Maggie's Song Read online

  MAGGIE’S SONG

  Full Circle - Book 1

  by

  Marcia Ware

  Published by WordCrafts Press at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2015 Marcia Ware

  Cover design & photography by David Warren

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite only retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Maggie’s Song is a work of fiction. All references to persons, places or events are fictitious or used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  To Grandma, Daddy, Mom, Margaret, Maria and Alan... where the circle began.

  To David, Lily, Andrew and Addison...

  where the circle completes.

  And to my Savior, who holds us all together.

  Family is everything.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  About the Author

  A Sneak Peek at Maggie’s Refrain

  Chapter 1

  The tour bus came to a four way stop in the middle of one of those unincorporated rural towns where only the locals knew its name. As Maggie stared out the window, she spied an empty playground, complete with jungle gym, slides, swings and a merry-go-round. That particular scene always made her smile, because it would forever remind her of the day that changed her life.

  Cautiously entering the school cafeteria, a 13 year old Mary Margaret West prayed to heaven that no one would notice her. The rain left the students without the option of eating outside; forcing Maggie to find a place in the crowded cafeteria.

  A stranger in a strange land...

  From the day her father packed them up and moved from Chicago to his hometown of Urbana, Ohio, there wasn’t a day that passed where Maggie didn’t long to return to the city. She missed the days when she could ride her bike three blocks to her Nana’s house on Parnell Avenue for cookies that were warm, and hugs that were warmer. It was the only world she had ever known.

  But as a young public defender, Dexter West saw the rising crime in the streets, and felt that the best place to raise his only child was in what he perceived to be the more bucolic surroundings of the Buckeye state.

  After all, he would say, I grew up there, and I turned out just fine, didn’t I?

  Maggie made it a point to never audibly answer that question.

  While her mother Lenore didn’t mind the move, Maggie still found herself aching to be in a place where her sepia skin and brown curls didn’t stand out so much. In this room, the difference she felt in this sea of fair haired children was acute and terrifying.

  Her heart lifted at the sight of a cluster of black girls she had seen from her neighborhood sitting in a group toward the entrance. Her gait quickened, and with a smile on her face, began to greet them. After sizing her up, however, the judgment was swift and unanimous: Despite their shared ethnicity, Maggie was not welcome there. The rejection stopped her like a brick wall.

  After several attempts to assert herself, she gave up and took a solitary spot at the end of a lunch table. It was then that Maggie overheard the chatter from a group of smartly dressed girls who immediately began their assessment of her. The critique ranged from comments about her slightly pudgy frame-a definite thumbs down, according to them-to high praise for the stylish pink sweater and corduroy ensemble that she actually was forced to wear under mandate from her mother.

  Pink was the lone bone of contention between Maggie and her mother. Maggie would have sooner died than be caught in the color, which, in this case, was fairly appropriate since she felt like dying at that very moment.

  She could hear the girls talk, and with each comment, Maggie wondered how she would survive the year in that horrible place.

  “I heard she’s from Chicago…the south side,” quipped a prissy, painfully thin redhead; the words “south side” spoken with some degree of perceived authority.

  “I’ll bet she was in a street gang…like that show on TV,” whispered another in tones that were much louder than intended.

  “I don’t think they wear clothes like that in street gangs,” piped another. The course of their conversation and the absurdity of it made Maggie nearly laugh out loud.

  Slowly, she felt her confidence build. She reasoned that it was hard to be angry at ignorance.

  “Well, isn’t that where the drug dealers and the criminals live? On the South Side?” the redhead asked nervously as she toyed with her sandwich.

  “Yep, just like here in Urbana-that’s where all the wild kids are. Hanging out at Warren’s market, always huddled up in the parking lot around their cars…you just know they’re always up to something…”

  “Um…hello…I live on the south side of town. Do I look like I sell drugs?”

  Maggie looked up from the sandwich she was failing to eat and searched to match the voice to the person.

  The girl rose from her place at the table and continued to scold them as she made her way to where Maggie was sitting.

  “First of all, she’s sitting right here. She can hear every word your saying, for cryin’ out loud!”

  Maggie was somewhat taken aback by the grown up nature of this approaching child, whose combination of ivory skin and rich brown hair made her look more a porcelain doll that had escaped from a store shelf than the apparent leader of a junior high school clique.

  “And secondly,” she continued in a cool, cultured tone, “you guys have never been to Warren’s market in your life, so you have no idea what you’re talking about.” She chose the seat directly across from Maggie, casually flipping a lock of sable brown hair over a delicate shoulder. The girl then leaned over the table and said, “Sorry about that, Maggie.”

  Suddenly, Maggie felt an audacity of her own rise from an unknown source inside…she adopted the other girl’s demeanor and threw back her shoulders. “That’s alright,” she said with a smile. “My dad’s a lawyer…and he specializes in taking care of girls who like to gossip about other girls.”

  “What do you mean…‘take care of?’” asked the redhead. Her fear was punctuated by a slight gulp mid-sentence.

  Maggie knew she now had the upper hand. Completely aware a ruse was in play, her champion waited wide-eyed to see what Maggie was planning to say next.

  “Well, let’s just say that the last girl who tried to mess with me got picked up and sent to a special school…until she was really, really old.”

  “How old?” they asked in unison.

  Maggie looked over both shoulders as if she were about to unveil the secrets of the universe. With her eyes slightly squinted, she whisper
ed: twenty…FIVE!

  Four jaws dropped collectively as they slowly rose from the lunch table. “Um, well, we need to scoot - got a project I, um we - need to finish before 6th period…we’ll see you later…” the redhead said as the girls practically fell over one another trying to escape potential doom.

  “Nice to meet you…Maggie…” a blonde girl said politely; the last part of Maggie’s name pitched upward as if to make sure she was addressing her correctly.

  “Nice to meet you too…”

  “Wendy...” The girl responded quickly.

  “Right. Nice to meet you too, Wendy,” Maggie said with a confident smile.

  Slowly backing away from the table, the girls exited with polite, slightly nervous expressions.

  Maggie and the other girl continued to nod and wave to the group until they were out of sight. Looking back at one another, they instantly burst out laughing.

  “I thought they were gonna all pee their pants,” said the brown haired girl, barely able to breathe. “Where did you come up with that story? Did that really happen?”

  “Well, sort of,” Maggie said. “There was this girl who kept bugging me on my way to school when I was younger; she always threatened to stuff me in one of those big trash cans that get parked on the street. I told my dad-who told her dad…she got a butt whoopin’ from her dad and a talking-to from mine that pretty much scared her off of me.”

  “Really? Your dad’s that frightening?”

  “You have no idea.”

  The laughter continued for a few minutes before Maggie sobered with her brow slightly furrowed. “Wait a minute…how did you know my name?” she asked.

  “I live right next door to you, silly. I’m Grace Hammond.”

  The light of recognition illuminated Maggie’s face as she exclaimed, “Oh…wow! Hi.”

  “Hi,” Grace replied.

  And a friendship was born.

  As it turned out, Grace’s father, Matthew Hammond, and Maggie’s father, Dexter West, had their own history that extended as far back to their high school football days. Friendly rivals, they even chose opposing schools - Dexter to Ohio State and Matthew to the University of Michigan. Their wives joked that such behavior helped to “keep the magic alive.”

  While Maggie was her parent’s only child, Grace had an older sister, Gwen, whom she had christened ‘Sissy’ when she was four years old. The eight-year age gap between the sisters often found Gwen entrenched in her own activities, leaving Grace to develop her own friends and entertainment.

  Maggie’s arrival was a godsend to Grace. From the moment they met, one was rarely seen without the other close by. Through bad dates and honors classes, school plays and summer vacations, college, marriage and relationships, they were the constants in each other’s lives: The spirited, free thinking, artistic Grace, and the introverted, sensitive, poetic Maggie.

  It was Grace who first discovered the diamond in the rough that was Maggie’s voice. Maggie was humming absentmindedly one afternoon when Grace made her way over for a visit. She waited outside the door, astonished by the beauty of the simple melody.

  By the time Maggie realized she had an audience, she recoiled slightly and apologized. “What are you sorry for, silly?” Grace exclaimed. “That was great! Have your parents ever heard you sing?”

  “I dunno. I guess.”

  “Well, do you like to sing? Please say yes, because you’ve gotta be just about the best singer I’ve ever heard and it would be a total bummer if you didn’t, I mean, like, what a waste!”

  Grace seemed to carry on all of her conversations with a rapid fire intensity that Maggie always found amusing. There was rarely time to offer a response when Grace got passionate about a particular cause. And Grace was almost always passionate about something.

  “I think you need to get your name in lights, make a record, and let me design all of your album covers - pictures and all! Promise me you will, Maggie! It’ll be great!”

  Maggie loved the power of Grace’s confidence. It made her feel anything was possible.

  “Sure, Gracie. You bet.”

  They were sixteen years old.

  Chapter 2

  Hitting the brakes just a little too hard, the bus driver’s abrupt motion jarred Maggie from her reverie.

  “Sorry ‘bout that gang,” the bus driver said. “Blown semi tire in the road. Came outta nowhere.”

  From the back, items could be heard falling from various bunk beds to the floor, followed by several profanities from surprised passengers. It was then Maggie realized a young woman was sitting opposite her trying to get her attention.

  “Hellooooo?” the girl said, slowly waving her hands in front of Maggie’s face. “Where in the world is Maggie West?”

  The question brought Maggie back to the present as she turned her focus to the numbers of people filling up the front lounge of the tour bus. Maggie couldn’t help but smile at the young girl’s histrionics.

  “I’m sorry, Chrissy. Guess I was just deep in thought.”

  Chrissy Boyd was unfazed as she continued her probe. “Soooo,” she cooed, resting her chin on her knuckles…were you thinking about him?”

  Maggie pulled a brush from her tote and began to smooth out her tangled mane. She stopped brushing just long enough to arch an eyebrow. “Him…him, who?”

  “The way you were smiling to yourself, I figured you were thinkin’ ‘bout your man,” Chrissy replied, in a slightly coaxing tone. Pint-sized and brunette, all energy and idealism, her twenty-three years sat very close to the surface.

  Still in the blush of her honeymoon, Chrissy wanted to see the whole world in love.

  “My man,” Maggie sighed, putting slight emphasis on both words. “Nope, I wasn’t thinking about him.”

  “Is he coming to pick you up when we get back?”

  “Nah, I’m gonna hitch a ride with Darla.”

  “You didn’t ask Darla,” came a sultry voice from behind a newspaper.

  “Beg pardon, your majesty. Might I trouble you for a ride home?” Maggie chided in a mock British accent.

  “Yes my child, you may,” said the voice, its owner still concealed by the paper.

  “Thank you ever so much.”

  Diametrically opposed to Chrissy’s youthful exuberance was the stunning Darla Dayton. Blonde, cool and aloof; she was an industry veteran who managed to mix down home sweetness and Hollywood glamour: a true country music golden girl. Her taut skin and naturally honeyed tresses gave no clue as to her exact age: Her birth certificate was under tighter security than the Hope Diamond.

  “So Maggie,” Chrissy interrupted, “What’s up with you and Mr. GQ these days? You guys any closer to getting married?”

  “Not everyone needs to be married, dumplin’,” Darla said, still staring at the paper.

  “Not everyone needs to be the subject of a Joe Nichols song either.”

  Chrissy’s quick return seemed to get everyone’s attention. The prospect of a cat fight seemed imminent.

  Darla finally turned down a corner of her USA Today. Peering over rarely-seen reading glasses, she snapped, “He said that wasn’t about me.”

  “Well, you do like your tequila, girlfriend,” said Chrissy with faux innocence while nonchalantly buffing her nails. Whistles, whoops and laughter filled the bus as Darla threw down the paper and pretended to go for Chrissy’s throat. “Oh, I’m gonna get you for that you little…”

  “Ladies, ladies…” Maggie interrupted. “You realize you’re feeding the imaginations of the men on this bus. They’re just hoping you get oiled up and duke it out.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Maggie,” commented a man at the front of the lounge as he casually practiced notes on his guitar.

  “Yeah,” Darla agreed.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. Pointing first at the guitar player, she scolded, “Roger, just pay attention to whatever it is you’re doing.” Turning to Darla she said, “Girl…sit down and read your paper. Please.”

/>   Picking it up, Darla pouted, “You’re no fun today, lady.”

  Maggie laughed, “Well, somebody’s gotta be the designated grown-up on this thing.”

  Such were the ways that time was passed on this particular bus. For the past three and a half weeks, this caravan of players, singers, guitar, sound and lighting techs had logged some serious miles across the country…all in the name of their leader - country music’s diva du jour, Deana Timmons.

  A staple in the Nashville scene for over a decade, Deana was on the verge of realizing mainstream success on the pop charts. And for the lion’s share of those years, Maggie was there, helping to write the songs, arrange the harmonies and perfect the sound that would elevate Deana to royalty among her fans as well as her peers and critics.

  As an African American in Country music, Maggie wasn’t exactly an anomaly; the genre was changing earnestly enough. But Maggie would be the first to admit that she didn’t choose this world…it chose her.

  Entering without ceremony to the back of a crowded west Nashville club was Deana’s husband and road manager, Charles. He made a point to stop by the annual university showcase that featured roughly a half dozen seniors from the local college performing 20 minute sets in the hopes of instant discovery.

  That night, it would be Maggie’s turn.

  By the time she took the stage, Charles was ready to leave, having endured several less than remarkable performers. As his hand reached the frame of the door, he heard that voice. Smooth. Deep. Arresting and soulful. Charles was impressed.

  An invitation to the Timmons home was extended, and Maggie was offered a job as a background singer two weeks before her college graduation. It wasn’t a record deal, but it was a steady gig - and she was always game for a learning experience.

  And a career in music was born.

  From the time she came to the city as an eager undergraduate, Maggie had spent much of her time even before entering Deana’s world as one of the more sought-after session singers in town. A local favorite in her own right, she sang solo in various clubs around town. Her performances were hailed by the local trades as never to be missed.