In Search of Hiram

It had been a long road in search of Hiram. For over twenty years, I followed clues that finally led me to my destination. According to the GPS coordinates, I stood on the property that was the homestead of my great-great grandfather near Winthrop, Washington. With cousin Jon’s help, the location and GPS coordinates of the homestead were determined. It was one thing to see it on the map, but it was another to be on the very spot where he had walked. Blue mountains were off in the distance. Rolling hills were bordered on one side by the river. There was no sign of an old homestead. Rather, a hatchery stood on the location.

• 

Getting to that point was quite an adventure. It began with family stories, some that were fabricated while others held nuggets of truth that left a faint trail to follow. The story as told to me by one source was that my great-great grandfather Hiram was robbed and killed while returning home from a week of work on the railroad. For months, family members looked for him. There was no trace. Though there was no evidence of foul play, the story remained in oral family history. The same source also told me that my great grandmother was caught burning old family photos and notes. Her response when questioned was, “Some things are best left alone.”

I never felt settled with that bit of family history. I questioned the tales and began a journey to undercover the mystery. When I voiced my skepticism about the validity of the stories, my father told me he had heard murmurings as well that led him to believe that there was more to the story.

So began my search for Hiram. One of the first big clues was an Ohio newspaper divorce notice posted by my great-great grandmother. Sometime later, Hiram followed her and their four children to Kansas, and they were married a second time, ten years after their first marriage. After their fifth child was conceived, Hiram disappeared again. When I came across his mother’s will, I had proof that Hiram had not been killed, for he endorsed the voucher for his inheritance.

There was a problem I kept tripping over. Another man by like name lived in the same vicinity in Eastern Washington. I had to make sure the one I followed was my Hiram. When I found a brief death notice, I contacted the only funeral home in that area and asked if it was possible there were records from 1924 still on file. Explaining my interest and family connection, I received the documents that proved the identity of my great great grandfather.

Hiram left his family, twice, forcing his wife to care for their five children on her own. His death record indicates he died a lonely, sick man. The cause of death was from cancer of the eye. He had nothing to claim as his own – no property, no family. He died in the County Home and didn’t even have a headstone until a few years ago. His twin brother came from Ohio to pay the final funeral cost and gather his brother’s meager belongings. I couldn’t help but feel sorrow thinking of all that he missed in life. He never saw his children reach adulthood. He never felt the arms of grandchildren wrap around his neck. He never heard their laughter or saw their eyes dance with life. Some might consider him a scoundrel of sorts, but in the words of one of his granddaughters, “There must have been good in him because he had some mighty fine children.” 

• 

Standing on the property he claimed, I felt a connection for the first time. He was more than just a name. I could finally put the story to rest, satisfied I had come full circle. It seems I heard a whisper, or maybe that was just a breeze blowing through the grass or the sound of water rippling over the rocks. Maybe a lingering spirit of unrest finally found peace. Maybe somehow a wish of his had been fulfilled. A soft breeze blew through the low hills. I took a deep breath and let out a sigh that released the feelings and emotions that had been penned up inside. 

• 

There was a lump in my throat as I took one last look of where the old homestead once stood. It was a bittersweet moment. The dark clouds began to dissipate as the sun pierced through. I glanced out the window as we turned away and drove along the river.

I rewarded myself with some scrumptious home made ice cream from the historical town of Winthrop, Washington at Sheri’s Sweet Shoppe.