Excerpt: What Now, Maggie?

Excerpt 4 is NEW on November 18

EXCERPT 4: THE SECOND KISS
Bart took both of her hands and kissed them passionately. "What I think is right is that you wait for me, Maggie Farmer. What I think is right is that you and I grow old together. But I know that you care for someone else. I know you won't agree to wait for me."

Bart clutched her so close she could barely breathe. "But if you're here when I return I will fight for you, I promise. And I give you this to remember me." Bart pressed his lips to hers, bending her backwards with the force of his mouth.

This time she kissed him back. This time she wasn't thinking about Fin.

EXCERPT 3: RED LETTER DAY
When Maggie pulled the wagon up to the house Etta ran out waving something white in her hand. "Maggie, Maggie, you got a letter!"

What a strange day, thought Maggie. War breaks out and now a letter for me. She pulled Pegasus to a stop. Etta jumped up and down. "It's from a boy! And Marietta got one, too!"

Maggie reached down for the letter. The return address was Green Spring, Virginia. Virginia! It was from Phineas O'Connor. But why would Fin have written to Marietta? Maggie was vexed.

"Etta, help me bring these things in, will you?"

"Aren't you going to open it? Marietta opened hers. She read it to us. It's from a boy!"

"I heard you the first time, and no, I'm not going to open the letter before I bring all these things I bought at the market in to the house."

Marietta stood at the stove stirring and humming. "Ooh, Maggie, I got a letter, from the gentleman I met at the County Fair. He sent you a letter, too. He probably remembered you since you raced each other."

"You smell funny," Francie said to Maggie.

Marietta sniffed. "Maggie, have you been drinking?"

Maggie dropped flour and sugar on the counter. "They've declared war! That's a whole lot more important than any boy or some imagined smell, Marietta."

"What? What do you mean, war? What happened?" Marietta and the younger children stopped in their tracks, stunned.

Maggie told them as much as she knew, leaving out what she believed to be rumor.
Marietta, as was her wont, began to worry out loud. Would Johnny have to go to war? What about Papa? Were Confederates going to invade Maryland? What if they were on the way right now? Where would the family hide?

"Marietta!" Maggie said sharply. "None of that is going to happen. Nobody . . ."—and at this Maggie bored her eyes into Marietta's and pointedly rolled her eyes at the young ones—needs to worry about anything you've talked about. The war will probably be over soon."

"But . . ."

Maggie interrupted her sister. "Now, who wants to help me make lemonade?"

"I do," said TJ. "But what if the Con . . . Con . . . what if try to get us?"

"They won't, pet. We're going to be as fine as frog hair." TJ smiled weakly. "Now, everyone who wants to help me make lemonade please put on your kitchen apron."

EXCERPT 2: CAPTURED
The General's tent sat separately from the sea of tents. A guard stood at attention on either side of the front flaps.

"Request permission to enter," said the second soldier, saluting.

"State your business."

"We have captured deserters in the woods and wish to present them to the General."

From inside the tent came a voice. "I don't have time for this, I've got a war to plan. Take them to Lieutenant Clark."

The second soldier looked at the guard and at the tent flaps, unsure whom he should address. "Ah, sir," he said loudly in the direction of the flaps, "I have reason to believe they may be Confederate spies, sir."

An arm reached out from the tent and thrust aside the heavy canvas. "In which case, I would still request they be delivered to Lieutenant Clark. Why is it that no one seems to be able to follow my orders?"

The General stood before them, hands on his hips, tall and erect, with black eyes that came to rest on Maggie, and bored into her own. His dark wool uniform shone with buttons, epaulets, and medals. The soldiers Maggie had met so far seemed to her little more than boys. This man was a force to be reckoned with. Unconsciously, Maggie looked down at the ground.

"Confederate spies, eh?" said the General. "You, what is your name?" He looked directly at Maggie.

"Private Hiram Maggie, sir," she said in as deep a voice as she could muster.

"Soldier, look at your commanding officer when you are being spoken to."

Maggie raised her face to the general. For a second he looked startled, as though something had frightened him. "Come closer, son." Maggie took a cautious step forward. The general was so close she could smell his breath.

"Where are you from?"

A small town in the panhandle of Maryland, she answered. Who were your parents, he asked? What is your father's profession? What is your regiment? What is your rank? How long have you served?

He peppered Maggie with so many questions she feared she was tripping on her tongue, but she had ready answers for all of them, on behalf of the fictional boy who had sprung out of nowhere and was now facing interrogation by a United States general.

And what was your purpose for being in the woods behind our camp? he asked. We had been commissioned by Lieutenant Lewis I. Goodman to scout out the area, she replied. Maggie heard gasps all around her. Something was wrong with her answer, but she didn't know what.

But the general just nodded and rubbed his beard, seemingly happy with everything Maggie had said. He turned to go back into his tent. Maggie exhaled, realizing for the first time how rubbery her knees were.

Suddenly the general turned around. "What was the name of your first dog?" he asked.

"Bones," said Maggie. Why on earth would he want to know that?

"And you, young man, what was the name of your first dog?"

"It was Bones," said Johnny. Maggie's heart lurched into her stomach. She and Johnny were about to be found out.

EXCERPT 1: TAKE-ALL RACE AT THE COUNTY FAIR
As Maggie approached the judge's table her heart was beating so strongly she was afraid the front of her coat was pulsating.

"Name?" asked the registrar without looking up.

"John Smith," Maggie rasped in a voice as low as possible.

The registrar looked up. "Touch of influenza, Mr. Smith? You'd better not be contagious. There's children all about."

Maggie cleared her throat. "No sir."

The registrar continued to look at her suspiciously. Maggie knew she looked like a
stumblebum, but more important than her social level was that—and she was pretty sure of this—she look like a boy. On her feet were the boots she wore in the barn, hand me downs from Johnny. The scarecrow in the lower 40 was scandalously dressed, for Maggie had filched his trousers, which used to belong to Gil. Although the pants were pocked with holes and ragged at the hem, they fit Maggie fairly well. On top she wore the faded, torn woolen jacket that hung permanently on a peg in the barn. It used to be her father's, so it was a little large. Even at 15 Maggie had almost no bosom to speak of, but she wanted a foolproof disguise, and the jacket fit the bill. The crowning touch, so to speak, was atop her head: She had coiled her ponytail around and around, then pulled Gil's wool beret from ear to ear. The solid lump underneath the cap appeared to be merely the shape of the chapeau itself, tilted at a rakish angle.

"I haven't seen you before, Mr. Smith. Where are you from?"

Maggie named a small town on the farthest western edge of the county, praying that no other riders hailed from there.

The registrar sniffed and wrote in his book. "Western or English?"

"Neither."

The registrar looked at Maggie as if she were daft. "Beg pardon?"

"I ride bareback."

"Bareback! Not in this contest you don't!" All the judges at the table looked over at
Maggie and so did some of the riders. "Son, have you seen our little racecourse? I can't tell you how many men fall off—whoosh, like a virgin off a whore—coming around that oak tree yonder. Why do you think we ask our good doctor so join us every year?"

"Prevention," said Doctor Bell, whom Maggie hadn't noticed standing to her left. The
doctor raised a shot glass. "Here's to prevention!" Hear, hear exclaimed the judges,
laughing.

"Well, I don't have a saddle, sir. I don't need one."

The registrar downed the contents of his shot glass and shook his head. "Boy, you can ride bare ass naked for all I care. Don't say I didn't warn you. You're number Thirty-Nine. Next!"

She was in. In! Maggie couldn't help but grin. Now all she had to do was ride.