to save a treasure.
Emma checked the main doors and found them locked. Unfortunately, the windows were too caked with dust to see the source of the light. She walked around to a side door and found it ajar, the rusted padlock hanging on a hook. That certainly was not right. Very few people had the keys to this old place. Beyond the door lay only silence and an unwelcoming gloom. Well, she walked this far, no chickening out now. Following the glow, she stepped inside and onto the main Ballroom. The light came from a single bulb hanging from a wire overhead.
Emma walked cautiously out onto the once polished dance floor. The sounds of her footsteps echoed back in the cavernous room. The old place smelled musty, like an attic full of old keepsakes. Despite her fear, happier memories flooded her brain. She could picture all the lights and the sounds, just the way they were sixty years ago. The swing beat filled the air with unforgettable tunes. Couples spun on the dance floor till you thought the vibration would bring down the roof. The wonderful crystal ball scattered starlight spinning across the floor and walls.
Emma closed her eyes and spun around in a circle, feeling as young as a teenager. She giggled in spite of herself. This place had been magical. She wished some of it had remained.
Then she heard it.
Emma stopped and listened. Had she heard it? It had only been a few notes, but it sounded like ... like a clarinet!
"Is anybody there?"
She’d forgotten how expansive the interior of the Ballroom was. The light from the single bulb did not travel far into the gloom. The walls were far away and draped in menacing shadows.
Then she heard footsteps. They came from directly in front of her.
Emma tensed. “Hello? Who’s there?”
She got ready to dash, as least as fast as one could dash at her age. She prayed her old legs could get her outside first, then she could shout for help. Why hadn’t she brought her damn cell phone with her?
Slowly, a figure emerged from the shadows. "I'm sorry if I startled you." It was a thin young man in his early twenties. He was dressed in a starched white shirt and baggy black pants. His face was clean shaven and his hair trimmed short.
He bore an innocent smile that at least seemed genuine. In fact, he looked the complete opposite of dangerous, so Emma decided to stand her ground. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The young man smiled innocently. "I didn't mean to scare you. I thought I was alone."
"You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here? This is private property and you're trespassing. How did you get the key?"
The man shrugged. "I work here," he answered simply.
"Work here? What’re you talking about? No one's worked here for decades."
"I look after the place. My name’s Stan, Stanley Baldwin. I come here at night and do odd jobs. You know, repair a window here, fix a leaky pipe there."
"Well I was told nothing about the city hiring a handyman to start repairing things."
The man’s face brightened. "Are you the lady in charge of the restoration?"
"Why yes, yes I am." Emma didn't know why, but she found herself believing his story. She had no reason to. After all, why would be doing repairs at night? He could be a serial killer for all she knew. But there was something about the young man, something that made her instantly trust him. Perhaps because he seemed so … at home here in the Ballroom.
"I got to tell you,” the man began, “you're doing a wonderful thing here. This place is amazing. It should never ever be destroyed.” He looked about. “It has too many memories locked in its walls."
"Yes,” Emma agreed. “It most certainly does."
"I'll bet you came here when you were young, didn't you?"
Against her better judgment, Emma relaxed a little. This young man was simply too sincere to be lying.
"Yes, I did. But that was a very long time ago."
"Not so long," he said. "You must have some great memories of this place."
"Memories yes, some not so great."
The young man walked around her in a circle, gesturing toward the faded walls. "It must have been incredible here, listening to the big bands, dancing the night away. How could they not be great?"
Emma sighed. “Maybe when you get a little older you'll understand. We sometimes make decisions that affect our entire life, then live to regret them."
"And you made one like that? Here?"
Emma nodded and thought again of Jonathan Pierce. "Yes."
The young man approached her. She saw him clearly now for the first time now. The lines of his jaw were sharp and angular. His hair was jet black and slicked back behind his ears. His eyes seemed to stare directly into hers. She couldn't look away from them.
"I don't believe that," he said. "Nothing bad could ever happen here."
Emma laughed, still staring into those deep, piercing eyes. "Don't kid yourself."
"Perhaps," the man began, "you just need to remember." His voice had taken on a soft, floating quality. He reached out and gently touched her silver hair. Normally, she would have flinched, but this time she didn’t. His fingers made her head tingle. "I'll bet you wore your hair down back then."
"Yes," she answered slowly, "all ... the girls ... did."
Suddenly, distant music began to play. Emma didn't know from where, but she recognized the tune immediately. It was the first notes of In The Mood by Benny Goodman. Did he have a radio somewhere? Emma's vision became fuzzy except for the face of the young man in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she movement. Was that a band on the old stage, with trombones and saxophones? But that was impossible, wasn't it?
People seemed to fade in and out around them, dozens of them, young couples dancing! Were they ghosts? Suddenly, the sky above erupted in a thousand sparkles of light. The huge crystal ball appeared, scattering stars in every direction. In The Mood was now in full swing, the sound of Big Band music filling her mind.
"May I have this dance Emma?" the young man asked.
Without even thinking, she slowly raised her arms until they met his. Emma tingled all over now, from her hair to her toes.
Gradually, they started to move, her legs falling into place beneath her. The young man led her around the dance hall, slowly at first, but then picking up speed. They spun faster and faster with each step. Emma was amazed at her own agility. Her old muscles had not moved this spritely in years. Her old joints should not be able to take the pace yet she felt no pain.
The visions around her began to coalesce. Blurred objects became sharp and clear. There were people here, hundreds of them, dancing and laughing, all around her! An entire big band sat on the old stage, trumpets and clarinets glittering in the starlight.
This is all impossible, she told herself. The tingling in her body had stopped, but a thrilling sensation remained. She felt limber and flexible. Joints moved more freely, muscles burst with an energy she hadn't felt in decades.
The song began to speed up to its famous ending. When the last notes were played, the dancing stopped. Her head was completely clear now, though anything but calm. They had ended up where they started, directly beneath the faceted crystal ball. The couples around them applauded the band, some heading to their tables.
Emma turned to the young man, "What’s happened here? Who are all these people?"
The man smiled, seeming quite pleased with the transformation. "Relax Emma, everything's all right. We're still in the Ballroom."
"I can see that, but you didn’t answer my question. And how do you know my name? What on earth is happening here?" She looked back and forth around the interior of the Ballroom. It was no longer old and dilapidated. The hard wood floor was polished to a glowing shine. Multi-colored ribbons hung gaily from the rafters, separated by strings of light bulbs.
Emma zoomed in on the stage and gasped. She was staring at the band leader's podium. Wr
itten across the front in glittering letters were the words:
KAY KYSER AND HIS ORCHESTRA
Then the conductor turned around and she nearly fainted. It was Kay Kyser! Only not as he should look today. This man was as young as she remembered. It was the Kay Kyser of 1945!
Emma turned back to the young man, now beginning to grasp the situation. "This is impossible," she said firmly, hoping to God she wasn't going insane.
"Nothing's impossible, Emma.” He looked at the sparkling ball. “Not when you’re here. Not when you believe."
"But it can't be sixty years ago, it just can't."
"Of course it can," the man said as he stepped aside. Behind him was one of the tall columns supporting the roof. On all four sides were thin decorative mirrors. Emma looked at her reflection and gasped. She brought her hands to her face and the apparition did the same.
She was young again! Her hair was totally blond and curled down to her shoulders. Her figure was slim with hourglass curves again. The yellow dress she wore looked decades out of fashion, mid-calf length, belted at the waist, with a Peter Pan collar. She remembered that dress, but it was brand new! But most of all, it was her face she could not stop looking at.
Emma walked closer to the mirror. The thick wrinkles were gone, the blotches of age had vanished. She ran her hands over smooth, tight skin. This was . . . no, she was the Emma of 1945!
Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned back to her young escort. "Please tell me. How can this be?"
The man took her hands and