When Marian Paroo Hill unwrapped the packet of meat Harold had brought home the night before, she nearly gagged. While mutton had a distinct bouquet many people found unpleasant, the aroma had never bothered her before – mutton had been one of Marian's favorite foods since she was a child. But now the odor was so disagreeable she had to leave the kitchen.
Harold looked up from his book when she came rushing into the parlor. "What's wrong, Marian? You look a little green!"
"I think the mutton is past its prime," she replied, taking great gulps of fresh air in an attempt to alleviate her nausea. "It smells rancid!"
"Oh?" he said curiously, standing up. "It was fine when I bought it yesterday – seems awfully quick for it to spoil. But let's go wrap it up, and I'll get our money back tomorrow."
Harold went into the kitchen. Holding her breath, Marian followed warily behind and watched as her husband examined the packet she had left on the counter when she unceremoniously fled the kitchen.
"Well, it looks fine," Harold said with a shrug. He bent over to take a sniff. "Smells fine, too," he concluded, wrinkling his nose.
Marian allowed herself to breathe again – and the same stomach-turning stench assailed her nostrils. "Ugh – how can you say that? Even if it looks fine, it smells positively vile!"
He laughed. "It doesn't smell any worse than mutton normally does. Madam Librarian, I think your nose is playing tricks on you!"
Marian would have issued a retort, but she felt the bile rising to her throat and thought it would be best if she didn't attempt to speak, just now.
Harold's smile faded. "Darling, are you all right?"
She had to leave the room a second time.
XXX
A half hour later, when Marian judged herself sufficiently recovered, she forced herself to reenter the kitchen. Her mother and Winthrop would arrive in an hour and, if she didn't get going on dinner, they would have nothing to eat. It was Mrs. Paroo's birthday today, and Marian was planning to prepare her mother's favorite dish from the old country: Irish stew. She knew her mother would especially enjoy the mutton; in Iowa, sheep were not as plentiful as cattle and swine and, being ever frugal and practical, Mrs. Paroo usually substituted beef when she made this recipe. And after all the trouble Harold went to in order to acquire the mutton, Marian wasn't going to let the meat go to waste – no matter how queasy the prospect of being in the same room with it made her.
Fortunately, she was able to overcome her squeamishness on this third attempt. The odor still bothered her, but it was not as off-putting as it had been earlier. Even with her frequent escapes to the parlor for fresh air, Marian was able to get all the stew ingredients in a pot and boiling on the stove before company arrived.
Harold watched his wife's frantic comings and goings with an amused expression. "If I'd known you had so much trouble with mutton, I would've bought pork chops, instead."
"I don't have trouble with mutton!" Marian insisted. "I still think it's the particular piece of meat you bought – wherever you got it, don't go there again!"
"Yes, Ma'am," Harold said with a salute. He went back to his book, the traces of a smile playing around his lips.
XXX
"Marian! Is that Irish stew on the stove?" Mrs. Paroo asked excitedly, taking a deep breath when she entered the house. Winthrop's eyes lit up, as well – like his older sister, he had always relished the special occasions on which they ate mutton.
Marian smiled; her mother's joy made the steady undercurrent of nausea worth it. "Yes, Mama – I'm making it just like you taught me."
"How wonderful!" Mrs. Paroo declared happily. Then her expression turned businesslike and, as soon as Harold had helped her out of her coat, she marched into the kitchen. "Did you remember to boil the potatoes first? Otherwise they won't be soft enough – "
Normally, Marian would have put up a greater fuss at Mrs. Paroo's interference in her kitchen. But in this instance, she was more than happy to cede the cooking to her mother. Too busy trying to quell the urge to gag – which was rising again – Marian obeyed Mrs. Paroo's orders without complaint.
But Mrs. Paroo soon grew suspicious of her daughter's strangely docile manner, and surveyed Marian with a critical eye. "Are you all right, dear? You look like you're going to be sick!"
"Excuse me," Marian said, and quickly exited the kitchen.
XXX
Dinner was a nightmare – for Marian, at least. She had managed to endure the ever-increasing, pervasive aroma of Irish stew by opening several windows, but she had to close them before her mother and brother arrived – it was a cold, blustery mid-March day, and she couldn't ask her family to freeze for her sake. But now the air was thick with the odor of mutton, and it was all Marian could do to prevent succumbing to sickness.
Despite her discomfort, she was determined to persevere in her efforts to present a tranquil demeanor – especially since no one else seemed to be having an issue. On the contrary – Harold, Mrs. Paroo and Winthrop ate their stew with relish. Marian tried to take comfort in her loved ones' contented joy; she was not going to let a little queasiness ruin a pleasant family get-together.
But as always, Mrs. Paroo noticed something was amiss with her daughter. "Marian, you've hardly touched your dinner!"
To keep up appearances, Marian had dished herself a plate of stew, but she hadn't taken a single bite. "I'm not hungry, Mama," she said. "I had a large breakfast this morning."
Harold immediately shot her a look – he knew as well as she did that she had only taken one slice of toast and a single cup of tea all day. Marian met his gaze, wordlessly entreating him not to speak.
But even though he honored her wishes and said nothing, Mrs. Paroo witnessed this exchange. "Professor Hill – what's going on?"
"Marian had a bit of difficulty with the mutton earlier," Harold explained with the lighthearted laugh he always gave when he wanted to put people at ease. "I'm afraid it has spoiled her appetite."
"Difficulty?" Mrs. Paroo asked, mystified. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"
Marian decided she'd better join the conversation, before her silence made her mother even more suspicious than she already was. "It wasn't difficulty," the librarian replied, giving her husband a small frown. "The mutton didn't smell right to me, and I was worried it might have gone bad."
Expecting her mother to urge her to at least try the stew, Marian braced herself for an argument. But instead, Mrs. Paroo's eyes lit up and she smiled. Before Marian could ask her mother what on earth she was so ridiculously happy about, Mrs. Paroo's beaming expression disappeared. "Darling, you look exhausted," she said tenderly. "Why don't you go lie down, and I'll clear the dishes."
Marian had been feeling rather tired – but she brushed it off as the natural consequences of having a busy, exciting life. "Nonsense, Mama – it's your birthday, and you're our guest!" she protested, rising from her seat. But she must have stood up too quickly, for she suddenly felt dizzy.
Ever alert to his wife's well-being, Harold had risen from his seat and was there to catch her before she swooned. "Marian, why don't you let me help you to bed?" he suggested.
Marian didn't have the energy to argue, so she nodded her acquiescence. But before she retired, she turned to her mother and brother. "I'm sorry to be such horrible company," she said regretfully. "I haven't been feeling well today – I think I might be coming down with something."
"Not to worry, darling," Mrs. Paroo replied with an understanding smile. "You just rest while we take care of things. Winthrop, why don't you say goodnight to your sister?"
Rising from his seat, the boy came over and gave the librarian a hug. "I hope you feel better soon, sister," he said kindly.
Marian gave him a wistful smile – stoic as his manner was, she still couldn't help noticing the disappointment in his eyes. The time she was able to spend with Winthrop had markedly decreased since her marriage and, though her brother was thrilled to have gained Harold as a member of the family, she knew he felt her absence as keenly as she felt his. Marian would have knelt down to look Winthrop in the eye, but she was still feeling too lightheaded to do anything but lean on her husband's steady arm. "I'm so sorry our visit has to be cut short, Winthrop. To make it up to you, I'll take you to the Candy Kitchen for sundaes next week – just you and me."
Winthrop's expression brightened. "Really?"
"Really," she promised. After her brother gave her a final hug, Marian allowed Harold to lead her away.
Though the entire downstairs still smelled of that awful mutton, the air on the second floor was refreshingly unspoiled. Exhausted, Marian started to drift off as Harold helped her into her nightclothes. In the time between his tucking her into bed and giving her a goodnight kiss – at least, that's what Marian imagined was happening when she felt something soft and warm gently brush her forehead – she had fallen asleep. Perversely, she dreamed of strawberry phosphates.
