When I began researching the family, and got in touch with the cousins that had already started mapping out the Wagner family, I noticed the name Anália showed up a few more times than I anticipated. This was a name I knew, it was Grandma Julia’s grandmother’s and older sister’s name, and it was also the name of a few cousins born around the same time, which probably made family reunions interesting. I wanted to find out more about the first Anália, so I went to the digital newspaper library.
A small note tucked away into the Monitor Campista published on December 8, 1887, told me of how her story ended prematurely, aged only 45. She had died at 5 o’clock in the morning the day before, leaving her husband João Wagner dos Santos, and eleven children. Her burial happened the same day in their parish of São Gonçalo, as it was the custom.
With my grandmother Julia gone, my questions arising when I could no longer turn to her for answers, and with this death having happened before the time when we had civil records in Brazil that would give me more information, I thought I would not find out more about why Anália’s life had been cut short. A few years after, a cousin’s journal would bring me answers.
Born to a family of doctors and lawyers, Anália received a good education, which wasn’t the rule, specially for women, at that place and time. Incidentally, her future husband, an only child who grew up helping his widowed mother Delphina Wagner run their farm, felt he needed some tutoring. So, João Wagner dos Santos hired Miss Anália Leonor da Costa Guimarães for that job.
Anália’s father, Joaquim José da Costa Guimarães, a lawyer, likely born in Portugal (this is an ongoing research), died not long before her wedding, and I found out he knew his future son-in-law well. When João Wagner dos Santos’s father died in 1860, José Joaquim was appointed as his legal guardian, even though João’s mother Delphina Wagner was alive. I cannot be sure of the reason for that, whether this was because she could not write or read, posing a legal impediment, or if there was another reason. Regardless, we know João and Anália certainly knew each other for some time, if not for that, for the fact that they went to the same church and Campos wasn’t a big place. They got married on 14 September 1867.
Anália’s mother was Anna Maria da Costa Bastos, whose father was born in Santiago de Figueiró in Portugal, and whose mother descended from an enslaved woman, according to notes on baptism records. A mitochondrial DNA test confirmed that, showing my matrilineal line in the L0a1 haplogroup, related to the transatlantic slave trade. I do not know when Anna Maria died, but I suspect it was at a young age. Anália had only one brother, born one year before her. He followed in the family tradition and became a doctor. He passed one year after his sister, in 1888.
Anália and João Wagner had twelve children together. Firstborn João made his appearance a little under six months after the parents’ wedding, which methinks may have happened in a hurry. The second child was Joaquim, who died in a tragic accident that my cousin Mário Wagner, who wrote the family’s memories, credits as being the reason for Anália’s decline, and eventual death. My great-grandmother Alda was the third child, then came Anália Leonor carrying both of the mother’s names, Carlos, Delphina, Gil, Adauto, Júlio, Otávio, Otto, and Maria José.
There is a slight discrepancy between Mário’s memories and what I was able to confirm in a news clipping about the accident, regarding the victim’s name, whether it was Alberto or Joaquim. Since it happened decades before Mário was born, I believe the correct name would be the one published the day after it occurred: Joaquim. This would also make sense because this was his maternal grandfather’s name; his eldest brother had been named after the paternal grandfather.
The account of what happened is correct, the boy aged around 13 fell into the moving sugarcane mill on the family’s farm. Mário’s memories give us more context. The eldest brother had gone to Great Britain to learn more about steam-powered engines that could replace the old horse-powered mill and stay competitive in their business. The younger brother took on some of his duties during the absence, and on the morning of the accident he went to the mill carrying a kerosene lamp. He dropped it and started a fire that startled the horses, abruptly starting the wheel that crushed him.
After this tragedy, Anália moved out of the farm into a house in the parish’s urban area, as she could not stand to hear the turning of the wheel anymore. There is another small discrepancy between what Mário heard from older people living on the family farm, and what the newspapers reported, and it is the timeline between the passing of son and mother, which did not occur in short sequence. Rather, five years passed, which does not make it any less heartbreaking. Some of my great-grandma siblings were very little, just out of toddlerhood, when they lost their mother. I suspect Alda, who was a teenager and the oldest among the girls, quickly had to take on some of the responsibility of rearing her brothers and sisters.
Anália’s memory lived on with the granddaughters who were named after her, on the name of oldest son João’s own farm. I would love to know if there is a portrait of hers with one of the many cousins I do not know, and I hope it would make its way to my hands as cousin Mários memoirs did.