A Man Could Sing It

by Marianne Greenleaf

Now that Marian's girlhood bedroom has finally been turned into proper guest quarters, Harold has no qualms about seducing his wife there. But as ever, the former conman ends up getting more than he bargained for when he puts his plan into action...

1. Of Curtains and Canoodling

This fic is a continuation of sorts to "The Waking of Briar-Rose."

XXX

Now in the moonlight, a man could sing it
In the moonlight
And a fellow would know that his darling
Had heard ev'ry word of his song
With the moonlight helping along…

~Meredith Willson

XXX

When his wife informed him one cool but sunny autumn afternoon in 1914 that her mother was finally planning to transform the librarian's old girlhood bedroom into proper guest quarters, Harold Hill had responded with a skeptical chuckle.

"But darling, your mother's been saying that since the day we got married. And that was a good two years ago last week!"

Marian shook her head in vehement disagreement. "That's what I thought at first, but Mama's serious this time. We've actually made solid plans to go shopping for a new bed next Tuesday!"

At the phrase "new bed," Harold's interest – which had been steadily waning from the beginning of the conversation, as there were some subjects even his wife's kissable crimson lips couldn't make fascinating – perked up again. "Is that so, my dear little librarian?" he asked slyly. "I don't suppose our recent, impromptu nap in your former digs had anything to do with influencing your mother's newfound urgency to redecorate?"

Marian's cheeks crimsoned slightly at his words – but for an entirely different reason, as it turned out. "You and your horrible slang!" she admonished.

"What – digs?" Harold questioned, genuinely confused for once. Of all the things about his statement that she could have taken issue with, grammar was the last thing he'd expected.

"Bedroom," Marian corrected, primly and firmly.

Although the librarian had always been a stickler for proper syntax, she normally kept her pedantic predispositions confined to parsing the rough speech of River City's youth – especially Amaryllis, who still could not seem to prevent from prefacing her requests with the ruder phrase "can I" instead of the more refined "may I." However, since the twins had reached toddlerhood and begun to babble and coo their way toward mastery of basic speech, Marian had taken to policing her husband's utterances, as well.

But as their darling daughters were not currently in earshot – Marian's mother had exercised grandmotherly privilege and commandeered the children for the afternoon – Harold simply shrugged and winked at his wife. "Whatever you say, my dear."

"Harold," she began in a warning tone of voice.

Before the librarian could launch into her usual lecture about setting a proper example for the benefit of their impressionable children, the music professor pulled her close, dropped a kiss on her neck and started unbuttoning her blouse.

"What are you doing?" Marian demanded to know – although she did not attempt to stop her husband. After all, they were alone in the house and Mrs. Paroo wasn't due to return with Penny and Elly until suppertime. Therefore, it was practically inevitable the two of them would end up heading in an amorous direction at some point.

"Why, I'm undressing you, of course," Harold said unabashedly. "I've noticed, Madam Librarian, that you never see fit to correct my grammar when we're engaged in certain activities that require the removal of clothes – no matter what kind of words tumble out of my mouth in the process."

Her eyes twinkling with mischief, Marian delivered a scathingly flirtatious retort that violated quite a few rules of decorum, as well. As her naughty remark segued into a delightful tryst of several hours' duration – being parents of precocious toddlers, husband and wife didn't often spend afternoons alone together like this – they never got around to resuming their initial conversation about the librarian's old girlhood bedroom. Not that the music professor particularly cared or even remembered what they had been talking about, as there were few topics he found duller and more insignificant than interior decorating.

Little did Harold know he would be spending most of the following winter focused on that exact subject…

XXX

As it turned out, Mrs. Paroo really was serious about her intentions to revamp Marian's old bedroom and, once the Christmas holidays were behind them, she and the librarian spent their weekly lunches determining their plan of attack. At night, when husband and wife relaxed in the parlor with their respective reading materials, Marian pored over department-store catalogs instead of indulging in a beloved Austen, Brontë or Dickens tale. Once she and her mother had made a few tentative decisions, the catalogs were supplemented with fabric swatches and wallpaper samples.

To his amusement and dismay, Harold was often recruited to review these items and give his opinion. But the music professor acquiesced to his wife's requests with good humor, as he knew he could only blame himself for having brought them upon his head – Marian had been extremely impressed with the beautiful bedchamber and music room he'd crafted for her, so it was only natural she would consult him while attempting to fashion an atmosphere that was both practical and pleasing to the eye.

However, Harold quickly learned that most of the time, what Marian really wanted from him was uncritical but well-reasoned agreement with the opinions she'd already formulated – especially when her views did not entirely mesh with those of her mother. Although the ladies had similar tastes, there were occasions they dissented, and so prevailed upon the music professor to play tie-breaker. Most men would have recoiled in horror at the idea of having to engage in such delicate mediations between wife and mother-in-law, but Harold actually found himself enjoying the challenge. As he truly did not care which designs they ended up picking in the end, it was easy for the silver-tongued music professor to guide both women to a compromise of mutual satisfaction and, more importantly, ensure that his wife would continue to remain on speaking terms with him. When Harold turned to Marian in their bed at night and pressed amorous, inquisitive kisses against the sensitive spots of her neck, the last thing he wanted was for her to rebuff him and move away in a snit because he had quibbled with her over wallpaper patterns earlier that afternoon!

Although Marian had made great headway in redecorating the charming Victorian over the past few years, Harold didn't remember having to do this much walking on eggshells when she was in the throes of her own projects. Perhaps it was because their home wasn't being decorated by committee. While Marian gave careful thought to her family's comfort, she was confident and decisive in her tastes, and there were no other females to gainsay her choices – at least, not openly. For even as disinterested as he was in the subject, Harold knew the general opinion of River City's ladies was that the librarian kept both a lovely and well-ordered home.

Still, Harold was grateful when the irksome planning phase finally drew to a close. Although this meant the music professor was now relegated to hard labor – moving old furniture out, scrubbing baseboards, stripping woodwork of paint and applying stain, replacing wallpaper, moving new furniture in – it was still a marked improvement over having to formulate careful positions on things like curtain color. The former charlatan found his new station in life surprisingly diverting, as well as useful – such skills would come in handy for maintaining his own abode. And Harold had to admit he felt a curiously satisfying sense of pride as the room slowly transformed from girlhood bedchamber to adult guest quarters. As much as he prided himself on not having strong opinions regarding interior decorating matters, he did have to admit it was going to be a fine-looking room when all was said and done.

Initially, the room had been heavily dominated by the Victorian aesthetic. With its pink-and-white floral wallpaper, whitewashed trim, pink ruffled curtains, and ornate white vanity and bureau, the atmosphere was one of romantic but strait-laced girlishness – exactly the kind of domicile one would expect of a maiden-lady librarian who dreamed of white knights. To compound the overwhelmingly feminine style even further, the narrow, wrought-iron twin bed was adorned with a pink coverlet edged in white lace, and the end table was covered with a Chantilly lace doily that had been handmade by Marian when she was a little girl. But this particular project was only completed thanks to a good deal of help from her mother, who would always be far more talented with a needle than the librarian could ever hope to be. That "darn doily," as Marian called it, was a large part of the reason she had given up on such ladylike pursuits, and she had kept the sorry little scrap as a reminder of the importance of humbly bearing one's limitations with grace.

However, Harold did note with wry amusement that the librarian had not seen fit to take this item with her to her new home when she married him. In addition, she had done over her new home in a cleaner and more modern style, with only a slight touch of the Victorian lingering here and there. Voicing these observations had, of course, earned him an exasperated laugh and swat on the arm – which only increased his amusement. But when Harold softened and earnestly admitted that, after a long and tiring day, he loved nothing better than to come home to their beautiful and cozy house, it was Marian who pulled him close for heated kisses when they retired to bed later that evening.

By the end of February, Harold, Marian and Mrs. Paroo finally put the finishing touches on the new guest bedroom. The difference was striking; where Victoriana once reigned, Arts and Crafts now flourished. It was a much less frilly design aesthetic, with its emphasis on clean lines, nature-based motifs and simplicity in adornment. When the trio embarked on their redecorating venture, the first thing to go was the whitewash – they stripped the paint from the trim and the door and re-stained everything to enhance the grain of the wood and bring out its natural color. The pink-and-white walls were done over with paper sporting a forest-green oak leaf and acorn pattern. The ornate white bureau and round, doily-covered bedside table were replaced by a large oak armoire and a square oak bedside table unencumbered by lace trimmings. The russet hues of the furniture wonderfully complemented the jewel-toned greens of the new wallpaper, curtains and coverlet; the rich color scheme lending elegance to the strong "woodsy" theme and thus ensuring the room did not come off as too rustic. In addition, Mrs. Paroo further softened the rather masculine atmosphere by keeping Marian's old vanity and re-staining it to match the rest of the woodwork, adding a few unessential ruffles to the coverlet and curtains, and placing a basket of cinnamon-scented potpourri on the bedside table. But what really cemented the fact this was no maiden's or bachelor's abode was the brand-new bed, which provided ample space for two.

Now that the room was fit for company at last, Mrs. Paroo urged her daughter and son-in-law to spend the night as soon as they could arrange it. And it just so happened that the very next day provided the perfect opportunity for them to take the matron up on her invitation. Although it was a Monday and Winthrop had school the next morning, Marian was not scheduled to work at the library on Tuesday, and Harold didn't have band rehearsal until the evening. So on the afternoon of Monday, March 1, the Hills found themselves ensconced in the upstairs tower room of Mrs. Paroo's home, unpacking their clothing and other personal effects.

As Harold opened the armoire to hang up the suit he planned to wear the following day, he glimpsed in the door's mirror the reflection of his wife standing by the window directly opposite himself. Marian was only half turned away from him, so he could see her face as she gazed out into the front yard, her hand idly toying with the fabric of the emerald-green curtains. Noting that her countenance looked both pleased and wistful, Harold quickly finished what he was doing and went over to wrap his arms around the librarian's waist.

"A penny for your thoughts, darling."

Marian let out a small, pensive sigh as she turned toward him. "The curtains are a bit more imposing than I thought they'd be. The color is gorgeous, but perhaps we should have gone with a lighter fabric. Harold – do you think such heavy brocade is too much for this room to handle?"

As she had done so often that past winter, Marian was now regarding her husband with a fixed, expectant expression that indicated she would not let up until he had opined on the issue to her satisfaction. Having anticipated a nostalgic observation about the last tangible trace of her girlhood being gone for good, Harold was caught almost completely off guard by her question. Although he knew it would greatly behoove him to immediately set about crafting a response that was both candid and diplomatic, the beleaguered music professor could only goggle at the librarian. Now that the room was finally complete, he thought he was safe from such interrogations. How many more times was she going to put him through the wringer like this?

Before he could even attempt to smooth his stunned expression into one of casual neutrality, Marian burst into guilty laughter. "Oh Harold, I didn't mean to frighten you!"

Harold found his devil-may-care grin. "I wasn't frightened," he staunchly averred. "Your question just came as bit of a surprise, that's all. I thought we had ironed out all these kinks a long time ago!"

But Marian continued to regard her husband with an apologetic smile. "I must have been awfully hard on you this winter – I've never seen you look at me with such abject dread!"

"It wasn't dread," Harold insisted. Although he knew he'd lost this battle as soon as he started gaping at her, his sense of masculine pride wasn't about let something as paltry as interior design permanently reduce him to an apprehensive, tongue-tied mess! "The brocade curtains are quite striking, especially in a small room with several windows," he agreed with his wife's assessment. "But their substantiality lends an air of much-needed sophistication that a sheerer curtain couldn't deliver."

This time, his cheerful grin was genuine as the librarian gazed at him with gratified admiration. "Well, even so… it is rather silly of me to start second-guessing such decisions now." She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I've asked more than enough of you – that will be my last question on the subject, I promise!"

Harold masked his relief with a theatrical sigh. "The curse of having good taste, I tell you!"

But Marian seemed to perceive his true feelings anyway; burying her head in the crook of his shoulder, she sheepishly murmured, "Thank you, Harold."

"It was all worth it, Marian," he earnestly replied as her mouth gently caressed the hollow of his throat and her fingers traced the column of his spine with long, soothing strokes. Almost anything would have been worth it to have her touch him like this. As Harold relaxed into his wife's embrace and craned his head to kiss her neck in return, he reflected on all their hard work that winter. The upstairs tower had been transformed from prim girlhood bedchamber to sophisticated guest quarters; whatever misgivings his wife might still have regarding minor fripperies of decor, this was now a room that a married couple could get cozy and comfortable in – and he was certainly looking forward to enjoying the fruits of his labor! How "cozy and comfortable" the two of them ended up getting still remained to be seen, but if the way she was caressing him right now was any indication, the evening looked awfully promising. The bigger bed hadn't left enough space for Penny and Elly's crib to fit easily in the upstairs tower, so it was decided that the girls would spend the night in their grandmother's master suite, instead. Although Marian initially protested this course of action – as did Harold, but more out of token politeness than selfless consideration – Mrs. Paroo insisted it would be no trouble at all.

However, there was one factor Harold had entirely forgotten. Husband and wife's busy but companionable silence was shattered by eager footsteps thundering up the stairs, followed by a woman's shrill Irish brogue:

"Winthrop, me boy – slow down!"

While Mrs. Paroo might not have approved of her son's excessive momentum, the resulting cacophony gave Harold and Marian the time they needed to discreetly adapt to this unexpected interruption of their privacy. This early warning was especially fortuitous because the door to the room was ajar and Harold's hands were wandering places he didn't think wise for a twelve-year-old boy to witness; by the time Winthrop barreled into the room, husband and wife had moved apart to a much more respectable distance.

"Profethor! Thithter!" the boy greeted them, looking positively thrilled. "Are you really gonna stay the night with us?"

"Going to stay," Marian corrected, but her admonition fell on deaf ears – her brother's attentions were wholly focused on his mentor's merry grin.

Harold also pretended not to notice his wife's pointed glare for him to back her up in this matter – although he did give her a conspiratorial wink before kneeling down and placing a hand on the lad's shoulder. "Yes, son, we are going to stay the night," he confirmed. "In fact, we just got finished unpacking!" As Winthrop's face lit up even more and he started babbling excitedly about all the fun things they ought to do this evening, the music professor felt a strange twinge of wistfulness – although he still possessed a boy's boisterousness, Winthrop was getting taller, and his round face was starting to lose its cherubic cast. At the rate the boy was growing, Harold probably wouldn't have to be getting to his knees like this much longer and, in a few short years, he might even be the one looking upward to meet Winthrop's gaze!

But Harold couldn't indulge in nostalgia for long; his reflections were soon curtailed by the arrival of Mrs. Paroo, who was carrying their burbling daughters in her arms. "Supper will be ready in about ten minutes, darlings," she cheerfully informed her daughter and son-in-law as they immediately came over to relieve her of her precious cargo. While Marian cradled Elly and Harold bounced Penny on his knee, Mrs. Paroo looked around the room with a broad but bemused smile, as if this was her first time seeing her new guest quarters. "My, isn't this a lovely room!" she observed, smoothing out one of the corners of the coverlet and straightening one of the curtains – although both were still perfectly pristine. "I should redecorate more often – it's so nice to have a change of scenery every now and again."

The music professor and librarian exchanged a furtive, amused look over the tops of the twins' heads. They knew these were idle compliments; unless out of dire need, Marian's mother wasn't likely to so much as change a doily elsewhere in the house. And Harold especially took great relief in that fact!

Once again, a promising reverie was disturbed when Mrs. Paroo, while brushing a non-existent speck of dust off the surface of the vanity, caught sight of her son's unkempt hair and dirt-spattered pant hems. "Winthrop! You shouldn't be going about the new furnishings in such grubby clothes," she reproved. "Go change and wash up, and then come downstairs – I need you to set the table."

Winthrop scowled – clearly, he wanted to remain tethered to his brother-in-law's side as long as the man was in residence – but he obeyed without protest. However, in his haste to complete these unpleasant chores and return to where the action was, he galloped up the rest of the stairs and raced down the hall to his room, which earned him another shouted-after scolding from his exasperated mother.

"Blessed Saint Martin of Tours!" she exclaimed to Harold and Marian. "He's going to break something with all that running around. That boy's twisted both ankles so many times I'm afraid he'll develop a permanent limp! But I'd better get back to the supper before it burns… "

After pausing to check that the armoire doors were securely shut, the frazzled matron exited the guestroom. Neither Harold nor Marian had any idea of picking things up where they had left off; after attending to Penny and Elly – their daughters also needed a bit of freshening up before dinner – the music professor and librarian went downstairs to see if Mrs. Paroo could use some assistance. It was a sign of her exhaustion that the normally indefatigable matron did not insist on handling everything herself – she immediately put the two of them to work. Thankfully, Winthrop heeded his mother's warning and descended the stairs at a politer pace – although he was still positively bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

As her son retrieved four plates from the cabinet with careful but enthusiastic alacrity, Mrs. Paroo warily eyed the proceedings – even to the point of allowing the Irish stew to boil over. Taking pity on his fretful mother-in-law – and not wanting to eat a burned dinner – Harold smoothly interjected himself into the proceedings by swapping the china for linens and challenging Winthrop to demonstrate how many shapes he could formulate out of a cloth napkin. Pleased to have something more creative to do than laying out dishes, the boy went to work with glee. By the time Harold finished setting the table, Winthrop proudly presented a pyramid, bird, boat and rose – and he even made little rabbits for the girls. While the pyramid was excellently formed, it took a bit more imagination to see the other shapes, but none of the adults let on their difficulty.

Thankfully, the hearty meal soothed Mrs. Paroo's frayed nerves and, by the conclusion of supper, she was once again her serene but energetic self. Still, Harold and Marian insisted on handling the cleanup – to which Mrs. Paroo agreed, on the condition they would allow her to put the girls to bed. Husband and wife gratefully acquiesced to this compromise; however, as it turned out, Penny and Elly would not settle down easily that evening, so Harold ended up sitting with the twins until they finally drifted off. And when he finally rejoined the rest of the family in the parlor around nine thirty, Winthrop clamored for a game of Parcheesi – which he skillfully managed to stretch into a tournament, even though it was a school night and he should have been in bed a half hour ago. But the boy couldn't mask his ever-increasing fatigue for long – he began to grow bleary-eyed and stifled several yawns as the parlor's cuckoo clock ticked the night away. When Mrs. Paroo caught her son nodding off in the middle of their fifth round of Parcheesi, she finally put her foot down and made him go to bed.

Fortunately, even Winthrop realized the prudence of this course of action, and allowed his mother to lead him upstairs without so much as a frown. As it was just past eleven o'clock, Harold and Marian also retired for the evening. Although they were finally alone, they were both so exhausted by the time they completed their evening ablutions and sank into bed that they exchanged only the briefest of kisses before falling into a deep and heavy sleep.

XXX

After only a few hours of sweet, insensate slumber, Harold abruptly awoke. Nothing in particular had disturbed his repose; no jarring noise, no unsettling dream. This phenomenon, while peculiar, was also extremely familiar – a few times a week, the music professor would awaken around three in the morning, fully alert and seemingly refreshed. However, about an hour later, exhaustion would descend once more, and he would drift back to sleep. These intense but brief interludes of insomnia had started to occur almost as soon as Harold embraced a conman's nomadic existence in his youth – one always had to be prepared to make a hasty getaway, if necessary – and persisted even after he'd settled down into a steady and law-abiding life in River City.

Harold figured these bouts of wakefulness were a permanent side effect of his long years on the lam, and he welcomed them. One of the few maxims he continued to live by after his reformation was that time is precious, and he mustn't waste a single second. So the music professor had learned to use this hour to his advantage. There were a multitude of activities he was prepared to engage in, depending on his mood: enjoying a light nocturnal snack, observing his daughters as they slept soundly in their crib, or heading to the music room to mull over upcoming concerts and emporium expansion ideas.

But as he was a guest in someone else's house, Harold couldn't do any of those things with ease on this particular evening. He was loath to leave Mrs. Paroo's spotless kitchen in disarray and was not really hungry anyway, the girls had their grandmother to watch over them, and the music room was nowhere nearby. Harold supposed he could do his band-related thinking where he was, but he was not of a mind to dwell on business at present. His surroundings certainly didn't provide an atmosphere that was conducive to thoughts of commerce – a full moon shone brightly outside and, as the curtains were wide open, the brilliant light poured into the room unhindered. While Harold was not generally given to poetic reflection, he was not so cynical as to remain unmoved by the romance of a moonlit bedroom – with the oak leaf motif on the walls and emerald-green coverlet spread over him, he found it both easy and pleasant to imagine that he was bedded down in the midst of a tree-ringed meadow somewhere.

Earlier, when the music professor and librarian were getting ready for bed, Marian had reopened all the heavy drapes he'd just twitched shut – something she'd never done in their home. When Harold looked at his wife with a questioning smile, she explained with a slight blush that she'd always done this on full-moon nights when she was a girl. Finding the romance of the gesture charmingly in keeping with his wife's dreamy sensibilities, the music professor had consented to keeping the curtains open. And Harold was glad he had; somehow, he found it immensely restorative to gaze at the lushly-decorated surroundings and hear the soothing hum of his wife's steady breathing beside him.

As ever, the music professor's thoughts wandered to Marian, and he turned over to watch her sleep. He was particularly entranced by her face; bathed in the rays of the moon, her skin gleamed gently, like fine porcelain. She lay curled on her side facing him, left elbow bent so her hand rested by her cheek on the pillow. Her wedding ring, also blanketed by moonlight, seemed to wink at him.

Now in the moonlight, a man could sing it…

There was something else Harold also liked to do when he woke up like this – in fact, it was his favorite late-night activity of them all. And before the exuberant antics of his brother-in-law and daughters had sapped even his prodigious energy, he'd been looking forward to just such a wakeful night with his wife in these new guest quarters…

Extricating his hand from beneath the sheets and coverlet, Harold laced his fingers through Marian's. As he did so, he caught sight of the ring on his own finger, and paused to watch the moonlight dance across the polished gold. Even after two-and-a-half years, Harold still couldn't help marveling that he was not only married, but still so happily and passionately in love.

Throughout the music professor's maneuverings, Marian remained in sound and steadfast sleep. Normally, she would have entwined her fingers with his in return or at least fidgeted at the disturbance, but tonight, she didn't even twitch. Clearly, the evening's events had worn her out. Harold grinned – he always enjoyed a good challenge. And the fact that they were lying together in what had once been the librarian's girlhood room added a tantalizing element to his seduction; even after he'd fallen in love with Marian, the idea of stealing into her room late at night, slipping into bed beside her and waking her with persuasive kisses held just as much allure as it had when he was an unrepentant conman. Of course, he would never have sullied the librarian's virtue so shamelessly when they were courting and, even after they'd gotten married, it seemed too distasteful a course of action to make love to Marian in her old girlhood room. So Harold had refrained from seizing his opportunity on that autumn afternoon they were left completely alone in the house.

But things had changed since last fall. Now they were ensconced in an elegant guestroom, the rest of the family was asleep, the house was completely quiet, and the obliging moon provided a beautiful backdrop – such romantic circumstances were tailor-made for late-night lovemaking. Bringing his wife's hand to his lips, Harold began by kissing her ring…