Not My Grandmother!

When Deeds Tell the Real Story

The hunt for early marriages in Salem County, New Jersey, is never simple. With the 1810 census missing and marriage records scarce, I am left piecing together my family through scattered bits of evidence, tax lists, wills, and the occasional surviving church record. Every clue feels valuable, but none ever seem to tell the whole story.

One of the most stubborn puzzles has been Robert Peterson, my ancestor who lived along Oldmans Creek in what was then Upper Penns Neck Township, Salem County. Robert first appears in local records at the turn of the 19th century, a shoemaker who purchased small parcels of land from familiar neighborhood names like Curry, Pyle, and Barnes.

He married Catherine Simpkins in 1801, and together they had three children: Dean, Ezekiel, and Martha. Their family was part of the tight-knit network of Simpkinses, Pyles, and Guests who lived near Sculltown (now Auburn). But sometime before 1809, Catherine died. A later guardianship petition confirms that Robert was left to care for their children alone.

Image created by ChatGPT (OpenAI), “Handwritten Indenture between Robert and
Elizabeth Peterson, Salem County, New Jersey, 1819,” AI-generated image
based on historical deed style, November 2025.

Then, in 1819, a deed appears showing Robert and his wife Elizabeth Peterson selling property, proof that he had remarried sometime after Catherine’s death. The problem was, no record of that marriage survives. The missing census offered no help, and Salem County’s marriage books for that decade are nearly silent.

So who was Elizabeth?

One promising lead was a widow named Elizabeth Christopher. She lived close to Robert, her husband had died by 1809, and Robert Peterson had served as a witness to that husband’s will. The two families moved in the same circles along Oldmans Creek and were tied to many of the same surnames.

Everything seemed to line up. Same neighborhood. Same family connections. Same time frame. It felt like the perfect fit.

But as every researcher eventually learns, “seems to fit” isn’t proof.

When I began studying the Salem County deed books, the story changed. Over and over, I found this Elizabeth described clearly as the widow of John Christopher, deceased, selling land she had inherited, signing with her mark, and continuing to use her married name year after year. She never once appeared as a Peterson.

Meanwhile, in Robert Peterson’s own transactions from 1809 to 1819, his wife appears simply as Elizabeth Peterson, releasing her dower rights on land sales, but clearly a different person from the widow Christopher. Two women. Two distinct lives.

And then came the reward of all that digging: the deeds not only separated the two women but also revealed the widow’s maiden name, suggesting she belonged to a completely different branch of the Simpkins family.

It felt like a sad victory, sad because it would have been so rewarding to have finally discovered my grandmother’s surname, but a victory because I no longer have to wonder about this Elizabeth. The record is clear. The mystery, at least for her, is solved.

This experience reminded me that land records aren’t just about boundaries or acreage. They’re about identity. They record who people were, spouses, widows, heirs, or neighbors, and when used carefully, they can correct assumptions that have stood for generations.

And in this case, they corrected mine.

She was not my grandmother.