The Summer girl is not very expensive. Her wishes are few and cheap. A row on the river now and then, an occasional buggy ride, a plate of ice cream on a warm evening and an escort to a picnic about once in two weeks nearly sums up her wants. Being only a summer girl, she does not expect those presents and that devotion that belong to the regular every-day-in-the-week and twice-on-Sunday-all-the-year-round girl. The Summer girl is more like some luscious fruit that comes only for a time and is gone for the year, but it is peculiarly sweet while it lasts.
~ The Leavenworth [KS] Times 5 August 1883: p. 2, fourth body paragraph

XXX

Summer 1912

The first time Harold Hill told the truth, it wasn't to Marian Paroo. It was to her little brother – the sad, sullen, and fatherless boy who reminded him so much of himself as a kid. And not only did the conman speak honestly to Winthrop, he did it without razzle dazzle, equivocation, or attempted justification of his actions.

He couldn't lead a band. He was a big liar. He was a dirty rotten crook.

But the truth wasn't entirely horrible: there was always a band. And to his astonishment, even Marian believed this. After she explained so eloquently to the disillusioned boy about how the lights, the colors, the cymbals, and the flags came alive in the way they all walked around that summer – really, he couldn't have put it better! – Harold realized three fundamental truths at the exact same time: she was the only woman who'd ever seen him for what he truly was, she liked what she saw, and he would do anything to keep her in his life.

So he stayed. And the second time he told the truth, it was to Marian: he got his foot caught in the door, and he loved her.

As Harold held the woman he loved and waited for the irate mob to come collect him, his heart thumped wildly in his chest like a booming bass drum. And it wasn't just because he had Marian in his arms, though she was soft and warm and he ached for the romantic rendezvous he wasn't going to get to have with her tonight. His heart pounded because he'd never told the unvarnished truth to anyone once he became an out-and-out crook. Up until this moment, he'd dealt solely in verisimilitude, even with his right-hand man Marcellus Washburn.

Though Harold found himself at an alarming loss for words, the Scottish ballad In the Gloaming inexplicably came to mind. He both hated and loved that song, as it was bound with sweet nostalgia and bitter regret for him – it was a smash hit when he was a little boy, and his mother used to croon it to him in her dulcet voice whenever he couldn't sleep. After he grew up and realized that she was singing about his lost father, he deliberately banned the melody from his conscious thoughts. While it was all he could think of now, he refused to sing the lyrics aloud, though they ran inexorably through his mind as he hummed the tune softly in Marian's ear.

In the gloaming, oh my darling
When the lights are soft and low
And the quiet shadows, falling,
Softly come and softly go
When the trees are sobbing faintly
With a gentle unknown woe
Will you think of me and love me,
As you did once, long ago
In the gloaming, oh my darling
Think not bitterly of me
Though I passed away in silence
Left you lonely, set you free
For my heart was tossed with longing
What had been could never be
It was best to leave you thus, dear,
Best for you, and best for me
In the gloaming, oh my darling
When the lights are soft and low
Will you think of me, and love me
As you did once long ago

Somehow – he didn't quite know why – Harold surmised that Marian was familiar with this song, even though it came out before her time. And she certainly seemed to know it, as she let out a sorrowful gasp and held him even tighter once he started serenading her.

While Harold savored what were likely to be his last unscathed moments with the woman he loved, he reflected on just how much time, energy, and money he'd spent wooing both her and River City this past summer. He'd loitered in the streets around the library and Paroo home for countless hours whenever he wasn't drumming up business. He'd searched for roses and other trinkets that would make the librarian smile instead of boosting his social credibility at public assemblies. He'd bought a pricey pocketknife for Winthrop and took him on fishing trips. He'd kicked his heels up almost exclusively with Marian in the high school gymnasium and Madison Park pavilion. He'd played matchmaker for the town's youth with the genuine and kindly interest of a benevolent father-figure. Most damning of all – he'd paid for lavish ice creams and phosphates for Tommy, Zaneeta, and Marian that were left unfinished. Never had he invested so many of his own resources to win a woman and her town over. And he was about to pay an even higher price for Marian: his freedom.

As frightened as Harold Hill was about taking this great gamble, it would be well worth the expense if it paid off. Because he loved, liked, and wanted Marian Paroo. He'd never found a woman that evoked such potent longing in his body, heart, and soul. While he didn't know how in heaven's name he was going to get through his upcoming reckoning intact, he knew with absolute certainty that he'd never find a woman like her anywhere else. If he played his cards right, he'd get to hold her like this not just in the summer, but in the spring, fall, and winter, too. And so the would-be music professor stood with his arms steadfastly around the librarian, even as the angry shouts of the swindled townspeople drew ever closer.

XXX

Harold realizing "three fundamental truths at the exact same time" was a shout out to Satisfied, one of my favorite songs from the musical Hamilton.