Read Online Margaret from Maine (9781101602690) by Joseph Monninger - Free Book Online

peach had been tempting, but in the end it had made her feel like a pastry, something soft and comestible and not quite stout enough to stand up to the evening air.
    â€œThey’ve started—do you hear them?” Charlie asked, finishing with the driver and stepping over beside her. “There’s something wonderful about these buildings being all lit up at night, isn’t there?”
    â€œOh, it’s beautiful,” she said.
    â€œWell, shall we?”
    He held out his elbow and she took it, grateful for the relative darkness so that he would not see her blush. A curse of redheaded women everywhere, such flushing. But she took his arm and held it, and became aware again of his size. How nice to walk beside a man, to have his arm, to feel as though they presented to the world a pairing. And when he moved slightly right to go around a cement planter, she felt his arm clamp her hand a little to guide her, and unconsciously she tucked her arm more completely under his and an undeniable warmth spread through her. She felt impossibly aware of these minute accommodations and she wondered if he did as well. Rather than dwelling on it, though, she gazed around her, remembering her promise to Blake to record what she saw. Everywhere she looked she was rewarded: a hundred women in gowns, all flowing toward the entrance, their escorts beside them. Men in uniforms; Indian women in saris and Arabs in head cloths. The music acted as a magnet, drawing them closer, and she heard French spoken somewhere behind her, though it was a different French from what she heard in Maine, the French-Canadian variety she sometimes caught during the summer tourist season. She resisted turning her head left and right, gawking like a rube, but little passed her notice.
    At the door Charlie produced the tickets from his breast pocket. He did so, she noticed, without releasing her hand from his elbow. They stood in a small line while security guards went over them with wands, then exchanged the tickets and stepped inside.
    â€œReady?” he whispered, dipping a little to gain her ear.
    â€œAs I’ll ever be.”
    He smiled. Then they entered.
    The music overwhelmed her instantly, its bright, fluid sound sweeping her along the floor. It felt extraordinary to be in an enormous room, with the orchestra arranged on the right as she entered, the dance floor directly in front of them. Large pillars divided the left-hand side of the room, so that people could gather and converse without obstructing the dancers. Margaret tried to name the music—she recognized its rhythm, but it drifted away from her in the excitement of entering the room—and she let it pass over her, her hand nervously gripping Charlie’s forearm. Ahead of them, all the way across the ballroom floor, massive French doors opened onto some kind of terrace. She saw lighted lanterns holding back the spring night, and to the right of the doors, a buffet table glimmered white and silver.
    â€œOh, my, how pretty,” Margaret said, when they paused beside one of the pillars, her eyes gathering details. “This really is a treat, Charlie. Thank you for inviting me.”
    â€œDo you like it?”
    â€œIt’s just how I pictured a ball would look. Just exactly. I’ve been picturing it this way since I was a little girl.”
    â€œDid you get anything to eat at all at the hotel? Are you hungry?”
    â€œI don’t think I could eat right now.”
    â€œWell, maybe we can share a plate later. I think we should dance. That’s the fun of these things.”
    â€œI’d love to dance.”
    â€œLet’s find someplace to put your wrap, then have a drink, and then we’ll dance. How does that sound?”
    â€œA glass of wine, please.”
    And did he squeeze her arm again against his side? She thought so. She held on to his arm as they navigated the crowd. He stopped her near a statue-vase and took her wrap and gave it