Ever since I saw this woman’s name and added her to our family tree, that song from Hamilton has haunted my brain.

Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton sing this duet as a lullabye to their newborns, Theodosia and Philip:

But who was our Theodocia?

She was born in Brookfield, Massachusetts, just eight years after the end of the Revolutionary War. She was one of ten children born to Jacob and Lois. Her siblings carried such names as Ebenezer, Sewell, and Ambrose.

Her last name was Batcheller. Or Batchelder. Or Batchellor.

Theodocia was born on Valentine’s Day in 1791, during George Washington’s first term in office. She had just two sisters, both named Lucy (the older sister lived only 18 months). The second Lucy and Theodocia married the Grout brothers, Joel and Abel, respectively.

Abel’s father and grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War. Both survived.

Son Pliny was not so lucky.

Abel and Theodocia’s son died while serving in the military during the Civil War. The history this family lived through is amazing.

Abel’s father and namesake came to a sad ending in 1841:

Theodocia and Abel farmed their land, located up close to the Green Mountains in Stratton, Vermont, which currently has a population of just 447. They had nine children over the course of the next 20 years.

Theodocia’s hands fascinate me. Just think of all the babies she’d held, clothes she’d scrubbed, loaves of bread she’d kneaded, vegetables she’d harvested from her garden. And all the prayers she whispered through those folded hands.

On the morning of April 19, 1825, Abel headed out to their “sugar lot” to search for some missing sheep. His son Samuel Newell tagged along. As Abel finished up, he called to Newell that it was time to head home for breakfast. Newell, only seven, had wandered off and didn’t hear his father.

By about 10 o’clock, a group of neighbors gathered to help look for Newell. The eight men tracked the boy’s footprints in the snow as best they could. They blew on tin horns to try and alert the child to call out.

The story of this search was recalled in the Bennington Evening Review in 1919, by a columnist by the name of Mabel Torrey Herrick who wrote about stories her grandfather – a local inkeeper – had told her over the years.

Continuing:

Throughout this long tale, there’s not a mention of the mother. Poor Theodocia! She must have been nearly out of her mind with worry! But she had a house full of little ones to care for and knew the search crew – now down to four men – wouldn’t give up.

Abel didn’t sleep much that dark night. He jumped up regularly and called out to his son, full of fears that he was starving, freezing, or being eaten by wildlife.

There’s a happy ending to this story. Little Newell came across a friendly man just as the sun was setting that day and was put to bed warm and with a full belly that night. He reportedly asked the stranger, “Can you tell me, sir, where I am?” The silly response was “Ireland,” to which the lad replied, “Why, at seven o’clock this morning I was in Stratton, North America!”

That little fellow grew up to be a minister.

And so how does this family tie in with ours? Through marriage, not blood.

Remember Pliny, the middle child of Theorocia and Abel? He died of an illness – maybe pnuemonia – while serving in the military during the Civil War. Pliny only lived to reach the age of 42, but two decades later his son Clifford had a daughter named Edith Grace.

Edith went on to marry a career military man. His name was Felix Vayo.

Felix was great-grandpa George Vayo’s younger brother.

Theodocia lived to be 77, but ultimately consumption (tuberculosis) and dropsy (edema) ended her life. She rests easy now, under the lush trees in Pike Hollow Cemetery in her beloved Stratton, Vermont.

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