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finger, curious about this woman, and found
that she indeed had a descendant from modern times. I found myself
looking at the entry for Pleasant’s many times over
great-grandchild and blinked hard. The date I landed on was 1994 but
instead of seeing any sign of Tabitha’s adoption I was seeing
spots. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, sure that I had misread the
document. I followed my finger to the 1994 entry once more, but
Tabitha’s name was not listed under the family members born in
1994…mine was.
    I turned the page back
and forth to see if there was any way I could be hallucinating, but
my name was still listed there; Cheyenne (Redding) St. Clair. It must
be some sort of coincidence. I prayed it was. I started to feel light
headed and wondered what this meant. For starters, Tabitha had been
lying to me this entire time. She had to have known that someone put
my name in this book. And she took the plane ticket that my mother
sent to me. Was she trying to keep me away from my mother? Was my
mother related to Efia? I looked at the document again and found out
that my mother’s name was listed as Zola St. Clair and that I
was only one of four listed as her children. I quickly looked at the
names of my siblings; Zander, Jordan and Chloe. Jordan?
    I sat down hard on the
floor next to the table. If Tabitha knew that Jordan was my brother,
why didn’t she tell me? And why didn’t Jordan want me to
know what is going on? I stood up again, so fast, in fact, I had to
steady myself on the table. I frantically traced around the document
looking for Efia’s name. Aside from the Efia born in 1768,
there was no entry. It was entirely possible that she had changed her
name at some point, so I did not feel defeated when I came up empty.
What I did feel was betrayed and lied to. I couldn’t believe
that Tabitha would do this to me. She had always had my back in the
past. Maybe she had another agenda. Regardless of what it was, I
wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

Chapter 3

    I didn’t wait
for the entire house to get quiet. If it was silent then any noise I
made would be obvious. I snuck into Tabitha’s room to change
into jeans, throw some sweats into a duffel bag and grab my purse
before heading for the front door. I couldn’t have picked a
worse night to leave. It was rainy, cold and the streets were
starting to flood. I walked the 3 miles to the bus depot and waited
under the awning for the bus. I had money for a ticket to Vegas and
some food and I was going to find my mother.
    From across the street,
a neon Budweiser sign was casting an eerie shadow on the street lamp
on the corner. The bulbs had long since been broken by local vandals
and the blinking neon was the only light for blocks. I prayed that
the bus would be on time so that I didn’t have to stand on the
dark, raining street for too much longer. Again the feeling that I
was being watched made my skin crawl. The shadows across the street
appeared to be changing. With every flash of neon, I imagined a
cloaked image just beyond the street light. The harder I looked, the
harder it was to determine if the image was real. After about 5
minutes, it was gone. Talk about your typical paranoid runaway.
    The headlights of the
bus had just appeared about a mile down the road. With the fog this
heavy, the trip would be slow and tedious. I didn’t care,
though, because running away wasn’t easy or glamorous like
books and movies depict it. I knew I had a long hard way to make. I
was going to be eighteen in three months and I hoped I could find a
judge to emancipate me. I could not spend another night being
dependent on someone else.
    The wind picked up as
the bus came closer and blew rain and debris in my direction. My
jeans and hoodie were soaked through to my skin by the time the bus
came to a stop in front of me. I stood slightly to the side to allow
passengers to depart. It was no surprise to see that not one of the
people on the bus wanted to get off in