“Do you have your dress for the Christmas Masquerade Ball?” Margaret’s father said, drinking his breakfast coffee.
Mr. Bayard, a former United States Senator, had put marrying his daughter to an upstanding man on the top of his Christmas wish list. It was above a new, hand-woven stocking. After all, Christmas was more than just a stocking holiday.
“Father, I still have two weeks to buy a dress, and I already told you that I’m in love with James Miller. Must you really present me to high society, especially at Christmas? If I have to attend, at least I can wear a mask,” the 23-year-old said.
“Everyone will know it’s you. I will tell them!” her father said. “I’ve never liked James. He’s not good enough for you.”
“Not good enough?” Margaret said. “I’ve only known him since I was a child. He’s been my best friend my entire life.”
“He’s not the son of a former President of the United States, or a diplomat, or nobility or any ambassador or governor,” her father said, folding the morning newspaper into a stack on the table. “Your mother would want better for you.”
“Mother would want me to marry James,” Margaret said. “She always loved him and said he reminded her of you.”
“She’s been gone now almost a year. I can hardly believe it,” Margaret’s father said, looking out the window.
Hiding her disappointment in her mother’s death, Margaret changed the subject.
“Besides, James is in law school,” she said. “He was a marine. I’m sure he could be a Senator one day. Just because his father wasn’t a Senator means nothing.”
Margaret picked up the golden invitation to the Christmas Masquerade Ball and put it in her purse. Not only would the event be held in the Grand Ballroom at the Waldorf Astoria on Fifth Avenue, but there would also be a week of parties leading to the Christmas Eve Ball. She would be escorted by one military cadet and one civilian, but neither of her choice.
“Fine, I will go only to prove you wrong!” Margaret said. “And I’m not telling James a thing about it . . .”
“James won’t know anything about it! By the end of the evening, you’ll be engaged to someone else,” her father said.
As Margaret finished her breakfast, she remembered that she must meet James in Central Park by noon.
“I promised James that I would go on a carriage ride with him through Central Park today,” Margaret said. “He loves me.”
“Don’t be late!” her father chided. “You might lose your glass slipper or something. Of course, fairytales are fiction.”
When Margaret arrived in Central Park, she found James as it started to snow. “You look lovely,” he said, kissing her.
The couple climbed in the carriage and bundled themselves in a red blanket as the driver started the ride. Jingle bells jostled as the stately brown horse pulled the carriage through the winding trails of Central Park.
“Marry me, darling!” James said to her, pulling a small red box from his pocket. He opened it to a heart-shaped diamond that glistened in the winter sunshine. “I’ll love you my entire life. Please let me have the honor of being your husband.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Margaret said, kissing him. “But we mustn’t tell father until after Christmas . . .”
Margaret slipped the ring on her left hand and enjoyed the rest of the journey. As the carriage stopped at the end of the ride, Margaret stepped from the carriage, holding James’ hand. When a large gust of wind blew, the invitation to the Christmas Masquerade Ball blew from her purse onto the sidewalk. James picked it up and glanced at the details.
“This is why we can’t tell your father until after Christmas,” he whispered to himself, shoving it in his jacket pocket.
Of course, Margaret didn’t notice the missing invitation. She was so enamored with her ring that she could hardly speak. Later that evening when she returned home, she hid the engagement ring in its box in the bottom of her purse.
“Where did that invitation go?” she said to herself. “Oh, Father probably has an extra one. I hope James didn’t see it.”
As she rode the elevator up to her father’s penthouse apartment, she considered where to get a Christmas ball gown.
“I will tell James that Father and I are going on a ski vacation over Christmas,” she said to herself. “Then I will get this horrid Ball over with and announce my engagement to James on New Year’s Day. That seems the best idea . . .”
For the next week, Margaret searched for the perfect gown and outfits for the week of parties leading up to the Ball. She found an ideal half-mask—covering her eyes, cheeks, and nose with red accents, gold leaf, and music note paper.
As the week of festivities approached, Margaret phoned James to tell him that her father insisted on taking a ski trip.
“A ski trip?” James said. “Well, can’t I come with you then? I’ve never been good at skiing, but I can learn.”
“Oh, no. It’s my last big hurrah with father before we marry. New Year’s Day we’ll announce our engagement,” she said.
“If you insist,” James said. “I’ll spend Christmas with my mother. She always likes to bake this time of year.”
Margaret hung up the phone feeling guilty that she fibbed to James, but she had to prove her father wrong once and for all. She took the box with her engagement ring from her purse and hid it underneath the mattress in her bedroom.
“Father will never find the ring now,” she said, making sure it was tucked between the mattress and the box spring.
In the days leading up to the Ball, she sipped wine at the parties, trying to be interested in the superficial conversation.
“Most of this is gossip and very uninteresting,” Margaret said to herself, eavesdropping on the couple next to her.
On the night of the Ball, she slipped into her red and black lace Christmas gown and pulled her hair up in curls.
“I’m leaving for the Ball, Father,” Margaret said, kissing her father on the cheek. “You will see. James is my true love.”
“Yes, I will see you later,” her father said, adjusting his black tuxedo. “I wouldn’t miss this event for anything.”
As Margaret arrived in a limo at the Waldorf Astoria, the men turned their heads at her astonishing beauty.
“Maybe I should have worn an ugly dress,” she mumbled. “Everyone will want to dance with me now . . .”
When she entered the Grand Ballroom, she was escorted by two masked gentlemen: one military cadet and one civilian.
After all the guests arrived, a moderator called the debutantes by name with their escorts to the front of the Ballroom: “Please welcome Margaret Bayard, daughter of former United States Senator George Bayard and his deceased wife, Jill.”
Walking forward, Margaret gained her composure and breathed deep. The cadet held onto her arm tighter than the civilian.
After the introduction, the cadet in a black tuxedo said in a deep voice: “You’re so beautiful. May I have this dance?”
“Oh, well, yes,” Margaret sighed. “Yes, I would love to dance with you. How kind of you to ask . . .”
Now, the white and gold mask of the cadet covered his entire face, only allowing the viewer to see his eyes and lips.
During the dance, Margaret felt more alive than she ever had in her life. In fact, she danced the entire night with the cadet. They waltzed, and he dipped her at all the proper moments. She rested her head on his shoulder during the slow numbers.
Near the end of the Ball, the cadet kissed Margaret and bowed, never revealing his true identity.
“Wait!” Margaret called, taking off her mask and hoping the cadet would do the same. She handed him her mask.
“Don’t leave without letting me see your face! I must know who you are,” she said, as he took the mask and ran off.
“Where’s he going?” Margaret’s father said, stepping from the shadows. “You were having a wonderful time.
He’ll find you because he knows who you are now. You took off your mask. I would marry him, not James.”
“Father, leave me alone,” Margaret said, crying. She ran out of the Waldorf Astoria for a taxi, rushing home.
“I must find out who that man was,” Margaret whispered to herself. “What will I say to James? How can this be?”
As Margaret rushed into the elevator of her father’s home, she ascended to the penthouse and stumbled for her keys.
In the hallway, she found James, sitting in a tuxedo on the bench at the front door, holding her music note mask from the Ball. He also held the white and gold mask of the mysterious cadet that she had danced with during the evening.
“Where did you get those masks?” Margaret said. “Why are you all dressed up? Wait a minute . . . Oh my gosh!”
“It was me all along, Margaret!” James said, throwing his arms around her. “I couldn’t let you dance with anyone else.”
“I told my father that I was going to prove him wrong,” Margaret said, crying and resting her head on James’ shoulder.
“My father sent me to the Christmas Masquerade Ball, and he sent me right back to you,” she said, kissing him.
By Christmas next year, Margaret and James were married, and they danced the Waltz in every spare moment.
Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters
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