Disclaimer: The Music Man and its associated character do not belong to me. I'm merely using them for my own pleasure. No profit is being made from this story.
Although Harold had never actually heard of a person's ears bleeding from a horrible sound, he was almost certain he was getting ready to experience it. Quite simply, the sounds coming from the young man next to him were beyond hideous. He was at a loss for words to describe it. And for Harold Hill, silver-tongued talker, that was saying a lot.
"Davy." He tried to get the boy's attention.
A little louder. "Davy."
Still no response and still the blatting of what used to be one of Harold's favorite instruments.
"Davy!"
Finally hearing the Professor over his painful etude, Davy Brown, one of Harold's most eager eight-year-old students, moved the silver-plated trumpet away from his lips and looked at his teacher earnestly.
"What do you think Professor?" His eyes shone with anticipation.
Harold faltered for a second, the young lad's eagerness curbing the truthful, yet probably hurtful criticism Harold had been about to deliver. Pausing for a moment, Harold decided on a vague, yet still truthful evaluation of what he had just heard.
"Davy, my boy, I can honestly say I haven't ever heard anything quite like that."
The boy beamed. "Gee thanks, Professor!"
"In fact, Harold continued, smiling, "I think we should call it a day and let you meet the other fellows at the fishing hole. How's that sound to you?"
"Really, Professor?"
"Really, Davy."
The young boy needed no more encouragement. Clutching his trumpet in one hand and music in the other, he ran out the door, the thought of the cool, wet pond swimming through his head. For Harold, the reprieve was a much-needed one. He had spent the better part of the morning working with his brass players, quickly realizing that River City's boys' band was going to take a lot more work than he had anticipated. Fortunately, he himself was a trumpet player and knew a little about music. Reading music was a bit harder, as he only knew how to decipher treble, but through the local piano player /librarian, he was getting lessons in all things music, and occasionally, lessons in other areas of life, as well.
A smile always came to his face, as it always did, when he considered the turn of events his life had taken those few months ago and the entrance of someone new in his life. If he wasn't careful, his mind would wander to that "someone new," and he'd never get anything accomplished. He wondered if the same was true of her … if her mind ever did any wandering. There was that one time … at the mercantile … with the wet dye and the fabric. He still laughed when he thought of it.
But enough of that. Right now, he needed to get out of the gymnasium and in to the cool, summer breeze that had settled into River City during the past few days. And he knew just the person to recruit to share the pleasant summer day with him.
XXX
Marian Paroo loved books. She simply adored them, which was a good thing considering she was the town's librarian. But right now, literature, even her much-esteemed Balzac, was the farthest thing from her mind. It was a beautiful day outside. The cool, summer breeze had woken her this morning, gliding in through her windows and filling her senses with the sweet smell of lilacs. But, she was stuck inside a building. A building with nobody in it except herself. Even her most faithful of patrons had realized the potential of the day and chosen to spend their time out in the fresh, summer air rather than with the well-worn pages of an old favorite.
Sighing at the futility of it all, she loaded her arms with books and began the arduous task of re-shelving them. The poetry books weren't difficult, and neither were the fiction, but the reference books … oh the reference books. Usually, their re-shelving involved Marian carting a ladder over to the section and then making several trips up and down to get the task done. Today was no different. Howard Carter's newest book on his discovery of the young Egyptian pharaoh was as thick as cold molasses and garnered a resting place at the far, top corner of the .900s. Marian sighed. Someday, she was going to have to work on a better way to restructure the library … one that wouldn't require her to practically drag the ladder throughout the building.
She glanced at the volume on the top of her pile, where it sat staring sullenly back at her. She pursed her lips. She really ought to re-shelve it. After all, she was the librarian. She couldn't just leave books lying on the cart. What example would that set for her patrons, especially the younger ones? On the other hand, it was a Saturday. Not a soul was in the library. No one would ever know. With a mischievous smile, she placed the books back on the cart, trading them for an armful of poetry, before making her way to the easier-to-shelve section.
Lost in the world of John Donne, Marian didn't hear the library door quietly creak open, nor did she notice the tall figure slip in and make his way opposite the shelf where she stood. She had just removed a copy of "Canterbury Tales" to inspect its worn spine when a large, tanned hand darted from the empty spot and closed around her wrist. She jumped, startled, and gave a small shriek, dropping Chaucer's famous work to the floor.
"Why does the Mayor have you working on a beautiful day like this?" Harold asked, a sheepish grin creeping across his face as Marian frowned at him.
"The Mayor?" She bent down and fumbled with the book, perplexed at his question and still trying to get her heart rate back to a normal pace.
"If not the Mayor, the school board then?"
"Harold, what are you talking about?" Marian asked. "You know quite well that neither the Mayor nor the school board has any control over the library."
Harold smiled broadly. "Indeed, I do. But," he continued, "I thought perhaps something had changed. How else can I account for your being cooped up with all these books on such a glorious afternoon?"
Marian flushed in embarrassment. This topic had been a frequent visitor in their recent conversations. Harold knew how important the library was to Marian, but he was also of the opinion that she worked entirely too hard, not leaving enough time for pleasure. True, she had taken more time for herself recently, learned to slow down and enjoy life – Harold had seen to that. Still, there was work to be done. Today was proof enough of that.
"I was just re-shelving some books. I'll have you know I was thinking about closing the library early," she protested, as Harold made his way to where she stood.
"Yes, but thinking and actually doing are two different things, my dear," he teased.
"You're incorrigible," she sighed in frustration.
"I am."
She opened her mouth and shut it quickly, uncertain how to respond to the frank admission. Harold laughed and moved closer. "It's one of the many reasons you love me," he teased.
Marian pulled away and swatted his arm. "Is it now?" she countered, as she walked to her desk. Harold followed after her, catching her by the waist. He turned her towards him.
"It is," he affirmed as he looked into her eyes, pulling her to him.
Marian smiled, her eyes twinkling. "It is," she agreed and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"I knew it!"
"Are you satisfied now?" Marian laughed.
"With only that mere token of affection?" Harold asked in mock dismay. "Certainly not!" He tipped her chin up toward him, his eyes resting on her face and leaned in closer. Marian ducked out of the would-be embrace.
"Harold, honestly," she scolded. "What if someone were to walk in? Hmm? How would that look, the two of us," she trailed off, waving her hand.
Harold had to concede the argument, albeit reluctantly. "You are, of course, correct." He moved to stand beside her, gently taking her hand in his.
"Miss Paroo, would you do me the honor of spending the afternoon with me?"
Marian smiled. "I suppose I could finish here and then spend a little while doing … whatever it is you have planned. But," she raised a hand, "not too long. I promised Mother I would help with the confections for the bake sale."