In October of 1912, as the weather turned cool and the trees burst into resplendent color, River City's newfound enthusiasm for music was stirring up once again, reaching levels of excitement as high as when Professor Harold Hill had first waltzed into town that July. After months of anticipation, the boys' band that had occupied the time and energy of so many of River City's sons in the past month would finally be putting on its first official performance.
Nobody was more excited than the band members themselves, who had thrown themselves enthusiastically into a more-rigorous rehearsal schedule, eager to show off their newfound talents. Harold had been pleasantly surprised by the work ethic of his pupils – though the boys could be capricious and rowdy, they were quite willing to redirect their boundless energy into productivity when the situation required. Perhaps the boys' band had saved River City from a fair bit of trouble after all!
It was unusual for any of the boys to miss rehearsal, and in the final week leading up to the concert, Harold had further stressed the importance of their attendance. While the situation looking very good at the moment, the music professor still harbored a little anxiety that things might somehow fall to pieces in the eleventh hour if he let his guard down.
On the Thursday before the Saturday concert, Harold found himself running late, up to his elbows in paperwork and sheet music. Finally, ten minutes past the time he was due to start rehearsal, he threw the entire mess down on his desk and walked briskly to the auditorium, unwilling to waste any more time on matters that could just as well wait until later. Besides, he was certain that the boys were growing restless already, and the last thing that he needed was for them to get into a foul mood before the rehearsal even began.
But when the door to the auditorium swung open, Harold stopped short in his tracks, and the boisterous greeting he had been prepared to call out never made it past his lips. The seats were nearly empty – only a few boys sat here and there, staring up at him with rather apologetic expressions.
"Where did everyone go? I'm sure I'm not that late, am I?" Harold did his best to hide his shock and remain cheerful, but it was difficult. As he walked down to where the boys were sitting, he managed to count nine band members – nine, out of the twenty-seven that the band had now grown to!
"My brother's not feeling well," little Timothy Brown piped up. "He was so sick he couldn't even go to school today."
Winthrop Paroo leaned forward and nodded. "Yeah, lots of kids are getting sick right now. My teacher says it's something going around."
"So... you mean to say that all of those boys are too sick to be here?" Harold repeated foolishly, unable to form a more insightful response.
"Well, not all of them," replied Freddy MacCall, tapping his finger thoughtfully on his tuba. "I heard Linus broke his wrist yesterday."
Sitting back wearily in his chair, Harold had to fight off the overwhelming urge to bury his head in his hands. "We can't conduct a rehearsal in this state, I suppose. But I don't know what we're going to do to make up for lost time – as it was, we were going to just barely have Battle Hymn of the Republic ready for Saturday."
"We could try to play through our songs like this," said Winthrop. "I guess it's better than nothing, right?"
Unwilling to give up on what precious rehearsal time he could get, Harold had to agree with Winthrop's suggestion. However, the productivity of the rehearsal went about as well as the professor had expected – though the band was much more in tune thanks to months of practice and Harold's painstaking efforts in music theory, the absence of entire sections of instruments and vital harmonies made their music sound just about as poor as it had when they had played for the first time in July. After a half an hour of discouraging and dissonant playing, Harold finally let the band members go, entreating them to practice as much as they could on their own – and to keep themselves healthy and their bones unbroken.
Left alone in the Emporium, Harold reluctantly considered returning to the paperwork in his office, but he felt too dispirited to commit himself to work at this time. If the boys weren't well enough to perform on Saturday... the music professor felt his blood run cold at the possibilities. If, after three months of supposedly legitimate work, all he could produce to show for it was a faltering, pathetic concert – or, worse, no concert at all – he could easily find his tenuous livelihood in River City completely ruined. The parents might have continued to trust him, but Mayor Shinn, who had seen him as a swindler long before Charlie Cowell ever blustered into town and who persisted in this conviction even after absolving Harold of all charges, would waste no time in declaring that the past months had been nothing more than an extension of the con and that the River City-ziens would be wise if they never gave the "spellbinding cymbal salesman" another red cent. Unable to do business in River City, Harold would have no option but to go elsewhere – and what was there for him anywhere else in the world?
From the very start, Harold had recognized this concert for the test it was, but Marian reassured him that as long as he put in the time, effort and work, he wouldn't have to worry. It had hardly even occurred to him that circumstances outside of his control could ruin everything, but now he was facing the prospect of losing his home, his business, and, worst of all, his Marian – and all thanks to the goddamn common cold!
Glancing at the clock, he decided that he would go visit the one person with whom he knew he could always share his troubles. He had a strong suspicion that his visit might not be entirely welcome – this was Marian's late night at the library, when she had no lessons to teach and could devote extra time to her duties there before heading home. Still, Harold could think of no other person that might have a solution to his dilemma, and no other person that he needed to talk to more, so he grabbed his hat, locked the doors, and began the short stroll down the block to Madison Public Library.
xxx
Snap!
Marian Paroo winced at the stinging pain of a rubber band breaking against her hand, punishing her for daring to stretch it too thin around a thick stack of index cards.
Stretched too thin, that's what she was, Marian considered as she discarded the now-useless scrap of rubber. Between piano lessons, library business, and helping Harold with his last minute preparations for the concert, Marian had barely had a free moment in the last week. The rather extensive new shipment of books that she had received, which might have filled her with excitement at any other time, now seemed to serve only as a monumental inconvenience.
It was to this overextension of herself that Marian credited the way she felt right now. Her head felt somehow heavy and foggy, sleep seemed to hang gloomily upon her the whole day through, and, most unpleasantly of all, there was a persistent, throbbing pain in her temples. She had considered simply going home several times since the library had closed to the public, but her rational side knew that she would only create a bigger problem for herself tomorrow if she didn't get these new books properly filed tonight.
Marian couldn't decide if she was relieved or annoyed when Harold strolled through the double doors at the front of the library far sooner than she had expected him – but as ever, she couldn't contain the little rush of excitement that always came from seeing him, although she was feeling far from romantic.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, genuinely confused as to why he would be at the library during rehearsal time.
Harold sat down on a bench near her desk and sighed in exasperation. "The whole band has managed to catch the same cold, it seems, and we didn't even have enough boys to rehearse tonight. Two days left and over half of them are bedridden." His expression grew more somber – he almost looked stricken. "What if we can't even have this concert after all? I won't just be disappointing some enthusiastic parents – I'll look like a charlatan, all over again. I hope I'm not bothering you, but I need your advice badly."
"No, you're not bothering me," Marian reassured him – though already she could feel her metaphorical rubber band stretching further and further. "I agree that the concert absolutely must happen at this point... but what can we do, Harold? I suppose we can only wait and hope that they feel better."
"I know, it's just –" Harold frowned and folded his arms. "I was so sure that we could do something, there has to be a way..."
Gazing resentfully at the stack of books beside her, Marian felt her patience eroding. What could he have possibly expected her to do? "I don't think there is," she said tersely. "And I don't have the time to waste discussing it, either."
"I thought you said that I wasn't bothering you." Harold raised his eyebrows at her, clearly put off by her chilly tone.
The librarian just barely contained herself from flinging a barbed response at him. But the only thing that could make her life more stressful at this moment would be being in a fight with Harold, and she could feel that she was coming dangerously close to starting one.
"I'm sorry," she responded, fighting to keep her tone even. "But can we please discuss this tomorrow? I have so much work to do now, and I can't just drop it all. I'll come and see you first thing in the morning – I promise." She gazed at him with a pleading expression, hoping that he would be understanding enough not to push her further.
Thankfully, the librarian's words did not seem to have offended Harold – in fact, he seemed rather apologetic. "I didn't mean to sound selfish – I knew I was interrupting you. Is it anything I can help you with?" Harold asked as he rose to peer at the volumes Marian was inspecting.
"No," Marian sighed and leaned her head on her hand. "I'm afraid that this responsibility lies entirely with me. And I'm certain I have a couple more hours of work ahead of me before I'll be finished, so it wouldn't be right to expect you to walk me home. I'm sure if you just go and relax for a while, you'll think of something that can solve the problem with the concert."
"I'll try. I can't bear to think what might happen if I don't," Harold answered. Leaning down, he gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. "But please, don't worry too much on my account. You don't seem too well, darling. Maybe you should save some of this work for tomorrow."
It was, of course, what Marian had been longing to do for hours, but she had already made her mind up not to yield to that temptation, and Harold's concern was not about to sway her from her duties.
"Really, I'm fine –" The librarian's stubborn assertion was undercut when her body was suddenly wracked by a rather undignified sneeze. Sniffling, she primly snapped the book in front of her shut and pushed it away. "It really does get so dusty in here. Perhaps I should have Zaneeta work on cleaning the shelves tomorrow." When she gazed up at Harold again, Marian saw that his expression was still skeptical, but she pulled another book from the stack as if she hadn't seen a thing.
When at last, Marian had convinced Harold that she'd never get the rest that he was so certain that she needed if he didn't leave her to her work, he left her alone in the silence of the library. Now, however, it was even harder for her to concentrate, as her mind was preoccupied with a whole new set of worries. Harold was counting on her to help him, as he always did, but this time, there was no solution that she could give him. The more her mind lingered on Harold's crisis, the slower she worked; and the later it got, the more groggy and fatigued Marian grew.
Two hours later, when she arrived home at last, the librarian didn't even bother to eat the dinner that she had missed. If she was hungry, she was too stressed and tired to think about it, and the task of eating – not to mention talking with her mother – seemed to exhausting to bear. Instead, Marian simply drank a glass of water and went straight to her room, just barely managing to get into her nightgown before collapsing into bed. In the moments before falling asleep, her mind drifted back to the ill-fated rubber band, stretched to the point of breaking, and Marian hoped desperately that she would not snap as well.