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Birth name
Mary Elizabeth Beyl
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Burial Place
Garland Brook Cemeterry, Columbus, Indiana, US
Mary Elizabeth Beyl: The Quiet One on Jackson Street
If you wandered down Jackson Street in Columbus, Indiana, in the summer of 1880, you might’ve passed a modest home bustling with the sounds of hammers, baby cries, and a French-accented curse or two. Inside lived the Beyl family—immigrants, laborers, survivors—and nestled among them was a 9-month-old baby girl named Mary Elizabeth.
She didn’t make much noise in the records, but oh, she was there—a quiet thread woven through a noisy house.
The House at 228 Jackson Street
Mary was born August 26, 1879, likely in that very house or nearby, depending on how quickly her mother, Elizabeth, could make it back from the market. By the 1880 census, baby Mary was recorded living with her parents, Jacob and Elizabeth Beyl, and her older brother, William—though in later records he’d go by Jacob Jr. A common case of census-name roulette.
Jacob Sr., her father, was 32 years old and listed as a railroad laborer—a job that took strength, precision, and more than a bit of risk. He was also marked as maimed or crippled, a chilling little note squeezed into the edge of the census column, with no explanation. One wonders what stories he didn’t get to tell.
He and his parents were born in France and likely brought that old-world stubbornness with them. Mary’s mother, Elizabeth, was a 24-year-old housekeeper, born in Indiana to German parents. So the girl in the cradle had a fair bit of the old countries in her veins—France, Germany, and a sprinkle of American grit.
The 1900s: Time Marches and the House Fills Up
By 1900, Mary was 20 and still living at 228 Jackson Street. The house hadn’t changed, but the names inside had multiplied. Jacob Sr. now worked as a carpenter, and five months out of the year, he hadn’t worked at all—possibly due to health, injury, or the cruel cycle of feast and famine typical in labor trades.
His wife was now listed as Margaret, born in 1855. This could mean that Elizabeth had passed, remarried, or simply had her name recorded differently. These kinds of mysteries are the breadcrumbs that keep genealogists up at night.
Living under that roof:
- Jacob Jr., now 24, is also a carpenter (and also between jobs half the year).
- Mary Elizabeth is still unmarried.
- John E. (13), Lillie F. (10), and Thomas G. (7).
- And—curiously—a baby: Helen M. Bond, just 11 months old, noted as Jacob and Margaret’s granddaughter.
Ah, the plot thickens.
Marriage, Movement, and Mary Belle
On July 24, 1901, Mary Elizabeth married Charles Arthur Blake in Marion County. She was 22, and something curious happened: her birthplace was listed as Tennessee, not Indiana. Whether this was an error, a memory gap, or a family embellishment, we may never know—but it was the first of several little inconsistencies in Mary’s paper trail. For a woman who seemed so quiet in life, she left behind just enough intrigue to keep things interesting.
By 1908, Mary and Charles were living at 634 E. Georgia Street in Indianapolis when they welcomed their daughter, Mary Belle Blake, at precisely 3 p.m. on January 16. Charles was a solicitor and driver, which could’ve meant anything from a salesman with a horse cart to a man peddling oil door to door. Either way, it was steady work, and they had a roof over their heads.
1910: The Family of Four
The 1910 census shows the Blake family at 910 Bates Street, still in Indianapolis. Charles worked as a wagon driver for an oil company, Mary kept house, and they had two daughters at home: Helen (10) and Mary (2).
Now, this Helen has been a subject of quiet curiosity. She was ten years old in 1910, but was not born to Mary and Charles together. Perhaps she was Charles’s daughter from a previous relationship, adopted, or even the same Helen M. Bond from the 1900 census. Was Mary raising a niece? A stepdaughter? A mystery child? The documents don’t say. But they stayed together, all four, at least for a little while.
The Final Chapter
On July 31, 1916, Mary Elizabeth Beyl Blake died at 36 years, 11 months, and 5 days old. The official cause of death: Uremia, brought on by Chronic Parenchymatous Nephritis—a kidney condition that likely caused her years of pain and fatigue before the end.
Her daughter, Helen M. Blake, acted as the informant on the death certificate—a difficult task for someone so young. The certificate listed Mary’s father as Jacob Beyl, born in France, and her mother as Margarett E. Kern—likely a variant or mistaken listing for her stepmother or possibly her mother’s full name. The details are muddy, but the grief is clear.
Mary was laid to rest in Garland Brook Cemetery in Columbus, Indiana, on August 3, 1916. Her obituary confirms that her husband and both daughters survived her.
And in one final twist, her grave marker doesn’t bear the name Mary Elizabeth at all. Instead, it reads:
MOLLIE E.
Wife of Chas. A. Blake
1879–1916
Whether it was a childhood nickname, a family pet name, or simply the name she preferred as the years went on, it’s a fitting end for a woman who never stuck to just one name in the records. Mary, Mary Elizabeth, Mollie… no matter what she was called, she was very much loved.
A Life in the Background
Mary Elizabeth never led the census column. She wasn’t the head of household, the wage-earner, or the dramatic headline. But in the quiet corners of the page, she’s there—raising children, moving houses, enduring illness, and building a life in the margins.
And maybe that’s what makes her so compelling. Not everyone leaves behind fanfare. Some leave behind the echo of a lullaby in a house on Jackson Street, a familiar name scrawled on the back of a photo, or a grave marker tucked beneath the shade of an Indiana tree.
💬 Want to Share a Memory?
If you knew Mary or have stories about her, her daughters, or the Blake family line, I’d love to hear them. Please head over to her Introduction page and leave a comment there—it’s the best place to gather memories, questions, and family lore all in one spot.
As always, I’ll update this page if new details come to light.
Until next time,
~Kris
Revisited by Bones 🕯️
Where the ancestors get a second opinion—and a little side-eye.
Mary Elizabeth Beyl—or Mollie, if you’re feeling intimate—is one of those ancestors who slips quietly through the historical record like a whispered name in a crowded room. She didn’t stir up lawsuits, change the course of local politics, or pose dramatically with a musket in a daguerreotype. But oh, she had secrets.
Let’s start with her mother, Margarett Elizabeth Kern, who did us the courtesy of going by Elizabeth in 1880, Margaret in 1900, and possibly “You know, the one with the good sauerkraut” within the family. That kind of name fluidity makes a genealogist’s eye twitch, but I’m not even mad—it’s almost elegant how she glided across the decades like a woman with multiple passports.
Then there’s Mary herself, whose paper trail shows her as:
- Mary Elizabeth Beyl
- Mary E. Beyl
- Mary Blake
- and finally… Mollie E. Blake, eternally etched in stone like a grand finale mic drop.
Mollie. On the grave. No census, certificate, or directory used that name—but there it is. Either she preferred it in life and the paperwork never caught up, or someone at the cemetery was feeling nostalgic. Either way, it adds a wink to her quiet legacy.
She lived most of her life at 228 Jackson Street, stayed close to family, married a man who drove wagons for an oil company, and raised at least two daughters—one of whom might not have been hers by birth, but certainly was by bond. The curious case of Helen—appearing as Helen Bond in 1900 and Helen M. Blake in 1910—leaves just enough ambiguity to keep a genealogist muttering to themselves into their third cup of coffee. Was she a granddaughter? A stepdaughter? A niece quietly adopted in?
We may never know, but I can tell you this: Mary Elizabeth (slash Mollie) deserves more than a census line and a faded gravestone. She built a life out of quiet resilience. She weathered illness, raised girls, and stitched herself into the rhythm of early 20th-century Indianapolis. And though she didn’t make a lot of noise… we hear her now.
I’ll be keeping one eye on Helen and one on the shadows, just in case Mary’s got more secrets to tell.
Until next time,
–Bones