Marian Paroo Hill had been married for seven months when she got her first glimpse of her husband's seldom-seen vulnerable side. It was August, and the weather was sweltering. River City had experienced record temperatures, and the librarian was secretly praying for fall to arrive.
After closing the library for lunch, Marian decided to visit her husband at the Music Emporium rather than return home. She knew her husband had planned on eating in his office that day in light of the "End of Summer" concert that was planned for early September. As she walked down Main Street, she noted very few people outside and was not surprised at the lack of pedestrians. Anyone with an iota of common sense would do well to stay indoors on a day such as this. Passing the Candy Kitchen, she was amused to see the popular shop straining to capacity as every available seat was filled with the familiar faces of friends and neighbors. Perhaps she could persuade Harold to join her for a strawberry phosphate before she had to return the library later that afternoon.
The Music Emporium, situated a few doors down from the Candy Kitchen, came into sight, and Marian laughed when she saw the large glass door, surrounded by a white frame, propped open. She imagined Harold was probably melting inside on a day like today. With a smile, she breezed through the doors and greeted Tommy Djilas, who was diligently stocking various reeds behind the wooden countertop.
"Good afternoon, Tommy," she called out cheerfully, causing the startled teen to drop the box of reeds he was holding. Fortunately, he managed to catch them before they spilled to the ground. When he turned, his face still bore the traces of surprise. Marian, blushing in embarrassment, walked toward him and graced him with a rueful smile. "Oh, Tommy! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
Harold's right-hand man grinned and shook his head. "No harm done, Mrs. Hill. I shouldn't have been lost in my own thoughts," he explained. "The Professor says it's my only flaw when it comes to being a salesman. He said I have to keep my mind in the game if I want to close the sale." He shrugged. "I just can't help it sometimes, though. On a day like today, I can't think straight. Too hot!"
"It is a scorcher," Marian agreed with a laugh. "And, pay no mind to Harold. He can have a one-track mind when it comes to sales, at times." She looked around. "Speaking of, where is my husband?"
Tommy pointed to the back of the store where Harold kept an office. "He went back there about an hour ago. Something about catching his breath and doing some paperwork."
Marian's brows knitted together in concern. "Catching his breath? Was he unwell?"
"I don't think so," Tommy replied. He scrunched his eyes in thought and then added, "But, he did mention something about a headache."
Concerned, Marian thanked the young man and made her way to her husband's office. When she received no reply to her soft knock, she gently turned the door knob and stepped inside to see her husband sitting at his desk, papers scattered about, tie undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had one elbow propped on the desktop and was pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Usually, Marian would have found the sight of her disheveled husband quite alluring, and true to form, her heart sped up a few beats as she drew closer and saw the dark hair peeking from beneath the open collar of his shirt. But all thoughts of desire vanished when she witnessed a pained look flash across Harold's features.
"Darling," she gently called, not wanting to startle him as she had Tommy.
Harold looked up at his wife's voice. "Marian," he said in surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going home for lunch." He gave her a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I was," she acknowledged. "But then, I decided that it'd be nicer to join you." She moved to stand beside him and placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. "Harold, you don't look well. What's wrong?"
"Just a slight headache, love. Nothing serious." He reached up and patted her hand. "I'm fine."
Unconvinced, Marian turned him toward her and softly pressed her lips against his forehead. Even though his head throbbed far worse than he would admit to Marian, Harold couldn't help but smile at his wife's tender gesture. There hadn't been anyone concerned on his behalf for years, and he found that he liked the novel sensation. He couldn't contain the lopsided smile that spread across his face.
"That's the nicest way I've ever had anyone take my temperature," he murmured and slipped a hand around his wife's waist. "If I tell you that I hurt here, will you administer the same treatment?" He pointed at his lips and waited.
Marian pulled from him, shaking her head in disbelief. "Honestly, Harold. You're running a mild fever, suffering from a headache worse than you're letting on, and don't tell me you're not," she scolded, effectively halting his argument before he could even begin his protest, "because I can see it in your eyes. All of that, yet you still have the presence of mind to flirt with me?" Marian, however, was far from amused as she said this. Placing a hand under Harold's arm, she motioned for him to stand up.
Harold looked at her in confusion. "Marian, what are you doing?"
"Escorting you home."
"What?"
Marian sighed in exasperation. "I'm taking you home, Harold. You're running a fever. You need to rest."
"It's just a headache," he protested and rose from the chair. But even as he said this, he could feel the room sway under his feet. Grabbing the edge of his desk, he steadied himself and turned to his wife. The satisfied smirk she suddenly wore was quite annoying.
"All right," he grumbled. "I concede defeat. You win. Take me home."
Marian's expression softened and she linked her arm through his. "I'm merely looking out for your welfare, darling."
Harold nodded and allowed his wife to escort him out of his office and off toward their home.
XXX
By the time Harold and Marian reached their home on West Oak Street, Harold was struggling to maintain a calm façade. The pounding in his head had been steadily increasing as they made their way down Main Street, and the heat hadn't helped. Etiquette required his coat remain on as they ambled through the main thoroughfare, but Marian insisted he remove it as soon as they turned down the lane leading to their small neighborhood. Beads of sweat began to trickle down the sides of Harold's face, and he winced as the salty moisture trailed into his eyes. Wiping his brow with his sleeve, he exhaled in relief as the white gate to their front yard came into view. Marian freed the latch and pushed the gate open, watching with growing concern as Harold slowly trudged through. When they reached their porch, Marian scurried inside and escorted Harold to the couch in the parlor, tenderly seating him with the admonition to stay still until she returned.
Bustling upstairs, she quickly removed her hat and laid it on a chair, not bothering to return it to its proper place in their closet. She plucked a pillow and blanket from the bed and then hurried into the washroom to retrieve a washcloth. When she returned downstairs, Marian found her husband stretched along the couch, his hands covering his eyes. He hadn't even bothered to remove his shoes.
Her heart twisted at seeing him in such a state. In the seven months they had been married, Harold had never been ill. Although, he'd battled a slight cough in early February, it hadn't been anything more than a minor annoyance; however, she could see this was rapidly taking the fight out of him.
Moving closer, she leaned down and began to unlace his shoes. He lifted his head when he felt the cool air brush across his feet and saw his wife gently removing his shoes and socks.
"Marian," he protested feebly. "You don't have to –"
"Hush, Harold," she murmured. "You're in no condition to argue." Leaning forward, she peered into his eyes and asked, "Are you able to sit for a moment?"
Harold nodded and slowly moved forward. The effort exhausted him, and he cradled his head in his hands. Marian clucked sympathetically and placed a soft hand on his arm.
"I'm so sorry, darling," she apologized. "But, I need to get you of that shirt. It's soaked. I can't help but think you'll be much comfortable without it." Her fingers made quick work of the buttons and in a few seconds, she was sliding the offending material off his shoulders and down his arms.
Harold sighed in relief as a breeze floated through the window and danced over his slick skin. "Much better," he agreed, falling back on the couch. His eyes closed again, and he sighed heavily. Marian retrieved the pillow she had brought from upstairs and situated it behind his head.
Satisfied that her husband was comfortable, she retreated to the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying a chair in one hand and the washcloth she had doused in cold water in another. After situating herself next to Harold, she brought the wet cloth to his face and gently bathed his skin, hoping to provide a little relief from the stifling heat. As she watched her husband drift into a fitful slumber, she couldn't help but gaze at his tanned skin. He really was beautiful. A few months ago, she wouldn't have been able to admit that, but now, she felt no embarrassment or shame in confessing the desire she felt every time her husband was near. Because of this, it pained her to see him in such discomfort.
As she watched, Harold winced in his sleep and pursed his lips in pain. Marian laid the cloth aside and brought a tender hand to his brow, gently stroking it. She was pleased to note that her compassionate touch seemed to do the trick. Harold settled back into slumber and his furrowed brow slowly relaxed into smooth lines.
Marian looked at the clock. 2 p.m. She should have already reopened the library by now, but leaving Harold by himself wasn't an option she'd even consider. Quickly coming to the only conclusion available to her, Marian went to the hallway and picked up the telephone. She'd ask Zaneeta to post a sign on the library door. She imagined the town would be abuzz: For the first time during her tenure as River City's librarian, Marian Paroo Hill was closing the library doors during the middle of the week.
XXX
When Harold woke complaining of a sore throat later that evening, Marian decided that it was time to summon Dr. Pyne, but her husband shook his head at the thought and raised a dismissive hand as best he could given his condition.
"I don't need a Doctor, Marian," he protested in a croaking voice. "Let me sleep. I'll be fine."
Marian viewed him with skeptical eyes, but decided to humor her husband for now, although she privately told herself that if he wasn't better by the next morning, she would call the good doctor regardless of Harold's wishes.
"Let's get you upstairs to bed then, darling," Marian suggested, placing a hand on his arm.
"No," Harold told her. His brow furrowed as another thread of pain danced between his temples. "I'll stay down here."
Marian frowned. "You'll do no such thing, Harold Hill! A good night's rest in a comfortable bed will do you wonders."
But Harold was adamant. "I don't want you catching whatever this is, Marian," he protested in a tired voice. "I'm staying on the couch. You sleep in the bed."
Marian rolled her eyes at her husband's chivalrous demand, but acquiesced, realizing it would do no good to argue with him. Although Harold was usually quite affable, she had learned that when he made his mind up about something, there was seldom anyone could do to persuade him to change it.
XXX
During the next day, Harold tossed and turned, sometimes waking with a tumultuous stomach and a mumbled request for a glass of cool water before falling back into a fitful slumber; other times, he would succumb to shivering, gathering a blanket tightly around him.
At one point, he woke to find Marian sitting quietly next to him, one hand holding a book while the other rested on his bare shoulder. He looked over and gave her a weak smile. "Shouldn't you be at the library?"
Marian marked her place and laid the book aside. "I closed the library for a few days," she quietly informed him and reached for the washcloth she kept nearby.
Harold stared at her, incredulous. "You closed the library," he managed to say after finding his voice.
"The books will keep, Harold," Marian softly responded. Her steady gaze took Harold by surprise, and he was silent, unsure of how to respond to her frank statement. In the 13 months he had known Marian, she had never closed the library for any reason other than inclement weather, and even that had taken a bit of heated discussion on his end to finally convince her to do so. Watching her now, he saw the concern mingled with tenacity reflected in her eyes and was once again reminded of both her love and Iowa stubbornness. As he drifted back to sleep, the thought of how much he loved his dear wife accompanied him.
XXX
Contrary to her husband's wishes, Marian did summon Dr. Pyne. It was Wednesday, and by that time, Harold was too exhausted to protest. As he lay there, burrowed under the thin sheet that Marian had placed over him, the doctor examined him, peering into his eyes and throat and taking his pulse. As Marian hovered close by, watching the proceedings with worried eyes, Dr. Pyne peppered her with various questions, nodding as she answered him. She almost thought it was as if expected the answers she was giving him. Her suspicions were confirmed when he turned to her and gave her a gentle smile.
"Your husband is going to be just fine, Mrs. Hill."
Marian's shoulders sagged in visible relief, and a smile lit her eyes. "That's wonderful, Dr. Pyne. I felt so helpless sitting here unable to do anything," she confessed.
The older man smiled and patted her hand affectionately. He had always liked the young woman and had felt sadness for her when she failed to blend into River City's community when her family had arrived several years ago. He had been especially pleased when it became apparent that the gregarious music professor had decided to pursue the librarian and even more so when he heard news of their engagement. "You've done plenty for him, my dear. I'm sure your presence has been extremely soothing."
Marian glowed at his sincere praise and blushed. "Thank you, Dr. Pyne. That's very kind." She glanced at her husband and frowned when his forehead furrowed in pain. "But, what's wrong with Harold?"
Dr. Pyne reached into his bag and retrieved a small packet. "If I'm not mistaken, I'd say your husband is suffering from a severe form of headache known as a migraine."
"A headache?" Marian sounded incredulous.
"A severe form of headache," he corrected her. "The migraine can cause fevers, chills, sensitivity to light and sound." He nodded at Harold's hidden form. "That's not an uncommon reaction."
Marian shook her head. "I've never even heard of it."
"It's a fairly new research," Dr. Pyne admitted. "I wouldn't have even known of it if a colleague from medical school hadn't mailed me the journal detailing Edward Flatau's findings."
"But how would that account for his sore throat?" Marian asked, puzzled.
"It wouldn't," replied. "But, a touch of summer allergies would. I suspect your husband has fallen prey to a mild hay fever." He handed her the brown packet. "Stir this in a glass of water and administer it to him this evening. I'd imagine his symptoms will disappear by the morning. These usually don't last longer than two or three days at their worst."
Marian took the packet. "Should I move him to the bed?" she questioned. "Harold insisted on staying down here so as not to make me sick, but if he's not contagious …"
Dr. Pyne smiled and picked up his bag. "As long as he's comfortable here, I wouldn't worry about moving him. He'll be up and about in a day or so. And now, if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Hill, I have to go visit Mrs. Simmons about a willow in young Everett's ear canal."
"Oh my goodness," Marian laughed.
She escorted the older man to the door and thanked him once more before seeing him out. When she returned to the parlor, she was pleased to find Harold sleeping more peacefully than he had during the past few days. Gazing affectionately at her husband, she ran a gentle hand along his brow. "You poor dear," she whispered and leaned down to place a tender kiss against his dry lips. Harold stirred beneath her before settling back into his pillow.
Marian regretted that she'd have to wake him up later to administer his medicine, but after that, she'd let him sleep. As she made her way to the kitchen, she decided to make a simple potato soup for the evening's meal. Harold would most likely only eat a small amount, and the idea of cooking anything more seemed unnecessary. In a few moments, the sounds of boiling water and the soft scratch of a knife coming to rest against a cutting board filled the house.
XXX
When Harold woke Thursday morning, he was momentarily unsure of where he was. The wallpaper that greeted him wasn't the pattern that adorned the walls of his and Marian's bedroom. After taking a moment to gather his bearings, he realized he was on their couch in the parlor.
Except for the occasional chirp of a cricket from outside the window, the house was quiet. He wasn't sure what time it was, but judging from the lingering twilight, he'd hazard a guess to say it was close to six in the morning. As he swung his feet over the edge of the couch, he was relieved to feel no trace of the headache or upset stomach that had plagued for the last few days. To be certain, he was tired and imagined he probably looked something awful. Sniffing lightly, he realized he didn't smell so good, either. But, he could handle tired, and the other was nothing that a good bath couldn't fix. Right now, more than anything, he wanted a glass of water.
As he lightly padded into the kitchen, he noticed several cards propped on the counter. When he leaned closer, he saw that they all had his name on them and were decorated with various band instruments, musical notes and one even showed two lumpy figures sitting near a pond holding what Harold assumed to be fishing poles.
Grinning, he reached down and picked one up, opening it to reveal a message from Davey – sweet, couldn't-form-an-embouchure-if-it-hit-him-the-head Davey – wishing him a speedy recovery. As he read each card, Harold was touched. His students obviously held him in high esteem. He studied the last card – the one with the lumpy fisherman – and then opened it. Written in a childish hand, the neatly blocked letters simply read: "Brother, I am sorry your head hurts. Sister said you were sick and can't fish. Get better soon. I want to fish. Love, Winthrop."
Harold felt a lump form in his throat, and he had to blink several times to alleviate the moisture that had settled in his eyes. A little more than a year ago, he had arrived in this sleepy little town intent on fleecing its denizens and heading down the line, oblivious to the heartache he would leave behind. Yet now, these same people, these young men who he had come to know and develop affection for, had equally come to care for him. Their music professor. Harold was amazed to realize the affection that he had developed for River City and its people. They were now his friends, his students, his neighbors … his family.
Remembering the gentle hand that had soothed his brow during his brief moments of lucidity over the last three days, he was suddenly struck with the need to find Marian. As he glanced at his reflection in the window, he decided a visit to the washroom was in order first before seeking out his wife.
XXX
A hot bath could do wonders for a man, Harold reflected as he stole in his bedroom and crept to where his wife lay sleeping. Harold gazed at his Marian with infinite tenderness. She had fallen asleep on his side of their bed, one arm tucked under a pillow. She had something in her hand, and Harold felt his heart tighten when he realized she was loosely clutching one of his nightshirts.
Brushing a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, he knelt down beside her and gently pulled away the cotton sheet that covered her. She had chosen to wear her thinnest gown, no doubt in an effort to escape the intolerable heat that had blanketed River City. He could see the faintest outline of her body beneath the sheer fabric, and his heart began to race as he was once again reminded of his wife's loveliness. Unable to help himself, he slipped a hand under her gown and tenderly stroked her thigh, gradually moving upward until he reached her flat stomach, fingers gently caressing her. Harold's face split into a wide smile when Marian moved beneath him and sighed in her sleep. He chuckled, delighted to see her respond to his touch even as she slept. Leaning closer, he brought his lips to her ear and softly breathed, "Darling …" The smile grew larger when Marian shifted closer to him and sleepily murmured, "Yes, love?"
Wanting nothing more than to feel his wife nestled against him, Harold quietly climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around her. Marian stirred and gradually opened her eyes. When she realized her husband was lying entwined with her, she flinched and drew back, startled at his unexpected presence.
"Harold! What are you doing here?"
"This is my bed. You're my wife. Where else would I be?" he teased, tightening his embrace and pulling her closer.
"That's not what I meant," Marian protested, but Harold silenced her with a tender kiss.
"I know what you meant, darling," he assured her when he pulled away and smiled. He watched with delight as she blushed and then buried her face into the crook of his neck.
Marian, thrilled to feel her husband's arms around her again, inhaled deeply and was greeted with the heady scent of sandalwood and spice. She brought a hand up and sunk her fingers into his thick hair.
"Your hair is damp," she murmured against his skin.
"Yes, it is," Harold laughed. "I thought my wife might not appreciate a disheveled husband, so I visited the washroom before coming to see you."
"How thoughtful," she whispered. Running a palm across his smooth face, she raised her eyes to his. "And you shaved."
His grin faded at the sensuous tone in his wife's voice. "I believe you once remarked on how much you liked that."
Marian nodded. "I believe I did."
Harold's eyes darkened. "Marian?"
"Yes?"
"Were you planning on keeping the library closed today?"
"I was," she acknowledged.
Harold brought his lips closer to hers and trailed his fingers along her thigh. "All day?"
Her eyes never left his. "All day."
A seductive smile stole across Harold's features. "Well in that case, I think I need to spend a large part of our day thanking you for taking such good care of me."
Marian couldn't contain the blush that stained her cheeks at her husband's suggestive words. "Honestly Harold," she scolded. But when his lips met hers, she didn't shy away, and when his hands slowly traveled along her body to remove her thin dressing gown, she didn't resist.