Santa Forgot the Doll, He Said

Ah Christmas... food, family, traditions all rolled into one holiday.  It's not like any other for me.  When I was a child, Christmas was the ultimate highlight of the year, each year.  It meant Grandma Kells would be there from Ohio, Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie Jenkins would be there from Corinth, KY, and Grandpa Jenkins would either come from his home up the road or later on with Grandma from Ohio.   There would be a ton of food and Daddy wouldn't work late.  He'd come home when Grandma said for him to come home. I thought he was afraid of her and that's why he came home on time.  He didn't do that the rest of the year.  If you knew my Grandma, you knew she was all business.  He had to be scared, there wasn't any other explanation. She wouldn't put up with him being late.  And, of course, the ever illusive Santa would walk in our front door, leave presents, eat the cookies and drink the milk we'd left and do so without us ever knowing he was even there.

We had our Christmas on Christmas Eve.  It was our tradition with little variation for many years. It went something like this: Mother would get me up at the crack of dawn.  I really didn't like that part and it took me most of the morning to get my Christmas Cheer on.  Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie, Grandma's brother, celebrated with their children on Christmas Day but they came to our house the night before. We had cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and turkey and cake that Grandma always insisted was made with my daddy in mind.  After all, as she said, John loved his sweets and he worked hard.  She almost sounded like she pitied him for working so hard. Therefore, he deserved to have his sweets.  But that's another tradition for another blog entry. The table was full of delicious food. Then Santa would finally come and everyone opened their gifts.

In this particular year, I got busy as soon as the Sears Christmas Catalog arrived.  I went through the pages carefully trying to decide which doll was THE one for me.  I marked the doll by circling her picture.  I'm sure I picked out other things, too, but I only remember the dolls.  I usually wanted them all so the decision was hard.  Mother let me pick out two or three "in case Santa ran low on his stock".  That way I wouldn't be disappointed as much.  Each got circled. This particular year I really, really, really wanted the Tiny Baby Chatty Cathy.  She talked. None of my dolls had ever done that before. I "wrote" my letter to Santa with my mother's help and sent it off to the North Pole and waited for what seemed like eternity.

Then the day came.  Grandma arrived and the cooking began.  The house smelled great.  Grandpa sat in the living room watching TV and asking me a bunch of questions.  It seemed he always wanted to know something.   Grandpa was hard of hearing and I had to shout to try to make him hear me.  It usually didn't help. I would get frustrated.  I was relieved when Uncle Willie got there.  They could talk forever.  Uncle Willie's arrival also indicated that it was getting close to the time Santa would come.  Dinner would soon be ready and Daddy would be home.  Then, after dishes were done, it would be  discovered that Santa had left presents on the front porch.  I learned that Santa liked milk and cookies.  At some point, I started leaving some for him under the tree, hoping to catch him.  He successfully evaded me year after year.

The morning after: 1964 

I'm not a morning person. Never have been.

Me, Grandpa Jenkins, and my brother

After dinner, the men sat in the living room, while the rest of us cleaned up the table. None of them ever saw Santa.  I couldn't understand how Santa could come in and eat those cookies and drink that milk and not one of them could hear or see him. I always thought they fell asleep after eating such a big meal and maybe that was their excuse.  Those men could really put down some serious amounts of food.  Trust me.

Grandma always insisted that the dishes be washed, dried, and put away before we could have Christmas.  Even from the smallest age, I was given a task in the kitchen. When I was younger I put the silver in its box and the Tupperware containers in the refrigerator as my mother filled them with leftovers.  Those duties evolved until I was drying dishes and putting them in the cabinet (while standing on a chair.  As I got even older and could be trusted with fragile items, I learned to set the table; where the knife went, where the water and tea glasses went, where to place the napkin, and so forth. Talk about fun! It was so neat to be so "fancy").  Finally, we would finish.  I hated this part. I'd fuss. Grandma would assure me it wouldn't take long and that we'd "go through them like a dose of salts".  I had no idea what that meant or what it had to do with doing dishes.  I just wanted to be done with the task and open the presents.

Eventually we'd finish. Then, just as Grandma went into the laundry room/old back porch to hang up her dish towel to dry, a knock was heard, every single year.  I remember that it always sounded like it came from the back door but Grandma always turned me around and said the knock was coming from the front of the house. I'd run. Daddy turned on the front porch light. Grandpa was on the edge of his chair with a grin on his face.  Sure enough, Santa left the packages on the front porch.  Daddy pulled them in and I got down to business opening my loot.

Typically, Aunt Violet always wanted to see what I had so after I opened each package, I'd hand it off to her for her inspection.  We'd open our gifts to each other as well at that time.  I'd play and play and play with my new toys, sometimes bringing out my older toys to join in the fun.  Then it was over for another year.

But, 1964 was a different story. On this particular Christmas something went wrong, very wrong. I ALWAYS got a doll.  I opened packages and handed the items off but there wasn't a doll.  I began to cry. Aunt Violet thought surely the doll was there and she went through the discarded boxes.  Grandma thought maybe a package was left on the porch.  Daddy didn't think so.  Mother checked and sure enough, Daddy was right.  Grandma said maybe it fell out of the sleigh and suggested that Daddy go out in the yard and look.  Daddy, again, didn't think that happened.  After all, Santa didn't make big mistakes like this. He must have forgotten it.  (Really? If he didn't make big mistakes like dropping the doll how could he make a bigger mistake by forgetting it?) Grandma insisted and Daddy resisted.  I thought he'd better watch out, you didn't mess with Grandma.  I cried and Aunt Violet pulled me onto her lap while the others discussed what to do.  Finally, Grandma went to the coat closet and came back with a big flashlight.  It was big and square, red in color, and had a handle.  It was the super-duper flashlight.  She shoved it into Daddy's hand and dispatched him onto the lawn in nothing flat.  (I knew he needed to mind her or else...).  Soon Daddy came in the  house with my Tiny Baby Chatty Cathy doll in her box. He was a hero! I hugged him and told him I loved him. (I probably should have passed all that adoration to Grandma instead because if she hadn't put him on the straight and narrow, I'd still be crying.)

Years later it was discovered that Grandma and Daddy were in cahoots.  Imagine that! My list of wanted items never went to the North Pole.  Instead, it went to Brentwood Street, (Mayfield Township) in  Middletown, Ohio where Grandma Kells and Grandpa Jenkins would open and read it and then go shopping at Montgomery Wards and Sears for the items on it. Grandma would make a trip to visit between Thanksgiving and Christmas and go to Falmouth before coming to the house.  She would drop off the loot at the dealership and Daddy would store it in the upstairs.  He had the farm machinery dealership in Shoemaker Town and we didn't get there often so that was presumed a safe hiding place. Then when Christmas Eve came, she'd call him at work (something we rarely did because Mother always said Daddy was busy working and we shouldn't disturb him) and let him know what time Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie were coming (what time dinner was going to be served).  Then Daddy would always call and ask to speak to Grandma.  I always thought that odd since I never heard them talking on the phone  together any other time but, hey, it was Christmas.  This was his "heads up" to her that he was on his way with Santa's gifts.  The adults would keep me, and later on, my brother, busy so that Daddy wouldn't get caught pulling up in front of the house and unloading the Santa stuff onto the front porch. After unloading, he would then pull into the drive and drive around to the back of the house, coming in the back door like he did every other night.

As for the dropped doll, he never realized that he let it fall off the stack of packages.  The yard was dark. He'd turned the lights off the truck so I wouldn't get curious if I had happened to be looking out the window. I often watched for him to get home.  To his credit, he had his "thinking cap" on. He simply couldn't see where he was going and was more concerned with that than with losing packages.

Baby Chatty Cathy and Me

When my son came along, Daddy helped with the delivery of Santa's wares.  I always reminded him to count the packages because I didn't have a big, red, square flashlight he could use if we were short.  We'd always get a laugh. He always made a comment about Grandma making him go out in the cold to look for THAT doll.  Mother always sighed and said that "ordeal" was a nightmare. She just didn't know what they were going to do if that doll wasn't in the yard. She never did find the situation nearly as funny as Daddy and I did. Never.

Since I was let in on the whole story, it's been one that I think of every year.  It causes me to  remember our traditions and all the things that didn't make sense but I was willing to let slide, the very reasons that Christmas was a magical time. I remember the extra leaf added to the table, the silver coming out to be used, the crystal glasses we only used at Christmas.  I feel the excitement that was in the air as I waited for the dishes to be done and Santa to come. I recall the people that are no longer here but yet continue to be with me in my heart every Christmas since their passing.  I remember the joy I experienced and I savor the memory.

Joseph Macauley Lowe: The Indiana Years and a Happy Birthday

Earlier this week, on the 13th, was the day J.M. Lowe, the inspiration for this blog, was born in Callensville, Pendleton County, Kentucky.  The year was 1844.  He was the son of Moses and Nancy Watson Porter Lowe.  He was the eighth of ten children and the youngest son. I found this picture of a young J.M. Lowe on Ancestry.com.

Joseph Macauley Lowe

As I said in this post, his father died when he was young.  According to his biography found in Battles and Biographies of Missourians in the Civil War Period of Our State by W.L. Webb, J.M. was a courier in the Confederate Army, serving three months before ending up in Indiana.  I have not found any official record of his service but haven't stopped looking.  Just how did he wind up in Indiana before the war's end? I hope to find out one day. 

J.M. first appeared in Indiana in 1863. He was teaching in one of the district schools in Greenfield, Hancock County. There doesn't seem be any information on the schools in Hancock County dating back to J.M.'s time there.  I've checked in all the usual places; the Historical Society and the library.  While employed as a teacher, he read law. This was done under the tutelage of James L. Mason, a local lawyer, during the evenings and his spare time. In 1864, he was appointed a clerk in the Indiana State Senate.  He held this position for two years. He passed his exam and was admitted to the Indiana Bar on 15 Aug 1866.  

This article appeared in his local paper in 1867: 

The Hancock Democrat

November 7, 1867

found on newspapers.com

His bid was unsuccessful and he headed to Missouri in 1868.  The communication apparently didn't appear in the paper either of the next two weeks (or part of the paper was missing from the Newspapers.com scan). 

Sources:

newspapers.com - https://www.newspapers.com/clip/9994667/jm_lowe_in_greenfield_in_1867/?xid=865 

Kansas City, Missouri: Its History and Its People 1800-1908 by Carrie Westlake Whitney. 

Linda

In September my half-sister had a stroke and lived for a few days afterward, leaving this earth for good on September 25.  First, is a post I made on Facebook after I posted that I was at Baptist Health Hospital in Lexington, Kentucky visiting my sister.  I always took it for granted that people knew about her, after all I did.  The hospital visiting post generated a lot of comments along the "I never knew you had a sister" line.  So, I wrote this to kind of explain to all the people I went to school with and have been neighbors with over the years.  The next was posted after we had her removed from life support. It had become obvious that she wasn't going to regain brain function. I've recopied both posts here:

September 24 · · 

I'm learning that many of you never realized that I have a sister. Wow! I didn't realize. I guess most people wouldn't since she didn't go to school in Pendleton County. She went to Kentucky School for the Deaf in Danville. She is actually my half sister. My father's daughter. Really we both were daddy's girls but she was first as she'd always reminded me. Reminded me, until I cried. I so wanted to be the first. She also made me cry over Davy Jones of the Monkees but that's because he was closer to her age and short like her.

I remember going to her school every fall to move her in. Her friends would play with me and hold me on their laps. The house mother would talk to me and then we'd leave Sissy behind. She never went to school until after Labor Day so she'd go to school with mother at Morgan until then. She'd play on the playground with the kids. I don't remember much more than that. She graduated from high school the same month I finished the first grade. I do recall that when they called the students name, the parents were to stand and that sissy was the only one whose parents were on opposite sides of the room. I wondered why Helen was there and why my mother didn't stand. I just didn't get it.

The picture below is how we got along. Pretty good for a 13 year age difference. It wasn't wise to let us go to the mall together. Mall security would follow us around. We couldn't help it. Sometimes I'd misunderstand her and when we'd figure it out, we couldn't stop laughing. (I mean really. If you are reminded you needed to by rubber bands for your kids braces and you point at condems, what was I supposed to think?) She could make me laugh until I thought I'd pee myself and then she'd make me laugh more. Linda never grew beyond 4'11" and had to shop the petite section. On one of our excursions to the Florence Mall, she decided to look for a winter coat. There wasn't much in the petite section so she went to the "other side" and tried on a pea coat. You know, those wool coats that sailors wear? I nearly died. It almost came to her knees and the sleeves came to the ends of her fingers. She thought it would work. I laughed until I cried and then I noticed the sales crew staring at us. We made a fast getaway and left the darned coat behind. We thought we were going to the pokey.

She hated dresses even though nearly every picture I have of her, she's in a dress. I guess my mother practiced adding insult to injury. Sunday mornings weren't fun. Linda would come out of her room dressed in pants for church. Mother would fuss. Dad would go to the car. Mother would get Dad out of the car. He'd go in the house and Linda would come stomping out wearing a dress. The air was thick.

She excelled in sports. If walking was a sport, I'd fail miserably. But not Linda. She was game. She loved to roller skate as a kid and play ball, all kinds of ball. Mr. Cecil Hellard was hers and daddy's next door neighbor for awhile and he'd pitch for her to hit over at the Falmouth School ball field. Mr. Hellard would ask me about her every now and then when I was in high school and he'd always tell me she was a good ballplayer.

She was often misunderstood by the hearing world. She never felt handicapped because of being deaf. One time she and my brother-in-law flew back to Chicago, where they lived. I think it was when they were moving back to Kentucky and I went with Daddy to take them to the airport. Daddy had the attendant mark her ticket "Deaf". That didn't go over well. I thought for a minute we were going to have to knock her out and put her on the darned plane or buy her another ticket. She didn't like the concept of the cochlear implant. That was for people that didn't like the deaf culture or deaf people and didn't want to be a part of if. It was for their parents and not for them. There was nothing wrong with being deaf, she'd say. And there wasn't. It was a way of life and it is. It is a very close knit community.

Sometimes she'd go AWOL. We'd let it go, she'd show up eventually. I know Daddy worried. When I worked at the IRS, he used to have me hunt down a deaf person and try to get a message to her to call home. The thing with the deaf culture is that they all know one another and they all keep in touch. It's not hard to find a deaf person that's missing if you try. They will protect each other though so you can't be threatening. So, anyway, I walked down the hall to a unit that had a deaf lady in it. Little did I know that in a few years I would work with her daughter at the middle school in Grant County where she was an interpreter. The lady's first husband was in my brother-in-law's brother's class at KSD, I also later learned. She wouldn't own up to knowing my sister but said she knew of her and probably knew someone that did. Linda called the next day. She was fine. I bought the gal a coffee and a doughnut courtesy of Daddy.

Sissy, as I always called her, isn't doing so well. She had a stroke Thursday and while in the hospital she went into cardiac arrest three times. She is in a coma. We await more test results tomorrow and then we likely face big decisions. True to form, none of us had heard from her in quite awhile. She last showed up on my doorstep (unannounced, of course; that's how the deaf do it) about three years ago. I think I was the last of the family to see her. I wrote her for awhile but Linda was never a letter writer and neither am I. She was more of a "let's sit down and chat" person. I try but I stumble through sign language. She was patient. She was an excellent lip reader so you had to be careful what you said if you didn't want her to know and you could never turn your back on her and talk. She would dump all the ice in an ice tray down your pants if you did. I've tried to outrun her many times. I bought her a cell phone to text me, but she refused; made me take it back. She promised she would take computer classes. There was an organization offering classes to deaf people and if you completed the course you got to keep the computer. She didn't do that either.

September 25 · 

Got home about an hour ago. I'm really tired, emotionally spent, and beside myself. We met with the neurologist today at four. There was no change from yesterday in Linda's EEG. Although I hate trying to find where I'm going at Central Baptist, I must say they are "johnny on the spot" with interpreters. We have had a few over the past several days and they have been accommodating, patient, and understanding. It is a tough time and it's really tough if you don't understand what's going on. I will be forever grateful for this service.

Today my (ex) brother-in-law, Matt, and his brother, Chuck, came. I am glad they made the trip from Leslie County. As I write this, they still have two hours more to go before they reach home. They should get home about midnight. They stayed with me and made sure I found my car when we left. I am glad to have had them both with me. I felt the weight of the decision we made and it was heavy. Since the hospital made me "next of kin", I had the final say in the course of action but could never have made that decision without being in agreement with the nephews, Wayne and Jamie, and my brother-in-law. We have talked more in the past few days than we have in years. I felt Matt's support and I really needed to feel it. I needed to feel we all agreed and that the decision was the right thing. Matt will always be my favorite, albeit only, brother-in-law. I was ten when he and Linda married. I hardly remember life without him. I would walk to the edge of the earth and back for him.

Thanks from all of us for your thoughts, prayers, and the outpouring of love we have received over the past few days. I will keep you posted. (The picture was a school picture and my best guess is that she was in in the second or third grade. She was always so small it's hard to judge.)

September 26 · · 

Linda passed away last night at 11:39 p.m. Matt, Chuck, and I were the last to leave and I got the call shortly after I got home. I thought she would make it through the night as her breathing had remained steady but in true Linda fashion, she did this her way.

Again, thanks to you my friends, for just being there.

Dear Descendant, Here's Number Two

Hi Descendant,

I know I promised you five ancestors that I'd like to meet and the reasons why. So, here goes. I'm going to pick number two from the list on my last post (you can find it here in case you didn't bookmark it).

Let me start by saying that number 2, Richard "Dick" Stowers (1796-1875)  may or may not be kin. Before you let yourself think it, he's not a brick wall. I can find his siblings (at least some of them) and his parents. Coleman Asberry is my foam wall.  I call it foam because I don't think it will take much to come crashing through it if you or I can just find the records.  The connections are linked by very good circumstantial evidence.  I am able to trace Dick, as he was known locally, back to Ann Asbury (1750- ) and Samuel Stowers (1740-1786) of the Revolution (the one for Independence from England) and beyond.  Ann and Samuel Stowers were his grandparents.

Ann is an interesting find. Folks researching her on Ancestry.com can't decide if she's named Ann, Anna, or Susannah or the one that really cracks me up, Anna Susannah.  Nothing like being decisive.  I'm surprised that if Ann is her name she would have a sister named Anne. This second Ann  (1753-1810) married Robert Lyne/Lynn/ Lynne. Maybe someday I'll figure it out and maybe you will have to do that. All I know is that I'm interested in Anna/Susannah/Whatever Her Name Really Is because she was Dick Stowers grandmother. Proven. It's a fact. Take it to the bank. Of her siblings, I can place Thomas, Frances (female known as "Franky") and the descendants of Joseph Asbury in Pendleton, Bourbon, and Harrison Counties. Our dear grandfather, Coleman (1780-1859) was also living near and with some of those folks and their descendants who lived in Pendleton County. He interacted with them by having them as witnesses on important paperwork, borrowing money from them, and more. Again, all circumstantial, I understand but I hope you agree, compelling. Heck, Grandpa is likely living with Dick in the 1840 census. Look at it and see what you think.  On this basis, I say Dick Stowers is related somehow.  My personal opinion, worth nothing, is that Coleman's father is Joseph and his mother the first wife that history has forgotten. See what you think.

Anyway, here goes why Dick Stowers is a relative that I'm interested in talking with. (If you can't read one of the documents, just click on it. I checked it out and they can easily be read.)

I Give... Here's My Five

I've noticed that I've only had a few "idle" hours in the past couple of years. That's sad. My goal when I started this blog was to write about my ancestors. I thought taking them on one at a  time would be a great way of writing the family history. At the rate I'm going, I'm going to have to live (and have my mind and eyesight) another 120 years. Not happening.

If you've been on social media and in a genealogy group there, sooner or later THE question is going to be asked. I bet you know what I'm going to say, right? Yes, that's the one. "If you could talk with any of your ancestors, which one/ two/three/ five would you like to talk with and why?" I usually just scroll on by. Most people want their brick walls dismantled. Don't we all?  How brazen of them. Well, I'm an administrator of one of those social media genealogy groups and a few days ago I asked that same question but with the caveat that the visit could have nothing to do with a brick wall. Hey, these folks were good. They had genuine interests and weren't just looking for an easy way through the wall (although I'm willing to bet copious sums of money borrowed at high interest rates at short term that most would steer the interview in the direction of that wall. I know these people.).

This compound question led me to think. That can be dangerous at times. I thought I'd blog about the five ancestors I'd like to meet and why, while avoiding the proverbial brick wall questions. I thought I'd write it in the form of a letter to you, my future "cousin", "niece", "nephew", "grandchild".  Aren't you feeling lucky? Here goes:

So, Who Really Stole the Horse?

John T. Asberry, my 4th great-uncle, was born about 1841. He was the son of Delilah Henry and Jacob Asbury and the grandson of Coleman and Amy Compton Asberry.  It is probable that he was born in Pendleton County since his parents were land owners and appeared in the census in Pendleton County each time from the date of their marriage until the death of John's father in 1856.  John was one of eleven children that lived to adulthood.

When John's father died, his will provided that each of his minor sons, James Samuel, John, and Robert Franklin, (the only children named in his will) be given a horse and all the necessary accouterments of a horse upon their reaching a majority age. When the Civil War broke out in Kentucky, Sam, John, and Bob all decided to join the Confederacy. Their mother told the John she would buy a horse for him if he could find a suitable one. John found one. It belonged to a neighbor, Henry Austin. The problem was that Henry didn't want to sell. 

                            Jacob Asbury's will on file at the Pendleton County Clerk's office,
                                               Falmouth, KY

Recruiters for the Confederacy were in the area. Among them were my maternal 3-great grandfather, James Jenkins. "Preacher" Jenkins, Bob Asbury*, John Asbery*, David Fogle, Samuel Coleman Lowe, and possibly a few others from the neighborhood "pressed" Henry Austin's horse into the service of the Confederate Army on October 3, 1862.

This case was amended three times, appealed to the Court of Appeals, and many Callensville folks were deposed before the matter of the horse was settled. I particularly like this case since it's the only document that I have found that names all of Jacob Asbury's children and states that they are his children. It also contains a wealth of other genealogical and historical information. 

It was originally styled, Henry Austin vs. John Asberry* Petition filed February 9, 1863, by attorneys Swope & Moore. The claim was that on October 3, 1862, John Asbery "forcibly entered the plaintiff's premises, took and carried away, and appropriated to his own use" a bay horse four years old of value $125.  It further states that the defendant was a non-resident and in the Confederate Army. It asked for a judgment and attachment of any property owned by John Asbery. John was entitled to a 1/11th share of the farm that his father left to his mother. (I should note here that Henry Austin had previously been in a suit against his neighbors that shared boundaries with him, accusing them of encroachment.)

Henry Austin v. John Asberry

The first amendment to the case was dated April 25, 1863. The reason: "John Asberry is one of the sons & heirs of Jacob Asberry, of this county, and that Jacob died seized of acreage of one hundred acres." It asked for the attachment of John's 1/11th share. 
 
Depositions were taken and from them, we learn many things. Number One: People see things from different perspectives. Number Two: People lie. Number Three: Maybe people forget. If we dig deeper, we can infer that people had different views on the war. Some may have been afraid their testimony would somehow incriminate them. Some may have harbored ill-will over political positions taken. One thing is for certain, it is hard to get an honest perspective without looking at what the war was doing to those left behind. Whatever people were feeling, seeing, sensing, and such, it is evident that conflicting stories were told. For details on this case, read this post from the Pendleton County Historical & Genealogical Society's Blog, Looking Back, Civil War & Uncivil Neighbors.

During much of my youth, I was told the family story of Mathew Jenkins and his father, the Reverend James Jenkins. James did not return to Kentucky to live after the war. The family legend is that he feared "retalliation for the deeds he'd done".  His wife stayed in Kentucky near her sons. She refused to join him. Mathew eventually was drafted into the Union Army but not before he was arrested twice by the Provost Marshall on suspicion of being a Rebel. Mathew took the Oath of Allegiance after the first arrest. His second arrest was based on the word of a Union soldier from, and stationed, in Falmouth. This soldier claimed to have knowledge that Mathew was gone from home for five days and had been with the Rebel Army. Were his arrests retaliation for his father's deeds? What "deeds" did James Jenkins commit that caused him to fear retaliation?  Maybe, his part in the stolen horse was the "deed". But just what was his part? Most placed him on the porch guarding the door of the house. They all said he ordered his new recruits there but some said he was the one that stole the horse.  How much of what was being said in the neighborhood did James know? Did Mathew go to him and tell him Henry Austin suspected James Jenkins stole his horse? Is this what led Mathew to be arrested a second time? Maybe the Reverend feared his wife, since his son had been arrested twice! I think it's plausible that she could have had a cast iron skillett with his name on it, so to speak.

Different folks that were deposed said that John Asberry stole the house, that his brother Robert stole it, and that James Jenkins stole it. Henry Austin's son, James, said he clearly saw John; the moon was bright and they had known each other for years. David Fogle was also there and he saw Jenkins take the horse.  He claimed John wasn't there. Now, one of those two lied, wouldn't you say? Why? What was in it for them? Was Fogle lying to protect the Asbury's interest in John's estate?  Did James Austin have a bone to pick with John and was this his way of settling a score? Henry Highfill, tavern owner, claimed John spent the night at his place and couldn't have been present when the horse was taken. Did he lie? Was John there all night or just part of the night? How sure was Highfill of John's whereabouts? James Thompson, a neighbor, didn't recognize the horse John Asberry was riding, yet the stolen horse was from the neighborhood. Wouldn't it be hard to not recognize your neighbor's car? I'd think this horse would be compared the same way, after all it was the equivalent of a car. Mary Harrison, another neighbor, claimed to see Robert Asbury in possession of the horse shortly after it was taken. Did Robert and John look alike? Could it have been mistaken identity? Could she have been angry with Robert and this be her way of getting even? Or maybe, could she have been in love with John and not wanted his memory tainted? Or could she have justed wanted her "fifteen minutes of fame"?

In the end, the jury found in favor of Henry Austin. They agreed that John Asberry stole the horse. After all, John made it known he was going to have the horse no matter what. He was seen, in Tennesee, on the horse by the man that originally owned it and had told him he got the horse in Kentucky. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean that he'd stolen it but it looked bad in view of the testimony in the depositions. 

Sometimes when I look at the depostitions and replay the family story in my mind, I have doubts. If John stole the horse, why would all those people lie? What other deeds could have been bad enough to keep James Jenkins from returning home if stelaing the horse wasn't the deed? What else was at play? How many of those testifying had Union leanings? How many Confederate leanings? Was politics at the core of the perjuries? Was it a way to turn on your neighbor? To show the Provost Marshall you were on his side? To gain the Marshall's trust? 

This case raises more questions than it answers but it does cause one to think beyond the obvious question of 'Who really stole the horse'? 


* The Asbury name has many spellings. In this case 'Asbery' seems to be the one used. I've used 'Asberr'y for John many times in this entry.