Marian Paroo grimaced as she caught sight of the weather outside her window. The almanac had predicted fair weather for her wedding day, but the sky was overcast and – as evidenced by the way passerby were hunching beneath their coats and hats as they hurried to their destinations – it was drizzly and cold outside. But that was late November for you!
As Marian contemplated the weather, Mrs. Paroo entered the bedroom. "Oh, good – you're awake! And how's my bride-to-be this morning?" she asked with a sunny smile.
"Excited – and nervous," Marian confessed. She noticed her mother was carrying a tray laden with food. "Breakfast in bed, Mama? I'm getting married, not lying in my sickbed!"
Mrs. Paroo clucked her tongue. "I thought you might say that. But can't a mother spoil her daughter one last time – before she leaves home forever?" she said in a wistful voice.
"Of course, Mama," Marian replied earnestly. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. And I'll only be a few streets away – Harold and I will visit you and Winthrop as often as we can."
"Don't visit too often!" Mrs. Paroo said with a wink. "I would like to see a few grandchildren before I pass on, you know."
"Mama!" Marian let out a scandalized laugh. Her wedding day had barely dawned, and already her mother was nagging her about grandchildren! But she couldn't say she was surprised about this turn of events. Still, Marian deemed it wise to change the subject. "The chrysanthemums are lovely, Mama," she said, gesturing to the vase of flowers on the breakfast tray. "Are they from the garden?"
"Yes – the very last of the season," Mrs. Paroo sighed. "And speaking of flowers – if Professor Hill had proposed to you back when he should have, you could have had your pick for your bouquet! As it is, I'm afraid we'll have to make do with a few wilting sweet peas."
Marian was too happy to be drawn into an argument, especially about something as silly as the contents of her wedding bouquet. All she could think of was that in three hours, she was going to be Mrs. Harold Hill! "I'm sure it will be lovely," she said dreamily.
Mrs. Paroo chuckled as she headed to the door. "I've seen that look before! Go on and finish your breakfast, and then put on your dress. There are a few last-minute alterations I need to make."
XXX
As Mrs. Paroo carefully measured the gown's hems to ensure the length was even all the way around, Marian sneaked glances at her reflection. After all the difficulty she had navigating in the voluminous skirts and tight bodice of her Marie Antoinette gown, Marian had opted for a simple empire-waist wedding gown without much flow or trailing fabric. It was a much less stunning dress than the costume she wore to the Halloween masque, but she thought it suited her better. Or perhaps it was just the glow of happy anticipation in her expression that made everything seem more beautiful.
"Would you mind not fidgeting, dear?" Mrs. Paroo asked. "I can't get your train to line up straight."
Marian laughed – quite unconsciously, she had been striking little poses as she stood in front of the mirror. "Sorry, Mama. But as I said before, I don't know why you insisted on adding a train in the first place."
"Because I won't have my daughter looking like a bridesmaid at her own wedding!" Mrs. Paroo said firmly. "And I did include hooks, so it'll be bustled back for the party later."
"I know, Mama – I'm only teasing you," Marian relented. She gazed worriedly at her reflection. "I do hope that Harold won't be disappointed by my gown. I think I might have set the bar a little high, after Halloween's creation!"
"Nonsense," Mrs. Paroo said with a chuckle. "The last thing he'll be thinking about is how many flounces are in your skirt. Now hold still!"
Marian subsided and gazed out a nearby window. "It's a shame the weather wouldn't cooperate – I think it's going to rain."
Her mother smiled. "Rain on a wedding day is lucky."
"Did it rain on your wedding day?" Marian asked skeptically.
"No, it was sunny and gorgeous, without a cloud in the sky," Mrs. Paroo said nostalgically.
Before Marian could retort, there was a knock at the front door. She glanced at the parlor clock, and then at her mother. "Not Amaryllis, already? The wedding isn't for an hour and half! And you said her flower-girl dress was completed ages ago."
Mrs. Paroo looked just as mystified as her daughter. "Stay here," she said, and went to open the door.
Marcellus Washburn was standing on their front porch. Ethel Toffelmier was with him, a glowering expression on her face.
"Mr. Washburn, Miss Toffelmier!" exclaimed Mrs. Paroo.
"Sorry to bother you, Ma'am," Marcellus said ruefully. "It's just – Greg was supposed to meet me at the church a half hour ago, and he never showed. Have you seen him?"
"You mean, Professor Hill?" Mrs. Paroo asked, perplexed. "No, we haven't seen him."
Ethel tutted. "See, I told you! Of course he wouldn't be here – it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before their wedding!"
At this unsettling piece of news, Marian joined her mother at the threshold. "What are you saying, Mr. Washburn?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
Marcellus turned toward her. "Well, me and Gre – I mean, Professor Hill were supposed to meet at the church to go over some last-minute best man stuff," he said awkwardly. "When he didn't show, Ethel and I went out looking for him. We checked everywhere – his house, the Candy Kitchen, the library, even the freight depot!"
Marian gasped, and things went hazy for a moment. When she came to, she was in her mother's arms, and Marcellus and Ethel were looming over her with concerned expressions.
After giving a sigh of relief, Ethel whacked Marcellus on the arm. "What did you have to go and tell her that for?" She turned back to Marian. "There was no sign of Professor Hill at the freight depot, and the man in the ticket window said there was no one matching his description who purchased a train ticket or even entered the station – and he's been on his shift since six this morning!"
"Thank you, Miss Toffelmier," Marian said gratefully. But she reflected the situation must be serious, if Ethel Toffelmier was telling someone to keep his mouth shut! And Harold could have taken a train late last night… Marian shook her head. What was she doing, thinking such awful things?
"Harold probably just lost track of the time, Mr. Washburn," she said with a laugh. "He's done so before. Ask him to tell you about the time he missed our lunch date on the day of our three-month anniversary!"
Marcellus nodded, but he didn't look convinced. "We'll keep looking, then."
"And we'll let you know the moment we find him!" Ethel promised.
"Thank you," Marian said serenely, and closed the door. Then she stood frozen with her hand on the doorknob, too numb to think of what to do next.
"Darling?" Mrs. Paroo ventured after a few moments, putting a hand on her daughter's arm. "Are you all right?"
Marian forced herself to smile. "I'm fine, Mama. I think I just need some fresh air… yes, fresh air will do the trick." Before her mother could protest, Marian had opened the door and stepped onto the porch. But she didn't stop there – she kept going.
"Darling – what are you doing?" Mrs. Paroo asked worriedly.
"I'm going for a walk," Marian said in an even voice.
"But it looks like rain!" her mother protested.
"Rain on a wedding day is lucky!" Marian retorted, and set off at a brisk pace.
XXX
At first, Marian wasn't sure where she was going; she just let her feet take her where they would. Go home, you're being ridiculous, Harold probably just got sidetracked, her mind kept saying over and over. But her body wouldn't listen, and continued doggedly forward on its path.
And that was how Marian ended up at Harold's house. She couldn't say why she had decided to go there – Marcellus had said he wasn't home, after all – but some instinct told her that's where she needed to be. As she gazed up at the charming Victorian – complete with a tower – she remembered the day Harold revealed he had bought it. Marian had been thrilled; she had often admired the house when they passed it in their walks together.
But even though Harold had lived in the house for two months, she had only ever seen the inside of it once – Harold gave her, Mama and Winthrop the grand tour back in September. And it was still unfurnished then, so Marian had no idea what the rooms looked like now. In the few occasions she had hinted her family would like another tour, Harold had demurred with promises that he would invite them all for dinner when everything was ready. But here it was, their wedding day, and Marian still hadn't been to the house for a second visit.
Of course, it wouldn't have been proper for her to just stop by – like she was doing now. Marian hovered outside the front gate, uncertain. But she couldn't just stay on the sidewalk. What if someone should walk by and see her?
Boldly, Marian walked up to the door and knocked on it. There was no answer, nor any sound of movement from within. As the seconds stretched to minutes, she tried sneaking a clandestine peek in the nearby windows – only to find they were all covered with thick, opaque curtains. Marian gave a frustrated laugh; Harold certainly guarded his privacy!
She tried knocking again, but there was still no answer. Apparently, Harold wasn't home. Or perhaps he was hiding. Marian sighed. She couldn't stand on his front porch forever. But she couldn't bring herself to leave, either. And why should she? After all, this was soon to be her house, too! Seeing only one way out of this impasse, Marian extended a trembling hand and tried the doorknob.
To her surprise, the front door was unlocked. After casting a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, Marian slipped into the house and closed the door behind her.
XXX
The first thing Marian noticed was how bare Harold's front parlor was, at least compared to her mother's. Whereas the Paroo parlor was overflowing with furniture and doilies and knickknacks and pictures, Harold's was sparsely furnished. A look at the kitchen and dining room revealed the same economy of decoration. Marian supposed this made sense – a former traveling salesman who was used to living light would not be likely to crowd his home with frills and furbelows. But while she also liked simplicity in her surroundings, the place was a bit empty for her tastes. As she continued her circuit of the downstairs, Marian started to envision little additions and improvements.
A loud creak from above brought Marian out of her reverie. She froze and shot an anxious look at the staircase – was Harold home, after all? What would he say if he came down and saw her?
But no one descended the stairs, and a few minutes of careful listening revealed only silence. Concluding the noise was just the house settling, Marian went back to her impromptu tour. She still hadn't seen the downstairs tower room (she wasn't brazen enough to go upstairs), and she thought she would take a quick peek before she left.
As Marian passed through the front hall, she was arrested by the sight of herself in the full-length mirror by the door. Tousled hair, anxious eyes, damp wedding dress and wrinkled train – she looked positively insane! Suddenly, Marian had a vision of herself as Miss Havisham, wandering a desolate house in perpetual mourning for her long-lost bridegroom.
"And will you be stopping all the clocks, next?" she sardonically asked her reflection. "Recall, if you will, Marian Paroo, everything that Harold Hill has done for you! He risked being tarred and feathered, he worked for months to plan the most elaborate and romantic proposal ever, he gave up his fraudulent traveling-salesman life to settle down and establish a legitimate business, he told you all about his past history – he even offered to tell you his birth name! And here you are, skulking around his house like a spy because your husband-to-be was late for his appointment with Mr. Washburn!"
But what if even after all that, he still got cold feet and decided to flee while he had the chance? asked that nagging little voice. Marian sighed and turned away from the mirror. Doubt and uncertainty were as insidious as a hydra's heads: Two grew back for every one that was destroyed.
Marian had to leave this house – she should never have come here in the first place. But before she could take even a single step toward the front door, it opened. A man wearing a dapper suit and bowtie walked in: Harold Hill was home.
