A/N - I had a charming dream about Harold attempting to court Marian in a rose garden, and developed this little vignette from it. This takes place after Being in Love/My White Knight and before the Wells Fargo Wagon.
XXX
I won't send roses or hold the door
I won't remember which dress you wore
And should I love you, you would be the last to know
I won't send roses and roses suit you so
~Mack Sennett, in the beginning of Mack & Mabel
XXX
July 1912
One of the few things that Marian Paroo looked forward to was the annual rose garden picnic. After Uncle Maddy passed away and left the majority of his property and fortune to River City, the townspeople had established this event in his honor – even as they continued to perpetually refer to him as Old Miser Madison in casual conversation. As Henry Madison was renowned for the beautiful rose gardens blanketing his estate, it was determined that this would be the best possible location for such a memorial.
While Marian was often excluded from town events that didn't require musical assistance, she was always invited to this particular occasion. As much as Mrs. Shinn and the other ladies personally disliked her, even they respected Mr. Madison's well-known friendship with the Paroo family. It would have been bad form to include only her mother and brother, so the librarian perforce received an invitation.
But even so, Marian wasn't about to impose her company on those who did not appreciate her presence. The moment she deemed it polite, she would find a secluded alcove and spend the rest of the picnic there. It was especially important to disappear this year – the odious Harold Hill was in attendance. And he was the center of attention as usual, playing to the delighted throngs that surrounded him. It was positively revolting, how they all hung on to his every little word.
But as the librarian watched the spectacle from the edge of the crowd, she felt the most disconcerting pangs of jealousy. The salesman had arrived to River City only a few weeks ago, and was being fêted and celebrated as if he was a native-born son. Whereas she had been here for a good five years, and had no friends at all. It especially stung to watch how they all fawned over Harold Hill because Marian remembered exactly how it felt to belong somewhere. She had enjoyed friendship and even popularity back in Cincinnati, the city of her birth. But as long as she had to look after her mother and brother, there was no chance of her ever leaving River City. In all likelihood, she would probably languish in this wretched little town until she died, friendless and unloved.
As Marian contemplated the bleakness of her future, the tears that had been massing behind her gaze threatened to spill over the rims of her eyes. Tilting her head back slightly and blinking until the uncomfortable sensation faded, she decided to find that private alcove right now, even though she had only just arrived and had yet to exchange the barest of pleasantries with anyone. She needed to find that alcove, so she could take solace in the few pleasant memories she had of River City. What did it matter if she disappeared from the main party? No one would miss her. They had plenty of entertainment from the bombastic flimflam man.
Leaving everyone to promenade around the gardens without her, Marian opened her parasol to shield her face from the view of any bothersome passerby, and made her way down the nearest path leading away from the locus of activity. But when she reached her alcove and lowered her parasol at last, she saw that she wasn't the only one who'd had the pressing inclination to shy away from social interaction.
Thankfully, it was the one person whose company she always welcomed, regardless of her mood. Her brother Winthrop sat on the ground next to the largest rose bush, staring intensely at it, as if it held the answer to something very important. He didn't look as glum as he usually did, but his expression was still profoundly pensive.
Marian didn't expect much of anything to come of her inquiry but, as a loving and concerned older sister, she had to ask. "What is it, Winthrop?"
He turned to face her. "When will my cornet come?"
Marian was too startled to be angry at this reminder of "Professor" Hill's chicanery. This was the most Winthrop had spoken to her in the last several weeks. And he was looking directly at her! She couldn't spoil such a promising moment with her misgivings. So she gave her little brother a warm and encouraging smile. "Soon, I suppose."
When he turned toward the bush again, she gently asked, "May I join you, Winthrop?"
Without looking at her, he nodded. But Marian was not disappointed. When she sat down, he curled up next to her and laid his head in her lap, just like he used to do when he was a very little boy. As she tenderly smoothed his disheveled russet locks back from his forehead and he drifted off to sleep, she stared at the beautiful roses and lost herself in daydreams. This was her favorite part of the gardens. She and Uncle Maddy would stroll and converse here, often for hours at a time. He was a precise, orderly, and thorough man, and had kept the gardens in tiptop shape in those days. Now that he was gone, they were a bit wilder, though no less gorgeous.
But Marian had taken great pains with her appearance today, out of respect to his dear memory. She wore her new pale pink silk gown trimmed with lace, which had the most darling clusters of ribbon roses at her shoulders. She had even set her hair in banana curls. And yet, it seemed like such a pointless and futile exercise. Why did she bother to dress so nicely, when there was not a single soul – a living one, anyway – to appreciate it?
As if Providence had heard her lament, Marian suddenly became conscious that she was being watched. Looking toward the entrance to the alcove, she spotted none other than Harold Hill. And he was staring intently at her, as if transfixed to the spot. It was unnerving, how quiet and unassuming he could be, when he actually tried.
Normally, the librarian would have made a cutting remark and stormed off. But her dear brother was sleeping so peacefully in her lap that she didn't have the heart to disturb him.
"What do you want, Mr. Hill?" she asked warily.
He came right over and knelt down next to her. "My apologies for disturbing you, Miss Marian," he said in a low voice. "I was merely enjoying the gardens, and didn't mean to intrude."
To her surprise, he sounded sincere. But as ever, his words and actions were at cross purposes with each other. Although he spoke like a gentleman, he'd essentially cornered her where she sat. Even though she was careful to regard him with an aloof side glance, she couldn't help breathing in the alluring essence of Sen-Sen, bay rum, and sandalwood soap that had bewitched her at the library. She also couldn't help thinking about the recent conversation she'd had with her mother about being in love. All of these factors made her even more unsettled by Harold Hill's inexorable proximity, even though she knew she was most certainly not in love with him!
And it certainly didn't help her tenuous sense of composure when the salesman's warm breath tickled her ear as he continued speaking to her in that mesmerizing purr of his. "You look especially lovely today, Madam Librarian, if I may say so. But then, you're always beautiful." His fingers snaked out and traced the rose on her left shoulder. "Stylish, too."
To Marian's great annoyance, she felt far more flattered by his remarks than she ought to be. While Harold Hill wasn't the first man who'd ever commented on her beauty, he was the first who gave her butterflies when he did so. None of the very few men she had fallen in love with ever complimented her in such a bald-faced manner. Given that they were teachers or other pillars of the community, they had cared far more about the soundness of her brain and the uprightness of her character, rather than the aesthetics of her appearance. Which was just as it should be!
Marian knew that she must put a stop to this, before he was emboldened to take even further liberties. "Do not speak of such things, Mr. Hill," she coldly commanded, turning her head completely away from him. "It isn't decorous or decent."
There was an awkward silence. She dared not look at him, even when he chuckled and said, in the most self-effacing voice she'd ever heard from him, "I suppose I deserved that one – especially after chasing you in the library the way I did."
Marian was startled into looking at him – and immediately regretted it, as he took it as encouragement. Grinning and leaning even closer, he said, "You know, I was hoping we'd have the opportunity to talk alone today. I wanted to give this to you – I knew it was perfect the moment I saw it."
He held up a pale pink rose between them – the exact same shade as her gown. Enchanted, Marian reached out to take the blossom from Harold Hill. When her fingers accidentally brushed his, she felt the most horrible jolt of delight run through her. Before he could take advantage of her blunder, she hastily moved her hand to grip a different part of the stem – too hastily, as she pricked herself on a thorn.
With a cry, Marian pulled her hand away to examine it. To her chagrin, she was bleeding. Before she could think of how to dress the wound without jostling Winthrop or, heaven forbid, staining her new gown, the salesman took out that terribly gaudy pink handkerchief of his and pressed it to her finger.
As he gently wrapped the cloth around her hand to further secure it in place, Marian swallowed and tried not to tremble. She was being touched. By one of the most handsome men she had ever met. And he thought she was beautiful. She had ached so much to experience a moment like this. Harold Hill was not her white knight, and never would be. But maybe, just for a moment, she could let herself pretend…
But just as their eyes met, the spell was broken. "Thister?" said a bleary voice. Winthrop sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Marian was too mortified to speak. Fortunately, Harold Hill's tongue was never tied. "Well, hello son! Did you have a nice nap?"
His voice was far too jolly and booming, and reverberated uncomfortably through the small alcove. If Marian hadn't known better, she would have thought he was deeply disappointed by the interruption.
In response, Winthrop just looked the salesman, and then at his and Marian's still-entwined hands. Before the librarian could recover her powers of speech, her brother leaped to his feet and ran away.
Furious at her near-capitulation to Harold Hill's insidious siren song, Marian shoved his handkerchief back at him and rose swiftly to her feet, batting the salesman's hands away when he tried to help her up.
When they were both standing, she whirled around to face him. "You ruin every single thing you touch. I wish you'd never come to River City!"
The librarian's harsh denouncement would have been a lot more effective if her voice hadn't cracked on River. Initially as she spoke, the salesman looked stricken and even ashamed, as if she had actually succeeded in piercing his facade of glib confidence at last. But when her composure cracked, Harold Hill's eyes softened in both dismay and sympathy, and he reached out as if he wanted nothing more than to enfold her in his arms.
Now thoroughly embarrassed, Marian turned away and hastened home. He didn't follow her. Because he knew as well as she did that none of this was real. And she'd do well to remember that the next time she found herself cornered by him.
Although the librarian was alone in the house, she would not allow herself to cry. Instead, she focused the strength of her entire will on disinfecting and bandaging her wound. These ministrations both soothed and steadied her, and she thought she had almost completely recovered her self-control – until she realized that she forgot her parasol.
Even though it was absolutely ridiculous of her, Marian burst into tears. And the tears just kept on coming, a great deal of them, until her body was wracked with sobs. It simply wasn't fair that Harold Hill should make her want so much – not him, exactly, but everything he promised. Not just the lights, the colors, the cymbals, and the flags, but the electrifying touch of a man who wanted her. A man who would hold her close, and kiss her deeply, and caress her ardently, and… and she refused to go any further in her imagination than that. It was much too dangerous.
There was only one thing Marian could do to put a stop to this perilous path she was headed down. She had known exactly what Harold Hill was, ever since he came to town. Now, she had to find the irrefutable proof that would make everyone else in River City see the truth. She had a library full of books – it was time to do some comprehensive research on the academic credentials of the salesman who claimed to be an alumnus of Gary Conservatory of Music, "Gold Medal Class of Aught-Five!"
By the time her mother and brother returned home, Marian's eyes were dry, but the raw, gnawing ache in her heart remained. Still, she managed to keep her composure when, with a gleam in her eye, Mama handed her the forgotten parasol – along with the rose and a handwritten note from Harold Hill that assured her it had been thoroughly dethorned.
Accepting the parasol, rose, and note without comment, the librarian withdrew to her bedroom. After tearing up the note into tiny pieces and letting it flutter out of her tower window like confetti, she placed the rose in a porcelain keepsake jar on her vanity and pressed the loose petals that had fallen from it in between the pages of Balzac. Somehow, she could not bring herself to throw it away. It was such a beautiful blossom, and it had been one of Uncle Maddy's prized specimens. Never mind who gave it to her!
If anything, keeping the rose made the librarian even more determined to stop the fly-by-night salesman in his tracks. She must force him to leave town, lest her loneliness and longing lead her to do anything monumentally foolish. It was far better to end up an old maid, rather than a fallen woman!
Marian was firmly resolved. She would start her campaign to unmask Harold Hill for what he truly was tomorrow. Tonight – just tonight – she would let herself pretend that the rose was a gift from her white knight.
