Free The View from Prince Street by Mary Ellen Taylor Page A

upbringing, if you consider my indentured servitude in a bakery normal.”
    â€œThat bad?”
    She tugged a pair of reading glasses from her shirt pocket and perched them on the bridge of her nose. “Not exactly. If you haven’t noticed, I tend to exaggerate. But our family was all about keeping the bakery running and making a buck. As Dad always said, the bakery was our past, present, and future. And since the present meant work and the future was always a little daunting, I found myself drawn to the past.”
    â€œI understand you’re a scholar when it comes to Alexandria,” I said.
    She reached in another pocket for a cell phone. “That and a few coins will buy you a cup of coffee.”
    â€œYes, I don’t suppose history is the profession of the rich and famous.”
    â€œNot generally.” She slowly turned a page. “Mind if I snap pictures of the documents as I go along? That way I can study them at length when I get home.”
    â€œThat won’t damage the pages?”
    â€œNo. I would never, ever damage these documents. There’s a list of people I could harm but never a historical document.”
    â€œAnd you won’t share the pictures?” I asked.
    â€œNot without your approval.”
    â€œOkay, you may photograph.” I had a paper to finish and several follow-up client letters to write, but I found myself fascinated by Margaret’s utter absorption in the journal. “I tried to read the notes in that book before you arrived but found the script challenging.”
    â€œI’ve read so much of this that I can decipher the penmanship pretty well. Another one of those quirky specialties that doesn’t earn me a dime.”
    â€œSo what have you discovered?”
    A frown furrowed her brow as she stared at the first pages. “It’s a household account kept by Patience and Michael McDonald.”
    â€œMichael?” I’d wanted a strong name for my son and had chosen
Michael
for the archangel who commanded the angels in heaven. When my mother tried to object, I insisted and she realized I was pure tinder, ready to ignite. All parties agreed to the boy’s name.
    â€œYes. He was the one who started it all in the Virginia Colony. I know from other research that Patience and Michael McDonald came to this country in the mid-1700s,” Margaret said.
    â€œThey were the first from the old country to own land on these shores.” Michael wasn’t an uncommon name, but it was an odd coincidence that the line began and ended with the name. “Interesting.”
    â€œWhat, the name?” Margaret asked.
    â€œThe name Michael has always been a favorite of mine.”
    â€œOh, okay.” When I didn’t expound, she did. “As you might know, Patience and Michael hailed from Scotland with the intention of being tobacco farmers. I know that somewhere along that time they purchased the indentured servant contract for Faith Shire.”
    â€œShire? As in the Shires of the architectural company?”
    â€œOne and the same. I know from previous research that Faith livedon their farm for about a year before the McDonalds sold her indentured servant contract to Mr. Ben Talbot, the manager of Hugh West’s tobacco warehouse. That was located where modern-day Union Street ends and Oronoco Street begins.”
    â€œWhere Robinson Bus Terminal is now?” I asked.
    â€œYes.” She sat back and tugged off her glasses. “I know that many women in town considered Faith a witch and were afraid of her.”
    â€œThey created the witch bottles as a protection against spells.”
    â€œExactly.” She tapped her finger on the ledger. “This is a household account that Michael McDonald created when he began his farm.”
    â€œIs there mention of Faith?”
    â€œYes. He purchased her contract from Captain Smyth for the promise of a hogshead of tobacco. A hogshead was a giant wooden