In the evening after we left Louisburg we met a company of rebel soldiers. We were all badly scared. They ordered us to halt and surrender our wagons. The spokesman said where are your men? Mother answered we are widows. They roared with laughter and called out come on, boys, here's a good chance to get married. I never saw so many widows. Mother said only two widows, the others are our daughters. They only laughed more. They did not bother us. They only took a federal blanket from Mrs Baker.

Crista Cowan: 25:17

We had many trials from there on. I will mention a few. We children all took whooping cough. Mrs Baker and her little grandbaby grew weaker all the time. We could only travel eight or ten miles a day. I don't know how many times we were robbed before we reached Van Buren, arkansas. The last time was four miles from Van Buren, when we reached Fort Smith.

Crista Cowan: 25:40

We were advised to cross the river and go into refugee camps. We went, and what an awful place it was, right in the river bottoms. Nearly everybody was sick. We only stayed about a week. We were out of all sorts of provisions or any money to buy with. We drawed rations from the government. Now. Plenty of good beef, hardtack, army beans and coffee. Now we longed for bread. We were given our choice to remain in the camps or go with the government train to Fort Drywood, kansas. We thought it best to go.

Crista Cowan: 26:11

The government furnished transportation for all that had no wagons and teams of their own. We started sometime in October. Soldiers were sent to guard the train and herd of cattle. We only traveled about 10 miles a day, or from one grove of trees to another. We were ordered into camps before sunset. First thing in camps, the refugee doctor visited every wagon. Never an evening passed but there was someone buried. If they died during the night or day, they were buried after we went into camps. So many died. Mrs Alexander's baby died. They hauled it all day. That evening a man came around with a cracker box and they buried the baby with several others near our camp. Every evening there was plenty of beef butchered for all. One of each family would go and draw beef according to their number.

Crista Cowan: 27:01

We went through the Indian Territory, through Fort Gibson. We were at Fort Gibson all day. Mother bought 10 or 12 ears of corn. Mother and Aunt Julia ground it in a steel mill. It was like a good grade of chops. Mother stirred it up with cold water and baked it in an oven by the campfire. It made all that we wanted for one meal. Now that was the best kind of bread of any kind we had for several weeks.

Crista Cowan: 27:25

For some reason the soldiers had been ordered back to Fort Smith. We were almost without a guard now, but no danger was anticipated. We were nearing the Kansas line. The government train and soldiers always went ahead of the refugees. They were expected to follow close in the rear. This morning Aunt Julia's oxen could not be found. The grass was so high and thick, although they were not far from camp. When we were ready to start, the train and soldiers were far out of sight. Three or four other families were also left, for which we were ready to start the train, and soldiers were far out of sight. Three or four other families were also left, for which we were very glad. So there were four or five men with them.

Crista Cowan: 27:58

We pushed on with all the speed we could and we soon came to where the road forked. The road was dim and the wagons had gone both ways. We didn't know which one to take, but after some pairing, the men took the right-hand road and we followed. We'd not gone far when we heard gunshots and saw an awful smoke rising. It was a squad of General Price's men. They were coming off of their raid in Kansas and seeing the train in the distance and that there was only a few soldiers with it, they scattered the herd of cattle and set fire to the wagons. They didn't have time to tarry long as that. They knew that the Federals were in pursuit. They managed to save enough wagons to get the refugees into Fort Drywood that night.

Crista Cowan: 28:38

Mrs Baker was with the trains and the fright killed her as she was very weak. We saw Price's army. They took the road we had just left. That was the last rebel army I ever saw. They saw our wagons. A few of them came to us and asked for guns and ammunitions, but we had none. One of the men that was with us was a doctor. He had a small trunk of medicine on the back of his buggy. One of the rebs jerked it off and stomped it to pieces. That was about all they had time to do with us. The men that was with us ran off and hid in the grass. They soon returned and we jogged on About this time a calf about six months old came to us and fell in close behind our wagons all day. That night the men killed it and divided it. We got enough to do us until the next day.

Crista Cowan: 29:26

We got to a settlement in Kansas. We'd been on the road near three months. We camped on a creek where we could get wood and rested a few days and washed our clothes. The people were good to us. We then went to Fort Scott, got work out in the country and stayed there a month. Then went to Douglas County, kansas, near Baldwin City. Mother rented a farm. The people there were good to us. We got there the last of November 1864. We were all sick. I don't see how we lived through that winter we had so little means and none of us could work any. But the good people helped us till we could help ourselves. As soon as possible we broke land and planted our crop of 20 acres in a garden. Then mother began washing for the neighbors. Brother Thomas, 14 years old by this time, was hired at $20 a month. Mother got a dollar, a washing, sister Cynthia and I cultivated the crop. The two little children were shut up in the house.

Crista Cowan: 30:22

I shall never forget the day that peace was declared. We heard the cannons. We thought it must be a battle. We were 15 miles from Lawrence. There was an artillery there. In the evening someone came along and told us peace was declared. We were 15 miles from Lawrence. There was an artillery there. In the evening someone came along and told us peace was declared. We couldn't believe it. It seemed too good to be true.

Crista Cowan: 30:40

Only a few days, though, until another gloom was cast over us. Early in the morning the college bell began to toll. We wondered all day what it meant when a neighbor who had been to town told us that President Lincoln had been killed. How sad we felt. We feared the war would start again. But the mail service was soon started and we heard from our old home. Oh, how the people had suffered after we had left there. They had almost starved. We had letters from my grandparents in Georgia.

Crista Cowan: 31:12

Grandfather Lawrence advised us to go back to our home in Arkansas. We children did not want to go back where we had suffered so much. But finally, in August of 1865, mother decided to go back home. We'd made a good crop and had no trouble selling it, and started on our way back to Arkansas. We went by way of Springfield, missouri, and there met Uncle John Jenkins. He insisted we go home with him and rest a few days. Mother was about out of money. Uncle John had bought a fine farm on the James River. He thought it best we stay there until the next fall. So we stayed until August of 1866. When we finally arrived at our old home, our house and most of the old fencing had been burned. There was an old cabin on the farm that we moved into.

Crista Cowan: 31:59

I was hired out all that winter at a dollar a week. My work consisted of mending, sewing, carding, spinning and some knitting. My time was from 4 am to 9 pm. I never complained of my wages or work. No one did. We were too glad to get work in peace. My grandfather sent mother $300, which was a great help to us. Mother paid a neighbor $50 to build us a log house to the chimney that was still standing where our house had been burned. We all worked hard and saved and soon had plenty of stock and plenty to eat. On the 20th of January 1869, I was married to Thomas E Brown of the 3rd Arkansas Cavalry Company, m, usa.

Crista Cowan: 32:45

Now my story is told of a few of my trials and hardships during the war between the states, written for my children and grandchildren, signed Martha Mills Brown. So that's Martha's letter and I know it was probably hard to hear. But when I found this letter on that little leaf hint on ancestry, I got it because she was already in my tree. So James Lawrence, uncle Jimmy, who was my great-great-great-grandfather. He had come to Arkansas, established a family and then some of his nieces and nephews and siblings followed him in the later decades Martha and her family came to Arkansas, stayed with Uncle Jimmy for a little while before they set up their own homestead.

Crista Cowan: 33:44

And here's what I had done in my family tree I had found all of my family living in Northwest Arkansas in the 1860 census and the 1870 census.

Crista Cowan: 33:59

Now I knew that Martha's father had died in between those two censuses because he was listed with the family in 1860 and not listed with the family in 1870.

Crista Cowan: 34:15

It was also curious to me that they were living in the same place. And if those two records were the only things I had ever looked at, think about all of the story I would have missed about what happened in that decade. Now I knew a civil war was going on, I knew that Arkansas had been involved and I knew that I had family on both sides of that conflict. But I had no idea that the sentiments ran so, so deep. I had no idea the horrors that that family faced in that place at that time and I certainly had no idea that Martha and her mom and her siblings had left the state and had been refugees of the war in those years in between the censuses. So while census records can give us a great framework for starting our family history, while they do contain stories, when we string them together sometimes we have to look a little deeper because the story sometimes happens in the in-between years.