Just Call Me Maggie is a prairie tale set in the city of Winnipeg and the fictional settlement of MacNabb's Crossing, located somewhere in south-western Manitoba. It is 1978. Maggie Barnett is a successful lawyer, a high achiever, in a prestigious firm in Winnipeg. She is single but has a steady boyfriend. She is well off financially but weary of travelling for her job. She does not remember her childhood. She is obsessed with the time of day, the day of the week, the food she consumes, professionalism and the clothes that she wears. A former schoolmate seeks her professional help when her husband of eleven years abruptly walks out. Maggie and Sandy MacNair have not seen each other since Sandy's wedding. The sudden appearance of her school mate awakens Maggie's dormant memories of life on her parent's farm and suddenly Maggie's well-ordered life falls apart.

Just Call Me Maggie

a novelBy Marjorie Page

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Marjorie Page
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-0421-7

Chapter One

Monday, November 27, 1978

"No wonder they call it Winterpeg," she grumbled. Her face still ruddy from the cold, she brushed the grainy snow from her shoulders and the bottom of her black coat, unbuttoned the top two clasps and loosened her red scarf. She marked herself 'In' with a magnetized black dot on the silvery board behind the receptionist's desk. She scanned the purple waiting room for clients and, finding none hidden behind the greenery, continued on her way.

She stepped back onto the elevator to ascend to the eighth floor, watched the numbers light up as it passed each floor and counted, six, seven, eight. At her office door, she stopped a few seconds to admire the brass wording, 'Margaret L. Barnett.' Head a little higher, she entered her spacious but Spartan work space. After she hung her coat on a well polished tree in the corner and placed her boots side by side on the floor, she opened the beige vertical blinds to let in the winter sunlight. She stowed her bag lunch in the bottom drawer of her teak desk. It was completely bare except for a glass beer mug engraved in gold with University of Manitoba, filled with black pens and sharpened yellow pencils, and a desk calendar in its faux leather box.

Before she settled down to work, she put a pot of coffee on to brew and allowed herself a few seconds to check her surroundings, nothing out of place, no errant papers left on tables and filing cabinets, no coffee mugs on the work table, no telltale rings left by wet cups. Shortly after ten o'clock Maxine, the receptionist, called to inform her that a Miss Sandra MacNair wished to speak with her.

"Sandy. What a surprise. Good to hear from you."

"Hi. Maggie, thank God I found you. I need your help. I need a lawyer. Jim left me this morning."

Maggie gave no hint of surprise or shock. "I am sorry to hear that, but family law isn't my specialty. Did you try David?"

Years before, David Abbott was in the same grade as Maggie and Sandy in both elementary and high school.

"Jim retained him. Several weeks ago."

"Oh, really. So this wasn't a spur of the moment thing. Tom Henton might be able to handle your case. Wait a minute and I'll see when he's free." Seconds later, she was back. "He could see you at eleven this morning or at three this afternoon."

"I'll be there at eleven."

"I'll pass on the message, but I have an appointment at eleven and won't be able to meet you at reception. It's on the fifth floor of the gray tower on Broadway. Yes, that's the number. Just give your name to the receptionist and say you are meeting with Tom Henton."

As she scanned the documents that she had prepared for this appointment, she forgot about Sandy and her problems. At five minutes before eleven, Maxine rang to say her client had arrived. Maggie, her heart-shaped Scottish face devoid of makeup, ran a comb through her short black hair, smoothed the wrinkles from her woollen dress, and then hurried downstairs to meet Rodney Thomason, one of her regular clients. He was a tall, rotund gentleman actively involved in trading commodities world-wide. His handshake was firm but at least he didn't squeeze hers until it hurt. As they shook hands, she heard a familiar voice off to the right.

"Maggie. Hi." Maggie turned to see Sandy advancing towards her with a baby dressed in pink balanced on her left hip. She nodded hello. The two women stared at each other for a few seconds. Eleven years had elapsed since their last meeting. Maggie recovered first.

"Hi. Sandy. It's hard to believe we haven't seen each other since your wedding. Um, Tom," she addressed a slight blonde-haired man leaning on the receptionist's desk. "I would like you to meet Sandy, uh, MacNair Borden."

She and Rodney took the now-crowded elevator back to her office. Her floor counting was interrupted at six.

"How are you wintering?" He was an all-business type of man, not given to much small talk.

"Alright I guess." She smiled at his old-timers' greeting, "But then what can we expect? This is Winnipeg."

"Could be worse - could be forty below."

A superb hostess, she showed Rodney to a captain's chair padded with off-black nubby cushions at what she called her business nook. She offered him a coffee with real cream and sugar by the cube, served in black and tan pottery mugs. She switched on a black desk lamp, opened her file folder and started the discussion.

After his departure, she ate a working lunch at her desk, a salmon and romaine lettuce salad, a whole wheat roll, a small piece of dark chocolate, an extra-special treat she always brought back from London, and a yellow pear. Just as she opened her mouth wide to bite into the fruit, she heard her father's angry voice, "You slut, you little tramp, Margaret Lynne. Get out of my sight."

Shaken to the core, she swivelled around to look out the window at Broadway Avenue below, as if looking off into the distance would bring some understanding to her situation. The city was white with snow, trees barren silhouettes, cars of various colours, buses, trucks slipping and sliding on the icy streets, clouds of exhaust fumes spiralling upwards, pedestrians scurrying here and there wrapped in bulky winter wear against the minus twenty-five degree temperature.

She couldn't imagine or recall a situation where her father would have spoken to her in that way, but the disgust in his voice was all too real. A slut? She didn't have one boyfriend in her high school years. What on earth was he talking about?

She jumped up and paced around her neat and sparsely furnished office in her leather boots, banging her hip twice on the desk, checked her appearance in the full-length mirror in the en suite powder room, combed her hair again since she had this tendency to run her fingers through her dark locks when deep in concentration. She made a pot of fresh coffee and drank two cupfuls, one cream, one sugar, in rapid succession, then she forced herself to sit back down and prepare for her two o'clock appointment. Maxine rang for her promptly at two and she met importer Ted Foxworthy in the waiting room.

"Margaret Barnett?" He was well over six feet tall and gray-hound lean, his hand cold and clammy and limp in her grasp, and her first instinct was to withdraw her own hand and wipe it on her dress.

"Just call me Maggie," she replied.

She couldn't bring herself to initiate any social chatter but he said, "Cold enough for you?"

"Yes, it most certainly is." She smiled at that question, never knowing how to respond.

He was apparently too pre-occupied with his current problems for more conversation, so they rode the rest of the way in silence. She counted the floors, six, seven, eight. After he left, she finished up the paperwork his visit had engendered and entered her appointments in the log for November 27, 1978. On her notepad she drew an oval, scribbled lines here and there and all over the inside of the shape, picked out triangles and ellipses and filled them in with ink until she had a pattern, a mosaic. She leaned back in her black chair to relax, placing her left ankle on her right knee, awkward because of her long dress.

Suddenly she and her brother Rob are running up the four wooden steps to MacNabb's Crossing School, a one-room country school that resembles a small church without a steeple. It is long and narrow, white with black shingles and red trim around the windows, topped with a peak roof and sitting high on a stone foundation.

She hangs her blue cardigan on one of the hooks in the lower row in the hallway, pleased that a six-year old can reach them, and follows Rob into the airy classroom. A tall thin teacher introduces herself as Miss Lindsay and shows her a row of four pint-sized desks of varnished wood.

"These first three are for you grade ones," she says. "You may pick the one you want."

Little David Abbott sits in the one at the back. She chooses the second one with the initials P.T.S. carved in blue next to the inkwell, and unpacks the books she carries in a brown paper grocery bag. She glances up to see her friend Sandy MacNair entering the classroom with Miss Lindsay. Always the performer, Sandy twirls around to show off her empire-styled dress whose pink flowers accentuate her blonde hair. Maggie doesn't understand why her friend is wearing such a pretty dress for playing baseball. She is dressed in red pedal pushers and a sleeveless blouse of red and white cotton, which shows off her deep tan and a scab the size of a quarter on her left elbow.

"Hi. David took the last desk," she informs Sandy. "Is the front one okay?"

"Hi, yourself. Sure, I'll sit up front."

"Good." Maggie stows her blue reader and other textbooks, all hand-me-downs from Rob, and her scribblers and school supplies in the drawer beneath the seat.

With a jolt Maggie came back to the present and shoved the memories back down where they belonged. She wanted to forget the Crossing School and everything about it. After work, she took a cab to the dealership to pick up her Buick and then drove to the Blue Rose Bar. A flashing neon sign over the door featured the name of the bar and a huge flower, the colour of faded blue jeans. She thought the place was tacky rather than trendy, but it was the ideal place to meet people. She handed her coat to an anxious valet and looked around with some distaste. The high ceilings were open to the rafters with black pipes and ersatz studio lights hanging from black straps. The dull blue walls and ceiling were barely noticeable as recessed lighting behind the long counter and at strategic spots along the walls reflected on unframed mirrors and a collection of antique glassware behind the bar.

Anton sat alone at a centre table nursing a draft beer. To her dismay, he was casually dressed in a white golf shirt and black jeans, showing off his muscular build, dark hair and olive skin. She bent to kiss him lightly on the lips before she sat down.

"Hey, what's with you? I tried to call you three times today and your receptionist said you were busy."

"I was busy. I had clients with pressing issues. Why aren't you dressed up? I thought we were going out to dinner." Her forest green sheath with its cowl neckline and long sleeves now seemed too formal. She wanted to cut it off above the knee.

"This'll do. But why didn't call me back?"

"Never mind. I need to talk to you about something important."

"Are you dumping me? Have you found someone else?"

"No. No. Nothing like that."

Before she could explain, his friends Joe and Gary joined them and the topic of conversation turned to their upcoming ski trip to Whistler. She was somewhat annoyed that Anton hadn't invited her. She was bored, too, listening to them making plans that didn't include her. She glanced around the crowded bar and spotted Rebecca, a classmate from law school, having a drink alone at the counter and decided to join her. Maggie ordered and drank a Brown Cow while she talked to Rebecca about her preparations for the spring marathons, but Anton still showed no signs of spending time with her. An intense jab of rejection struck her mid-section. To cover her embarrassment, she played with a cardboard coaster decorated with a blue rose. A cloud of pain descended onto her left eye and the left side of her forehead. She tried to shake it off but it was not about to leave her alone. She said good-night to Rebecca and got up to leave.

At home in her luxury apartment, she kicked off her snowy boots, threw her coat on a chair, flopped down on the couch, and looked around. The living room was almost as barren as her office, except that all the furnishings were in black and white with ornaments and vases of hot pink blown glass artistically placed on black lacquered shelves. Pink throw cushions decorated the black leather couch. The sofa and two matching side chairs were placed around a furry white rug, and another pink glass piece was set on a black coffee table made of wrought iron with a smoky glass top. She couldn't bear to look at the room and she closed her weary eyes.

She hears banging from outside as if something is hitting the exterior walls, or maybe it is gun shots that make the noise. The telephone awakened her from a restless sleep.

"What are you doing?" said Anton in a loud whisper. "Why did you leave without telling me?"

"I have a headache."

"That's no excuse. I do have reservations for dinner. Are you coming?"

"No. I can't. I'm sorry. I told you I have a migraine. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Maggie hung up without waiting for his reply.

Not one to spend much time in the kitchen, she heated a can of chicken with rice soup, ate it all with some salted crackers, and chased it down with a cup of green tea. The pain over her eye intensified and she wished the soup was still in the cupboard. A search in her kitchen cupboards and the bathroom cabinets for painkillers yielded nothing so she opted for more rest. She changed into navy track pants and T-shirt and cuddled up on her queen-sized bed. Her bedroom was a mirror image of the living room with black lacquered furniture and a black and white watercolour bedspread, pink throw cushions and a white carpet. Feeling a bit chilly, she started to pull back the bedspread, but changed her mind and reached for a blue crocheted afghan, one of Grandma MacDonar's creations, tucked away on the top shelf of her walk-in closet. She wrapped it snugly around her and was soon sound asleep.

Sometime after midnight, she dreamed that she is playing catch with her older brother in the crowded farmyard near the Crossing. A two-storey house with its peaked roof and lean-to kitchen stands off to the right, and to the left is an oval-roofed steel machine shed. In front of her is a row of poultry houses of various styles and construction, and chickens, ducks and turkeys wander about the yard searching for insects and seeds in the cropped grass. A small clump of straggly Manitoba maples provides little shade to the fenced vegetable garden west of the house.

A brown turkey gobbler struts toward her, its back feathers ruffed and tail feathers standing on end, glaring with its black beady eyes. Suddenly it charges towards her and Maggie screams and runs toward the farm house, the closest safe place. Rob laughs at first and then he too screams for help. The big turkey pecks her bare calf and she races faster and faster but the irate bird keeps up. Then a brown streak of fur passes her and she hears a dog barking as if from outer space. The turkey turns and runs two or three steps, then flies for a few feet, then runs some more, until it is out of harm's way inside a chicken coop. The German Shepherd sidles up to Maggie to get his reward. She puts her small arms around his thick hairy neck and hugs him tightly. "Good dog, King, good dog," she whispers in his ear.

Chapter Two

Tuesday, November 28

THE NEXT DAY Maggie tried to concentrate on her work but the long-forgotten memory of the turkey's attack bothered her. She didn't know why she had forgotten a small incident like that from years ago, and the venom in her father's voice also haunted her. She'd never had a good relationship with her father, but she didn't remember such hostility from him. She was trying to puzzle it out when she heard a timid knock at the door.

"Oh, Sandy. Good morning. Come in."

"Hi. Are you busy?"

"Of course, but I have time to talk. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cup of coffee? Or something else?"

"Coffee, please. One cream, two sugars."

"So. Are you and Tom a good team?"

"Yes. I think we can work together on this thing. I came by to thank you for helping me yesterday. Your office is great. May I check out the view?"

Sandy peered out the window at the stalled traffic on Broadway and the government buildings and the powder blue sky in the distance. She turned to admire the office and a horse's head carved from ebony wood caught her attention.

"Where did you find that?"

"In a craft sale in a small town near Ottawa. I like to explore that area when I am there on business."

"Just what is your line of work? Your specialty?"

"I'm in international law and I travel a lot - mostly to London and New York."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Yes. Most of the time. It's challenging. I have to keep abreast of all aspects and changes in laws that affect the countries where our clients do business. The downside is time spent in airports and airplanes."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Just Call Me Maggieby Marjorie Page Copyright © 2009 by Marjorie Page. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.