#52 Ancestor Challenge 2019, Week #29, Priscilla Without a Maiden Name

#52 Ancestor Challenge 2019, Week 29 - Priscilla WHO?
Prompt: Challenge

Priscilla Who?

By The Rev. Dr. Cynthia Vold Forde

Researching ancestral females without identifying maiden names has to be one of the greatest challenges to a genealogist. For instance, Priscilla Bankston’s maiden name, her birth date, and her lineage are unknown. We know of her existence from deeds, membership in Mars Hill Baptist Church in 1803, and the estate papers of her husband, Peter Bankston. She married Peter, son of Lawrence and Rebecca Hendricks Bankston, 1750–1754 in North Carolina. There is no death or burial record for Priscilla but we know Peter spent his last years as an invalid and died intestate in Clark County, Georgia. She proved her headright in his estate settlement in January 1804 following his death either late in 1803 or early in 1804.  Because we have the records of that estate inventory we can reach up onto the highest shelf of our imaginations and spend a day with widow Priscilla in April of 1804 following their estate auction.

April 1804:

“Mama!" Wake up, Mama!”  

How long had I slept? It was hard to stay awake through the auctioneer’s droning and intoning.  It gets harder and harder to stay awake these days. I woke up to see Lary handing me another piece of paper to sign.  What does it say, I wanted to know.  How silly that they ask me to sign papers I cannot read. 

“It is an inventory of the estate sale” … he explains gently, laying the paper down on the old pine table Peter made for me so many years ago.  Of course, I sign the paper with my customary “Y” mark and hand it to him for consideration.  

Lifting the paper he reads it aloud to me with gentleness and patience. The sale is now finished and the legal fees will be paid.  The money will be disbursed according to intestate law because Peter did not write a will.  Our children receive two-thirds of the sale proceeds and I receive one-third. Glancing around the room I see the others looking my way anxiously.  It is as though I have become the child and they have become the parents watching me closely, assuring and comforting me. 

 Lary stands at the head of the table nearest me with an inventory I must approve; William, Andrew, and John sit on chairs on the opposite side of the table working on lists the auctioneer handed to them. Nimrod and Judith pour fresh coffee while Jacob and Jemima pass plates of freshly baked peach pie.  Abner entertains the younger children with battle stories of the Revolutionary War while Hiram listens intently from a nearby stool. Nancy bustles about the room with trays of sandwiches making certain that no one is left hungry. 

Peter’s chair is conspicuously empty at the other end of the table. No one sits in Pa’s empty chair.  His chair is the most worn and used looking at all of the pine chairs.  He spent the last years of his life as an invalid, sitting many long hours from daylight to dusk watching the hands out the window if the weather was bad; or if weather permitted the chair was moved to the porch where he could observe the work in progress.  The chair seems far more empty today on this day when our possessions are sold – a lifetime of gathering and collecting – now gone.  

And how should I feel on this day with the empty chair across the table – and most of my possessions and household sold to the highest bidder?  Of course, that is why I sleep.  It is better to let sleep dull my mind and darkness dull the ache in my heart. The ache is ever with me.  Life is too soon over.  What is that passage from Ecclesiastes?  I cannot remember it.  

It seems like only a moment ago I was a young maiden, fair and comely, catching Peter Bankston’s twinkling eye. Was it 1750?  I think so, but my mind plays tricks.  And the years rush past in my mind as I remember the births of nine babies: the daughters, the sons, the pain, the joys they brought into our lives through the turbulence with the British ruling the colonies - ultimately leading to the war that bought our freedom from that bitter tyranny.    

We lost our son Andrew to that war – just as friends and family lost loved ones, too.  We were there in North Carolina when it was first settled about the year 1744; from that time until 1754 or thereabouts, there were very few families in that part of the county, now Caswell County, we Bankston's were among the first settlers along with the Graves, Kimbros, Leas, and Pattersons.  Like the others our goal was to possess fertile land and good pasture: the cane was so plentiful at that time that cattle were fat all thru winter without feeding.  Life was good until the British rule became unbearable.

But despite the heartache of grief and loss after the war, we were giddy with optimism about the future of this new country.  Georgia had land opportunities, too, and so we moved west joining the throng of wagon trains hoping to take advantage of new headright grants to increase our lands.  I think it was about 1784, we settled in northeast Georgia, first Wilkes County, and then Jackson County about 1799; Jackson became Clarke County, Georgia. Here among the flowering trees so glorious in springtime and resplendent in fall foliage is where we have stayed, and our families increased and prospered. This is where Pa died and so shall I.

What shall I do now with my household sold – the Negroes – my beloved possessions?  And then I wonder why do I need them now?  For what purpose must I have them?  Soon – all too soon - I shall follow Peter into the earth and to heaven beyond.  

It is hard to think of the horses and cattle, the cows and calves sold to the highest bidder.  It is too much to bear.  I must have fallen asleep when they were selling the furniture, the beds, and dishes. I could not stay awake when they sold the Negroes: Leanor, her three children, David and his wife, Patience. It is too much for my tired mind to withstand - to think of a life without Tinah and Isham, too, who have been my faithful servants for oh so many years.

It is simply too hard to stay awake and I slip back into the gray mist of sleep.  But Larry and Nancy nudge me once again, “Listen, Mama.   You will keep Isham and Tinah, and we bought Leanor and her three children for you too.  Wake up, Mama.  This is the list of furniture and dishes that we purchased to give back to you.  The old pine table Pa built for you – and the chairs – are yours for the rest of your life, Mama.”  

Köttbullar (Swedish Meatballs)

1 1/2 cups soft bread crumbs, about 3 slices bread

1 Tablespoon dried minced onion or 1/4 cup finely chopped onion

1 1/2 Teaspoons salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

1/4 Teaspoon nutmeg

3/4 cup milk

2 Pounds ground beef

2 Tablespoons butter or margarine

2 Tablespoons vegetable oil

2 Tablespoons flour

1 Can (10 1/2 ounces) condensed beef broth

1 Cup half-and-half or light cream

Combine bread crumbs, onion, salt, pepper, and 3/4 cup milk in a large mixing bowl.  Add ground beef until well blended; form into balls about 1 to 1 1/2 inches in diameter. 

Brown meatballs in butter and oil in a large skillet; remove with a slotted spoon to a 2 1/2-quart baking dish. Drain off all but 2 tablespoons of drippings; stir flour into drippings.  Cook: stirring constantly until bubbly. Stir in beef broth and cream. Continue cooking, stirring constantly, until sauce thickens and boils for a minute. Pour over Swedish meatballs in baking dish. Bake Swedish meatballs at 325° for 35 to 45 minutes. Serves 6.

This recipe comes from Rose Miller Vold.