The View from Prince Street Read Online Free PDF Page A

nodded to the women behind me. “Addie and Margaret, what brings you out here?”
    â€œHistorical riches,” Margaret said.
    â€œThe McDonald papers,” I amended. “Ms. McCrae is doing research on the witch bottles she found when the hearth was removed.”
    â€œAh, the witch bottles.” He grinned at Addie. “Casting more spells these days?”
    Addie’s laugh was easy and relaxed. “Every chance I get.”
    â€œDo not mock our kinfolk,” Margaret said. “These bottles are a time capsule into the lives of women who dared to cross the Atlantic and make the wilderness their home.”
    Addie tugged Margaret’s arm. “Save the lectures, professor. We need to prep for tomorrow’s demo and I have to feed the kid before she blows.”
    â€œWe’re dismantling windows in an old church in Prince William,” Margaret added. “The church was built in 1922. I can already tell you more about it than you’d ever want to know.”
    Addie pushed Margaret past Zeb and me. “We can’t wait to hear all about it.”
    Margaret, sensing she was pressing her luck, went to the door. “Another fascinating tale but I’ll save that for our ride south tomorrow.”
    Carrie squawked and I tensed.
    â€œAddie, the baby has been sleeping the whole time, which means she’ll blow in less than twenty minutes,” Margaret said.
    â€œYou two make her sound like a bomb,” I said.
    Addie rubbed the baby’s back with a mother’s affection. “She canbe vocal when she’s hungry, and it’s nice not to be stuck in traffic when she wakes up. Dr. McDonald, thank you for your time.”
    As the two women hurried past Zeb, Addie nudged him affectionately and he tossed her a grin that I couldn’t judge as either romantic or brotherly. I watched as Margaret leaned close to Addie and said in a voice that carried a bit more than she realized, “‘Heart of stone’ fits.”
    Addie replied with a frown and shoved Margaret closer to the privacy of the beat-up Shire Architectural Salvage truck.
    Zeb’s expression hardened, a clear indication he’d heard as well. “Sorry about that. Margaret can be a whirlwind.”
    I had mastered the art of not hearing from my mother. We McDonald women did an excellent job of ignoring what didn’t suit our immediate purposes. “I missed it altogether. Please come inside.”
    Tapping the roll of plans on his leg, he paused at the front door, wiped off his boots, and entered the hallway. “Once this rain lets up and the ground dries, we can get started on the garage. It’s been one of the wettest seasons on record, and I’ve shifted all my men to indoor jobs. It has to let up soon.”
    The rain had fallen at a steady beat for six weeks. The soil was waterlogged, the river high and fast, and the skies forever dreary and gray. “The last clear day I can remember was the day Addie and Margaret removed the stones from the land.”
    â€œI wonder if Margaret has made the connection,” Zeb said. “She’s sure to link it to the bottles.”
    â€œIt’s an odd coincidence but a coincidence nonetheless. The removal of the stones certainly could not be associated with the weather.”
    â€œYou might be interested to know that those stones were sold to a family in Loudoun County. They built an exterior hearth with it.”
    â€œHopefully they built it a safe distance from their main house.” I shared the somewhat irrational inside thought before I realized it.
    â€œWhy do you say that?” he asked. My comment had piqued hisattention, as if this were his first glimpse into personal quirks that simmered below the surface.
    â€œThe cinders from the original hearth burned the first McDonald home. Family lore states it was struck by lightning on a clear day.”
    â€œFire was a constant threat in those days and for