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n Friday evening, Mom and I pulled up to Micah’s house. The Jones’ car was there already. I took a shaky breath.
I’d brought all the documents I could find – including copies of the censuses that listed all the Ned Jones that Shamila and I could find and marriage certificates for Henrietta’s parents and her dad’s parents. It was clear that there were at least four generations of Edward “Ned” Jones, but it still wasn’t possible to definitively prove that Ned, the man who had been enslaved by Merle Popson’s ancestors, was Henrietta’s great-great-grandfather. Because that man didn’t have a last name, I couldn’t definitely say he was the same Ned Jones I saw on the 1870 census. Or I couldn’t say that based on documents. The more I’d thought about all of this during the week the more I’
