Broken Family Ties: Black, Enceinte, and Indigent at Tewksbury Almshouse

Abstract

Tracing family lineage through women has unique challenges that are made only more difficult when a woman has resided in a state-run social institution and is Black. This article focuses on six pregnant Black women who were residents at the Tewksbury Almshouse in Massachusetts between 1854 and 1884. I examine the way the women’s names and other aspects of their identities were recorded in the intake records and in state birth and U.S. Census records. I contend that the women were not treated with dignity and respect, such that their names were often misspelled, shortened, and documented incorrectly. Part of my argument is that this was done partially because many of the women were pregnant with a white man’s baby and were poor, domestic Black women carrying a bi-racial baby out of wedlock. All of this has made it challenging to trace the family ties of the women once they left Tewksbury. I argue that the way in which these women were treated and documented (or not) reflects the devaluing of Black women and, especially, Black pregnant women.

1. Introduction

“…there are times the historical record fails to adequately document Black women’s experiences. Sometimes there are hardly any records at all. As historians, we often find ourselves in the difficult position of relying on archival records not penned by Black women but instead chronicled by those who played central roles in obscuring and silencing their legacies” (Berry and Gross 2020, p. 8). The United States has a rich and complicated history, especially when it comes to the intersection of race and gender. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts is no exception to having a rich history that illustrates the complicated intersections of race and gender in social institutions—specifically, Black women in the 1800s, and their interactions with hospitals, settlement houses, and almshouses are just one example. This essay is about six pregnant Black women who lived and gave birth at Tewksbury Almshouse between 1854 and 1884. This essay shares the joys and challenges of searching for the lives of women whose stories were disregarded and lost because of their identities and because of inconsistent, inaccurate, and incomplete record-keeping.

The six women, whose records indicate they were originally from Massachusetts, are a collective case engaging primary sources, highlighting challenges and questions that arise when conducting research about women who are non-white, did not have enough resources, and, as such, lived and gave birth in a state-funded institution. What little we know about these women is compelling. Their arrival to an integrated almshouse in the Commonwealth to give birth in the mid to late 1800s leads to critical curiosity about how they were viewed and what their identities meant in that specific societal context. As the stories unfold, more curiosity arises about record-keeping practices at almshouses. Other questions include, but are not limited to, how their social location—whether they were single or married, employed or not employed, impregnated by a known man, whether that man was Black or white—informed what they told the intake workers at the almshouse and affected their lives post-birth at Tewksbury. While men, specifically white men, are privileged in state and institution records, the missing data for Black women leaves many unanswered questions.

These stories led to a critical examination of record-keeping practices at almshouses, such as was record-keeping accurate and/or purposely misleading? Did intake workers coerce or persuade women to answer questions in a certain way? What was the impact of societal shame around pregnancies outside of marriage? What were the perceptions and realities of pregnancies from relationships or sexual abuse between Black domestic workers and white employers? While none of these questions are definitively answered in this essay, works by scholars who studied residents living without enough resources in Massachusetts (Wagner 2005; Herndon 2001), those who studied the intersection of poverty, gender, and race during this time period (Adams and Pleck 2010; Klepp 2017), and those who studied Black pregnant women and midwifery (Fraser 1998; Klepp 2017) can shed some light on these Tewksbury cases.

There have been several scholars (Davis 2020; Gross 2018; Oparah and Bonaparte 2016) who have written about the policing of Black women’s bodies. In this context, the reference to policing Black women’s bodies is about the fact that there have historically been policies, procedures, and laws created to regulate and/or exploit Black women and their bodies, beginning with slavery when Black women were treated producers of labor (giving birth to babies to be used as slaves) and raped and punished for not procreating, especially, male children. That reproductive oppression, exploitation, and policing continued beyond the years of active legal slavery. During the era in which the subjects of this story lived at Tewksbury, women in general and especially Black women living in a state-run facility experienced policing of their bodies. The lines of questioning related to whether or not they had a spouse, how and when they became pregnant, and the whereabouts of the baby’s father are all examples of policing Black women’s bodies in the 1800s, a practice that has continued well into the twenty-first century.

These six cases from Tewksbury Almshouse provide a glimpse into the lives of Black pregnant women without enough financial and/or social support and resources during this era in Massachusetts and maybe also in other states. All of these women had different journeys to and from Tewksbury Almshouse, and this essay sheds light and life into their mostly hidden stories. Before examining the women’s lives and their records, there needs to be some context set about Tewksbury Almshouse and Black women in the U.S. during that era and in Massachusetts.

2. Tewksbury Almshouse

The time period in which Tewksbury Almshouse operated (1854–1884) was a time of many changes in the country and especially in Massachusetts.1 During this time, the Commonwealth’s cities and towns felt the ever-increasing financial and social burden of attempting to care for its growing population, many of whom lacked adequate housing and employment. Some had mental health or physical health challenges such as polio, tuberculosis, cholera, and smallpox, to name a few. More and more small towns and villages in the still-forming Commonwealth took it upon themselves to handle those they labeled as poor and socially immoral by creating local almshouses. Almshouses already existed in urban centers but they were increasingly in small towns, often serving only a few “inmates”, as they were called.2

In 1854, in order to assist towns in their care of the poor, the Legislature authorized the creation of three almshouses, which opened on the same day, 1 May. The Almshouses were located in the towns of Monson, Bridgewater, and Tewksbury. The Almshouses were approved to assist in dealing with the large influx of immigrants who were coming to the state. Those served by the almshouses were a mix of childless elderly, orphaned or abandoned children, women in the process or aftermath of childbirth, widows and their children, and people with a wide array of physical and mental disabilities. Few mentions are made, in those early documents, of the inclusion or exclusion of Negro/colored/African or other immigrant populations. People were listed by race or ethnicity and place of birth, but all reports indicate that people lived in integrated quarters. Tewksbury seems to stand alone as the only or one of a very few state-funded or city-managed Almshouses that was racially integrated. Herndon’s studies of the Boston Almshouse provide important insight into how Massachusetts handled housing by race and gender. In her 2012 article, Herndon wrote about the women in the Boston Almshouse and confirmed that by 1816, “the staff had segregated adult inmates by race…in four rooms (two for women, two for men) in an adjoining house designated for colored [sic] people” (Herndon 2012, p. 354). Herndon also points to inconsistencies in record-keeping that makes it challenging to accurately document Black inmates at the Massachusetts almshouses. “In some cases, we found that a returning individual was registered as a person of color in some entries but not in all of them” (Herndon and Challú 2013, p. 74). This is a phenomenon that shows up again and again with the women featured in this essay—recorded with different racial labels in institutional and U.S. Census records.

Tewksbury Almshouse was rift with problems and was investigated around reports of unacceptable conditions, ill-treatment of residents, deaths, and misreporting to state authorities (Leonard 1883; Prince 1888; Tewksbury Almshouse Investigation 1883). However, an almshouse, even one with a reputation for ill-treatment of residents, overcrowding, mismanagement of funds, and resident deaths, may have been the best option for Black women in Massachusetts. Herndon wrote that women “were more likely than men to use the Almshouse as a family harbor during times of crisis, and more likely to maintain and build social connections while they were in the Almshouse” (Herndon and Challú 2013, p. 69).

Black women, whose records indicate they were born in Massachusetts and gave birth at Tewksbury Almshouse, give us much to unpack, analyze, and discuss. While Tewksbury Almshouse was open and operated for 30 years (1854–1884), the women highlighted in this essay were admitted between 1875 to 1883 (see

Table 1. Black pregnant women at Tewksbury Almshouse: 1875 to 18843. By state of origin and admittance date.

Birthplace and Name	Date Admitted	Age	Marital Status	Occupation
Connecticut
Evalina Howard	25 February 1875	23	Married	Unlisted
Martha Torrey	14 May 1878	17	Single	Domestic
Massachusetts
Ella Johnson	21 February 1875	21	Single	Unlisted
Louisa Roberts	2 March 1875	16	Single	Domestic
Jane E. Henry	24 June 1881	20	Single	Domestic
Emma J. Thompson	13 September 1881	18	Single	Domestic
Mary E. Davis	27 April 1882	25	Single	Domestic
Adelaide Weaver	12 March 1883	32	Married	Unlisted
New York
Mary Jackson	12 September 1878	24	Married	Unlisted
Lottie Howe	14 September 1880	24	Married	Unlisted
North Carolina
Lizzie Homer	3 April 1880	28	Single	Unlisted
Mary Emery	27 September 1881	27	Married	Unlisted
South Carolina
Maria Whittaker	20 March 1877	25	Married	Unlisted
Serena Tucker	19 April 1888	18	Single	Domestic
Virginia
Rhoda Robinson	7 December 1875	24	Single	Domestic
Lizzie Butler	22 December 1876	23	Married	Unlisted
Jennie Young	18 April 1878	18	Single	Domestic
Mary White	10 June 1880	23	Married	Unlisted
Daisey Patrick	10 August 1881	17	Single	Domestic
Mary Mason	4 May 1883	21	Single	Domestic
Anna Williams	9 October 1883	21	Single	Unlisted
Ella Smith	14 June 1884	22	Single	Unlisted

). These individual and collective stories are the stories of Black women who were (a) the children of former slaves, (b) domestic workers in the homes of wealthy white families, (c) sexually misused and abused by white men and Black men alike, (d) widowed or abandoned by husbands looking for work in other parts of the country or other countries, and who were, for a time, without resources (financial, social, housing), pregnant, had nowhere to go to give birth except for the local almshouse.

3. Black Women in the United States

In their book A black woman’s history of the United States, Berry and Gross (2020) engagingly and expertly highlight U.S. history through telling the stories of several different Black women, from slavery up to modern-day. Berry and Gross beautifully describe the complex role that Black women have held throughout U.S. history. Most importantly, they highlight that Black women have persisted against many odds and obstacles in order to maintain their dignity, keep their families united, and pursue desired goals. This is especially true for the women profiled in this essay. Unlike women (Black or white) who were accomplished, educated, and/or leaders in their communities, details of the lives of Black women at Tewksbury are not fully known, mainly because they were not important enough in society to have their stories properly recorded. They represent a segment of the Black population in Massachusetts and across the U.S. that is often brushed aside and forgotten. Their stories—names and lives—even those who were not accomplished and educated, are worth knowing and telling.

G. Fraser (1998) writes in her book on African American midwifery that Black women without financial resources or support did not have access to prenatal care from a physician; thus, these women who suffered from lack of options and support also suffered from victim-blaming and shaming for “high rates of infant and maternal mortality” (Fraser 1998, p. 50). Then, as today, Black women experienced policing, disempowerment, and coercion during pregnancy and childbirth. This is true for women at Tewksbury and other almshouses. At the very least, the Tewksbury women were able to receive the care they needed and give birth safely (by 1850s’ standards).

This project has proved challenging, as Berry and Gross note in their work; most of the data have come from archival records that were not written by the women themselves, which has led to incomplete stories. The women featured in this essay obviously did not document their own stories nor were their stories part of any well-known or well-documented historiography.4 The context of race relations and gender roles and rules governing the lives of these women is an important aspect of their stories. Black women have long been relegated to the secondary or tertiary or even forgotten story when it comes to the recounting of U.S. history and key players and events. The moments that Americans romanticize and memorialize most are the moments from which the stories of the contributions of Black women are missing. Examples of this include the exclusion of Black women other than Ella Baker, Ida Barnett-Wells, and Rosa Parks from the narrative and key events of the Civil Rights Movement. Other examples include the exclusion or minimalization of the contributions and heroism of Black women in times of war (the all-female Black battalion known as the 6888 Shoshana Johnson during the Iraq War). Other examples of de-centering the contributions of Black women to the U.S. society include but are not limited to only telling the stories of Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, and Phyllis Wheatley during Black history or women’s history months as opposed to centering them as part of our larger historical and socio-cultural fabric. The Black women at Tewksbury are just another example of how Black women, in this case, women who were attempting to make their way in society in the absence of a partner and/or other family, are relegated to the archives of a former almshouse.

While it may not be possible to, without doubt, determine that the lack of detail and care in the records kept at Tewksbury about the Black pregnant women was deliberate, it can be said that the missing parts of their stories are part of the larger socio-historical pattern of reproductive oppression, policing Black women’s bodies and de-centering their stories that lends to the larger narrative of Black women routinely being treated without dignity or respect.

The Black women who gave birth at Tewksbury Almshouse were not necessarily educated and did not necessarily have socio-political or economic connections or notable accomplishments. They had the stigma of being pregnant out-of-wedlock or having been abandoned while pregnant by their husbands. The context in which they lived and gave birth made them dependent, and their lives were insignificant without a husband. This essay sparks more interest in uncovering the fullness of their lives and bringing completeness to their stories.

4. Black, Female, and without Socio-Economic Support

Adams and Pleck (2010) introduce us to Hagar Blackmore—an African slave woman from Angola, taken to Massachusetts, who was pregnant, presumably with the baby of her slave owner’s son (Adams and Pleck 2010, p. 6). Hagar’s treatment by the Massachusetts Puritans sheds some light on how the six Tewksbury women may have felt they would be treated, even though they were not enslaved. Being Black and pregnant and, in most cases, unwed like Hagar, who the Puritans were “intent on punishing” due to suspected “fornication among Africans as well as their own people in order to enforce God’s rule that sex should occur only within marriage” (Adams and Pleck 2010, p. 6). Hagar faced conviction in a fornication case—punishment by fine and/or being whipped. Adams and Pleck describe that sailors on slave ships perceived the mostly naked women as “sexual prey or as potential nurses to care for them when they came down with fever” (Adams and Pleck 2010, p. 7). During labor, Hagar was questioned about the identity of the baby’s father. Although her slave owner’s son had initially been identified as the father, Hagar gave the name of another man. Soon after she gave birth, Adams and Pleck report that Hagar “disappears from the historical record, one of the many slave women whose subsequent history cannot be traced” (Adams and Pleck 2010, p. 8). While Hagar was not a free woman, her story is a precursor to the stories of the Black pregnant women at Tewksbury. While they were theoretically free women, it is clear from their stories that they were not truly free. Even if they were not aware of Hagar’s stories, they may have known of similar cases or, given the social context, knew there could be harsh consequences for their situations. Twisted truths could save their lives.

In her work (2001 and 2012), Herndon suggests reasons why individuals, especially women, ended up in Almshouses (Herndon 2012). These reasons include an individual’s physical and/or mental state as well as the societal desire to control the poor and hide pregnant women who did not have a spouse (as early Puritans did). During the early developmental years of the U.S. the majority of women were disproportionately under-educated, under-employed, and lacked sufficient financial resources and support. White women from well-resourced families relied on their fathers or husbands for daily living. With or without resources, women of that era were subservient to and reliant on men.

During Tewksbury’s years of operation, there were approximately 16,056 women admitted (ranging in age from newborn to eighty-nine). Of the 16,056 women who resided there, 310 were Black women, 850 of the total women were pregnant, and approximately 23 were Black and pregnant (see Table 1).

A majority of the pregnant women (of all races and ethnicities) at Tewksbury were born outside of Massachusetts and some were born outside of the United States. Some were initially brought to the U.S. or specifically to Massachusetts by their parents when young, and then those parents died or disappeared. Others came as domestic servants to work in someone’s house (mostly the Irish and Black women), became pregnant, and then were taken to the almshouse to give birth. The stigma of giving birth or being born in an almshouse was mostly covert in the records; there is one instance of blatant stigmatization, one pregnant nineteen-year-old woman, who had herself been born at the Almshouse. Her record was tagged as being from a “House of Ill Fame”.5 While the pregnant Black women had no additional tag on their records other than enceinte (French word used in the Tewksbury records meaning pregnant), the stigma of being Black, pregnant, without a current male partner, and without enough resources was enough stigma to endure. A good number of the Black women had been impregnated by a white male in the house where they were employed as a domestic. In an ultimate act of shaming, the families often discharged the enceinte domestic from her duties.

The larger cohort of twenty-three Black pregnant women ranged in age from sixteen to thirty-two. They came from as far as North Carolina, Virginia, and South Carolina to as close as the city of Boston. Sixteen of the twenty-three reported that they knew the identity of their child’s father. Almost half of these women were married and had another child or children. Many women of that time, but most especially Black women, who were not always allowed to be admitted to the hospitals, typically gave birth at home, sometimes with assistance from a midwife. From a reading of the histories of Boston City Hospital and Massachusetts General Hospital, there is no indication that non-white men or women were allowed to be admitted. In fact, on two separate occasions, when a doctor made a referral for a “Colored man” to be admitted to Massachusetts General, the men’s admissions requests were denied (Bowditch 1972, pp. 93, 129–30).

Even though both hospitals claimed to have been built to help the poor in Boston, both hospitals had very specific rules about who could be admitted. Typical of the time, the poor who needed services were judged as worthy or unworthy. It is not clear from hospitals’ histories that women were ever admitted solely for the purpose of giving birth (Bowditch 1972; Cheever 1906). Therefore, unless the women profiled in this essay had access to a midwife, their only choice was to go to an almshouse to give birth.

5. The Six Black Pregnant Women from Massachusetts

“On the one hand, Hagar Blackmore was the quintessential sexual victim of North American slavery, pregnant, robbed of her name, her husband and child, brought to court without any kin to defend or protect her” and then erased from the records and history books (Adams and Pleck 2010, p. 9). Her story is the story of the pregnant Black women at Tewksbury.

The six women who are recorded as being born in the Commonwealth are a representative sample of the total group of twenty-three Black pregnant women who went to the Almshouse. The group of six women includes the only pregnant Black woman to die at Tewksbury (Ella Johnson, see Figure 1), the youngest Black woman to be admitted (Louisa Roberts, see Figure 2), and the oldest Black woman to be admitted (Adelaide Weaver, see Figure 3). The six Massachusetts women also represent some of the problems encountered when doing this type of research—incomplete and inaccurate records—which include conflicting or missing dates, women listed with different names, including aliases, and/or listed under different racial classifications in varying years (an ironic quirk of the U.S. Census system, which changed over the years), listed as being married to the (white) father of their baby but with no marriage record, and many unanswered questions about their true identities and life stories. As information was uncovered about each woman, more questions arose about whether they were coerced to tell a specific story when being admitted to Tewksbury, whether some of them gave their babies up for adoption (willingly or by force), whether any of them got married and/or started families with a spouse, and/or whether they remained in Massachusetts after giving birth or moved elsewhere.

5.1. Ella Johnson

Ella’s case exemplifies discrepancies in information between state birth records and what was recorded upon intake at Tewksbury. She is also a clear example of a woman who gives birth and disappears from the records, like Hagar. Born in Hyannis, MA, in 1854, Ella was one of the first young women to be admitted to Tewksbury. Ella is believed to have been twenty-one years old when she was admitted to Tewksbury on 21 February 1875 (see Figure 1).

The Tewksbury intake record book lists her as single; however, the archived Massachusetts vital records show that Ella was married and that her maiden name was Hendricks. The records indicate she was married to a man named Chas. (most likely short for Charles) Johnson, born in Boston. Their daughter Gertrude (whose record indicates she was born on 14 February 1875) died at Tewksbury on 4 July 1875. Ella Johnson Hendricks is’ record also shows that she died at Tewksbury on 4 July 18756. In the Tewksbury record, there is a note that states Ella reports being with “…half a dozen different men…” and that she was with Chas. “…once or twice a week for a year or more.” The note reeks of Puritan judgment and seems unnecessary for the purpose of the intake of a pregnant woman in need.7 But as we remember from Hagar’s case, Puritan judgment was the tone of the time.

Searches for more details about Chas. yielded no additional concrete information. Searches for Charles Johnson, born in the range of 1850–1860, yielded results for a Charles B. Johnson, who was married to a Margaret E. and they had a child named Ella Gertrude Johnson (born 22 September 1877). While the child’s name makes one think this could have been Ella’s daughter, the birth dates do not match. There was also a Charles A. Johnson married to a woman named Mary and their daughter (born 13 December 1891) was named Gertrude E. Johnson. Further research did not lead to a connection between any Charles Johnson, born in Boston, MA, to Ella Hendricks Johnson. The status of their relationship and his identity currently remain fully unknown.

The Massachusetts record lists baby Gertrude as being one month old at the time of her death, but if her death date is correct—4 July 1875 and her birth date is correct—14 February 1875, Gertrude would have been almost five months old at the time of death. Furthermore, the Tewksbury record indicates that Gertrude was born at the almshouse, but Ella’s intake record showed she was admitted on the 21st and Gertrude’s record shows she was born on the 14th. There is a clearly inconsistent lack of care in record-keeping and attention to detail across the Tewksbury Almshouse records and the Massachusetts state records. Additionally, the use of aliases (whether on purpose or not), different spelling of names, and use of abbreviated names seem to be a consistent issue found in many of the Tewksbury Almshouse records for both Black and white residents.

Fraser (1998) notes that even though the U.S. had developed the practice of taking a census, “only sporadic and small-scale efforts had been made to isolate natality and mortality statistics” (Fraser 1998, p. 53). The idea of systematically registering all births and deaths did not begin to occur until the late 1880s. Thus, it is not surprising that the death of a Black woman without any financial or social capital and the death of her bi-racial child born out of wedlock in an almshouse are not accurately recorded.

5.2. Louisa Roberts

Louisa’s case represents another example of how race, gender, and socio-economic status intersected with New England Puritan rules about interracial relationships, women’s lives, sex and pregnancy out of wedlock, and inaccurate record-keeping. Those factors add to the mystery of the new practice of adoption. Shortly after Ella was admitted, one of the youngest of the Black pregnant women to be admitted came to Tewksbury on 2 March 1875—sixteen-year-old Louisa Roberts (see Figure 2). Her story, unfortunately, is not unusual. She was born in Cambridgeport, Massachusetts, in 1859. Louisa, her parents (Alexander and Arabaella—both born in Nova Scotia), and siblings are listed on the 1865 and 1870 censuses as living in Cambridge. When her mother died, her father took on a mistress whom he later married. Louisa first went to live with her grandmother in Cambridge, then moved back with her father and his wife, but she eventually ran away. She was taken in by an officer and sent to a farm to work. While at the farm, she reportedly told the Tewksbury intake worker that she had consensual sex with a few different men but was sure that the father of her child is “James Hunt, colored, of Everett, steward on the farm of A.F. Atwood—the oyster dealer of Boston”.8

The Massachusetts state records show that Harry Roberts, born on 16 April 1875 in Tewksbury, is listed as the son of James Hunt and Louisa Roberts (even though no marriage record exists, they are listed as husband and wife). Further searches for James Hunt of Everett connected to Louisa and/or Harry turned up no further information. Additional searches for the name Harry with the birth year 1875 in Tewksbury, Everett, and Cambridge turned up no records for the child born to Louisa.

As it relates to baby Harry and the other Black babies born at Tewksbury, it is possible that they were adopted, sent to Monson, where the state primary school was located, or even possibly sold to southern slave owners. Monson State Primary School was the almshouse for children under the age of sixteen who were neglected and abused. Children there (who did not run away or get referred to court) worked, did chores, went to school, and waited to be adopted, fostered, or indentured out of Monson.9 There are no clear records indicating the transfer of children from Tewksbury to Monson.

Massachusetts was the first state in the U.S. to pass an adoption law—the 1851 Massachusetts Adoption of Children Act. The act states that anyone can petition to adopt a child; if the parents are living, they must consent to adoption, or the judge would appoint “some discreet and suitable person to act in the proceedings as the next friend of such child, and give or withhold such consent” (Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1851). The act stipulates that after adoption, birth parents are then deprived of any legal rights as it pertains to the child or children. There is no mention of how or where such adoption records would be kept. Also, it should be noted that only men (husbands) could petition for adoption with the consent of their wife, but no woman “having a lawful husband shall be competent to present and prosecute such petition”. Given that law, it is possible that Louisa’s child was adopted, but those details are not known.

Louisa’s Tewksbury record does not say where she went or with whom after she was discharged on 27 May 1875, but according to the census and other state records, it appears that she married a bit later in life and had at least three more children. On 13 October 1895, then Louisa Roberts Brown, age thirty-six, married Frederick Douglas Taylor, age thirty-two, of Roxbury. Louisa and Frederick had three children—a son, Elmer Douglas Taylor, born on 25 February 1893; another son, Edgar O. Taylor born on 11 December 1895; and a daughter, Mabel Lucinda Taylor, born 7 April 1903. In later records (The 1910 MA Census), Mabel Lucinda is listed as an “adopted daughter.” Throughout the census, birth, and death records, Louisa appears as Louisa Ann Roberts, Louisa Ann Taylor, and Louisa Taylor. In her son Elmer’s marriage record (8 September 1911), she is listed as Louisa Brown. Her death records indicates that she died in Medford, MA, on 5 April 1913 as Louisa Ann Taylor.

5.3. Jane E. Henry

Like Ella and Louise’s cases, Jane’s situation also represents a lack of care and accuracy in record-keeping and raises questions of why the women provided the information they provided to the intake worker—coercion and/or shame. Jane’s case also presents questions about the whereabouts of the baby born at Tewksbury and existing family that may or may not have been in the state.

Jane was admitted to Tewksbury on 24 June 1881. She is listed as being Colored, age twenty, and not knowing the whereabouts of her father or mother (Jane reported not having seen either one of them in some years). She did identify the father of her child as George C Garland of Boston, where she had been employed as a domestic in his mother’s house. As with the other women and their babies, there was one state record found that connects George to Jane and the newborn, Garfield Henry, born on 9 September 1881. There is no other record of Garfield Henry and no other connections between George or his family and Jane. Birth records show that Jane Elizabeth Henry was born in Boston on 30 November 1850 to James and Elizabeth. Most records connected to Jane and her brother (James Thomas Henry, born in Boston on 24 April 1852) list the parents by only their first names (another record-keeping practice that leads to dead-ends and/or devalues the lives of Black residents in the U.S.). Both parents are listed as Mulatto and their birthplace as the Island of St. Helena (in later records, James’ place of birth is listed as Massachusetts). Further, in the 1855 Census, James T Henry is listed as Mulatto, and, from his record, one sees that there is another sibling (the oldest), Agnes Henry, age seventeen.

The 1880 Census shows that Jane E. Henry is listed as “other”, single, Mulatto servant, age 30, in the household of Ira S. Garland. George was the twenty-two-year-old son of Ira and Mary Garland. Interestingly, George is listed as a “sister” in his father’s household. It appears that inaccurate record-keeping was not limited to the collection of information from Black or Mulatto residents but also of white residents.

Unique to Jane’s case is the fact that census data show she has a total of at least three siblings—Agnes, James, and Julia. We also learn that there was maybe an aunt (Mary Junot, age twenty-two, from St. Helena) living in the house when the 1860 Census was taken. In the 1860 Census, every member of James Henry’s household, including his wife, children, and sister (or sister-in-law), were listed as “white.” In the 1880 Census, Jane and James, Jr. (living in different households) were listed as “Mulatto” and “Black”, respectively. In the 1880 Census, Jane’s brother is listed as “Jas Henry”, a “Black, single, servant” in the household of Edward A Abbott of Boston.10 We know from various scholars that racial categories shifted each decade from the first census in 1790 through the 1960s (Schor 2017; Hochschild and Powell 2008). Although Massachusetts did not have a racial integrity law like the state of Virginia did, it is possible that the attending physician or midwife may have made a choice to record the race of a newborn in one way or another depending on their view of race.11 Whether race was recorded in a specific way according to guidance from the U.S. Census Bureau or according to the perspective of attending medical professionals at the time of birth, it is clear that the inconsistent manner in which race was recorded makes it more challenging to find Black people and their families and to tell their complete stories.

If Jane had siblings and/or her parents that were still in the area when she went to Tewksbury, why she did not reach out to them is another one of the many unknowns. She may not have known their whereabouts, especially if they were employed in people’s homes. Given their situation(s), they may have been unable to assist her. She could have been full of the shame thrust upon unwed pregnant women. Maybe she did reach out to them, and that reunification is, sadly, not recorded.

5.4. Emma J. Thompson

Emma Thompson represents the women who had a parent (or both) who died or with whom they had an estranged relationship. Her story also illustrates the case of people who were classified as Mulatto as opposed to Colored, Negro, or Black (1850 and 1860 Census).

Massachusetts state records indicate that Emma was born on 25 September 1863 in Boston to parents Luke Thompson and Eliza J. In the 1865 Census, Emma is listed as “Single, “Canadian” [ethnicity], “Multiple” [race]. Her father, Luke, had an interesting lineage and marriage history. Marriage records indicate that Eliza J was Luke’s second wife (married on 3 April 1866). The name of Luke’s first wife, presumably Emma’s biological mother, does not appear in the state records with a connection to Emma, nor did Emma mention her mother to the Tewksbury intake worker.12

Emma reported that her father had owned a house at #8 Dorrance Street in Charlestown, but she provided no other details (or no other details were recorded) about her parents. Emma was admitted to the almshouse on 13 September 1881. She stated that she knew the father of her baby—a Dan McNulty, who is listed on the birth record as her spouse and father to baby Daniel Thompson, born 26 October 1881.13 There are over 1000 Daniel McNultys in the MA state records. Narrowing that down further to look at Daniel McNultys in Emma’s age range, there are 200-plus Daniel McNutlys, and there is no definitive connection to Emma or baby Daniel. This may be another sad but seemingly typical case in which a Black woman becomes pregnant by a white man (presuming by the name), and there is no record connecting them beyond the record of the birth (even though, at that time, MA listed the birth parents as a married couple).

While Emma did not mention specifics about her father, she listed Hugh McNerlin, who lived at #28 Beach Street, as her grandfather. When conducting a search of Emma’s parents, her father’s second wife (Eliza J) comes up with the maiden name of McAnelly. When searching Eliza J. McAnelly, the name Eliza J. McNerlin Thompson appears. On the death record for Eliza J McNerlin Thompson, her father is listed as Hugh McNerlin Thompson. Hugh was married to a woman named Ellen; both of Emma’s grandparents were white and born in Ireland. While both of Eliza J’s parents are listed as white, on her marriage record to Luke, Eliza’s race is listed as Colored. In the 1870 Census, Emma is listed as part of this household, and her race is listed as white.14 It is possible that Emma is a child of a bi-racial couple with information leading back to only the father’s white family, with no trace of her biological Black mother.

The ways in which the same person is labeled with different races and ethnicities led me to search further for Luke’s parents. Both of his parents (Abraham, born in New York in 1783, and Susan, born in Massachusetts in 1795) are listed as Mulatto. In one Census record (1850), Luke is also listed as Mulatto. Luke has three brothers; two are listed as Mulatto and the youngest is listed as Colored. Ten years later, in the 1860 Census, that brother named William is listed as Black.15 All of that—the changing labels in how people are classified and often the missing labels and slight changes in how people’s names are spelled—are either errors of the record takers/keepers or purposeful changes to make it more challenging to connect white people to Black relatives or vice versa. It is a tactic that has definitely ended the connection between Black birth mothers and white birth fathers.

In concluding what is known about this family (which is more than most of the cases of the Black pregnant women at Tewksbury), according to death records, Luke Thompson died on 11 January 1869, three years after marrying Eliza and eleven years before Emma became pregnant. Eliza J died in 1876. It is possible that Emma lived in the house with her grandparents, but that is not clear. Emma’s occupation was listed as a clerk, so it is possible that she lived independently or in a rooming/boarding house. It is clear that after giving birth, Emma did not return to that house. On 13 December 1882, two months after giving birth, she was married to a Frank T. Cameron (aged twenty). Frank was a shoemaker whose parents were both born in Nova Scotia. Emma and Frank had a baby boy on 20 September 1883, also named Frank. Baby Frank died on 8 August 1884, not yet one years old. Frank, Sr. died at the age of twenty-two on 1 March 1884, two years after marrying Emma and five months before his son’s death.16 No information has yet been found on Emma’s life after the death of her husband and child.

5.5. Adelaide Weaver

Adelaide’s case is another example of an individual being recorded with different names—last name and first name spelled in different ways in different databases. Her case also poses questions about what truths or lies women told when being admitted into the almshouse.

Adelaide Weaver (as her name was recorded at the almshouse), age thirty-two, was the oldest of the Black pregnant women (see Figure 3). She was born in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, on 15 April 1851 and admitted to the almshouse on 12 March 1883. The Census records of 1865 have her listed as Adelaide L. Minsley—”Single, American, Black,” living in a household of eight people, daughter of John Misley and Cornelia M. Minsley (recorded elsewhere as Melissa Minsley).17 Her parents were born in Egermont, MA.18 Finding accurate information on Adelaide was challenging because (1) like some of the other women, her last name is spelled two different ways in the state records—Minsley and Mencely, and (2) there is no state record of her with the name Adelaide Weaver.

Adelaide reported being married to a man named John Weaver and having three children in addition to John, Jr., who was born at Tewksbury on 23 March 1883. Adelaide reported her husband John, Sr. was somewhere in Ohio looking for work.

Massachusetts state records list a man named Chas. (Charles) Weaver as the father of the boy named John, born to Adelaide at Tewksbury.19 Records show many Charles Weavers, but none have any definitive connection to Adelaide or baby John other than that one record of John’s birth.

Additional searches for John L. Weaver turn up many records. One potential connection to Adelaide could have been a John L Weaver who, in the 1850 Census, is listed as a Black male, born in North Carolina in 1826, living in Charlestown. There are no records that indicate this man lived in Ohio or that he was definitively connected to Adelaide. There are records that indicate that this John L. Weaver may have been married in 1874 to a woman named Ella in North Carolina. Finally, there is a record of a Louisa Minsley Weaver (Minsley was Adelaide’s maiden name), who was married to a John Weaver. The Census record shows this woman’s birth year is estimated as 1853, and she died in 1892 at the age of thirty-nine in Springfield, Massachusetts. The death record lists her parents as John (the name of Adelaide’s father) and Lucy Jones (not the name of the woman listed on Adelaide’s birth record).20 No race is listed; therefore, it is not clear that Louise Minsley Weaver is related to Adelaide; however, it is a possibility, given other inaccuracies we have seen.

All of the records leading to inconclusive findings continue to prompt several questions—was there some coercion from almshouse intake workers for the women to create a plausible story for the workers to record? Or was there such shame in pregnancy outside of marriage that women concocted socially and morally acceptable stories? If we go back to the story of Hagar Blackmore, we can understand how this is plausible. Why are names so inconsistently recorded? Did women use aliases when they were admitted to the almshouse, knowing that there was no time or method for the intake workers to check their identities?

After Adelaide gave birth, her cousin Cornelia wrote for her to go stay with her in Springfield. In the 1865 Census, Adelaide is listed as part of her father’s household; there is a Cornelia A Johnson (age 2 at that time) who is listed as part of the household and having Canadian as her ethnicity and her race listed as “multiple”. She is most likely the daughter of a twenty-four-year-old woman listed as “Single, American, Black”, named Nancy M Johnson. No spouse is listed for Nancy; therefore, I speculate that she could be the sister or other relative of either John Minsley or Cornelia M Minsley.21

5.6. Mary E. Davis

Mary’s case, like most of the others, eventually leads to a dead-end, with some interesting leads between her arrival at Tewksbury and the 1900 census. She is one of the six Massachusetts women whose Massachusetts roots are in question. Mary’s Tewksbury record indicates that she went to Tewksbury from Worcester but that she was born in New Bedford.22 I was able to find her birth records (estimated birth year of 1857), which helped link her, later on, to a family in 1900. Mary’s parents are listed as having been born in Virginia (John and Maria). She said her mother died, and she did not know the whereabouts of her father. Mary arrived at Tewksbury in the April of 1882 and reported working as a domestic in Worcester in the home of Fred T. Boynton, whom Mary says impregnated her. The address of his home and business are listed as being in Chelsea.23 Massachusetts birth records list him as Mary’s spouse and father to the child born on 9 July 1882 at Tewksbury—Alfred H. Davis. Mr. Boynton is also listed simply as Fred on Alfred’s death record—21 October 1882.24 A search of Fred Boynton in Chelsea led to two potential men who could be the man mentioned in Mary’s intake record—both of whom were white and married. However, there is nothing to conclusively link either of those men to Mary or baby Alfred.

Also, on Mary’s intake record, there is a note that a “D. Wheeler Swift of #22 Oak Avenue, Worcester is interested in the above-named girl”.25 The short note is an odd one without further explanation. A search of D. Wheeler Swift and Worcester turns up a few potential people to whom Mary could be connected. The census records for that person do not show a Mary E. Davis listed in their households for the period after which Mary left Tewksbury. There was one D. Wheeler Swift in Worcester who was sixty-nine years old and had a servant listed as Margaret E. Johnson, but she was white and born in England. However, the 1900 census shows a Mary E. Davis living in Chelsea as a servant in Horace P. Wood’s household. That Mary’s race is listed as Chinese. What leads me to believe that this may be the same Mary who gave birth to Alfred at Tewksbury in 1882 is that this Mary has the same birth year and, upon further inspection of the record, her parents are listed as being from Virginia.26 The only reasonable explanation for this could be that in 1900, the racial categories for the census, other than white, were “Indian,” “Black (Negro or of Negro Descent”, and “Chinese; Japanese”. If Mary’s skin looked light or lighter than what was believed to be considered Black but darker than white, she may have been labeled as Chinese. With Hagar’s baby, the women who attended to her birth noted that the baby “had the countenance and colour [sic] of a Negro”, which is why her owner’s son was absolved of being the father (Adams and Pleck 2010, p. 8). Even though her Tewksbury record lists Mary as being born in Massachusetts, no birth record was found to verify that or her racial classification at birth.

Searching for facts about these six women has led to being able to complete some more aspects of their stories—giving them more voice and dignity in the records. Our family histories are important, and, often, there is too much missing information to piece together a complete life story. It is clear that the records of these women were far from accurate, and the question still lingers as to the underlying reason for such inaccuracies—coercion, avoidance of truth, dismissal of their identities, carelessness, or all of the above. There are rich possibilities that require more time and care beyond the scope of this essay.

6. Conclusions and Implications for Future Research

The joys and challenges of engaging in genealogical research are further complicated by poor record-keeping. There are many untold stories of Black women in the United States, especially Black women like Hagar Blackmore and the pregnant women at Tewksbury, who did not conform to the societal norms imposed on Black women. Hagar’s story sets the context for why the documented stories of Black women at Tewksbury are so fragmented and incomplete. What we know about the lives of the Black pregnant women at Tewksbury Almshouse highlights the commonalities as well as the varying circumstances among Black women without adequate social, educational, and/or economic resources in the early 19th century. Only a small percentage of these women were married; most were single. Their stories highlight the sexual abuse perpetrated by white men of the families who employed them. Furthermore, their stories highlight the stigma of hiding out-of-wedlock pregnancies and the mysterious way in which babies were adopted or sent to another almshouse. At best, their circumstances were dire and complicated in a way that illustrates a sad and frustrating story about the status of Black women without socio-economic resources or support in postbellum Massachusetts.

One area of further research includes a similar study of all the Black pregnant women at Tewksbury. That study should aim to trace the whereabouts of the women after discharge, including finding their places of burial. Census records provide limited information about some of the Black pregnant women who gave birth at Tewksbury. Beyond their often-short stay, the fact that their whereabouts after giving birth and being discharged are mostly unknown adds to the questions about their status in society. We know that only a few of the women were discharged to a family member who lived in Massachusetts. From the records, it appears that Ella Johnson was the only Black pregnant woman to die at Tewksbury. It is not clear that she was buried at the cemetery that Tewksbury Almshouse used, which is another story to research and tell—where and how Black bodies were buried during those years.

Finding the babies born at Tewksbury is another area of future research. There are many unknowns about the adoption circumstances of all of the babies who survived. While infants remained at Tewksbury even if the mother did not, it is unclear which babies were adopted and under which circumstances and whether that was documented and which babies stayed until old enough to go to Monson.

Finally, additional research could be conducted by comparing records between white and Black pregnant women. Despite the inconsistencies in record-keeping, one thing that seems consistent is that all the women, regardless of race, were treated and cared for equally by the staff and, specifically, by the doctors. They all worked alongside each other in the laundry room or taking care of the children.

The stories of the women featured in this essay illustrate the status and treatment of Black pregnant women without resources. Their lives are not less valuable than the Black women with resources or those who gave birth under the social institution of marriage. However, the social norms of the era, the shame, and the lack of careful record-keeping make their lives appear insignificant.

One of the most troubling phenomena in U.S. history is the loss of stories and voices of Black Americans. It is, however, worthy work to search for those stories, to recreate both the wrenching and uplifting tales about those who were disregarded, unappreciated, and even classified as less than human. The struggle of Blacks, especially women, to be seen, treated with dignity, cared for, and integrated within U.S. social welfare institutions is a story yet unfolding. The six enceinte Black women in Tewksbury, Massachusetts, in 1854 constitute a page of that unfolding tale.