Sweet love, sweet love
Trapped in your love
I've opened up, unsure I can trust
My heart and I were buried in dust
Free me, free us

So much, so young, I've faced on my own
Walls I built up became my home
I'm strong and I'm sure there's a fire in us
Sweet love, so pure

Suddenly the moment's here
I embrace my fears
All that I have been carrying all these years
Do I risk it all, come this far just to fall, fall?

~Bound to You, Burlesque (Christina Aguilera)

XXX

"Now that Miss Peabody is entertaining a serious suitor, it might be a lot easier than you imagine for us to achieve such a rendezvous," Harold said with a grin, shamelessly egging his wife further along in such tantalizing contemplations. "We could convince Mr. Hearst to take her on a long stroll or a seven-course picnic. Do you know, I saw them kissing in the drama aisle last week? And in the middle of the day, too! I think they were taking advantage of the fact that most of the library's patrons had gone home for lunch."

Marian laughed. "Yes, I've witnessed Jane and Mr. Hearst canoodling in the stacks, myself. They aren't usually so careless in their displays of affection – I think things are getting quite serious between them!" She sighed wistfully, and her smile faded. "When they finally do marry, she might just decide to leave the library after all – especially if any children come along. As much as I enjoy seeing Jane so happy, there is part of me that's grateful she's been taking things so slowly."

"Although Mr. Hearst is a widower, he doesn't seem to be in any particular rush to tie the knot," Harold said soothingly. "And he never had any children with his first wife, so who knows if that's even a possibility for them."

~Marianne Greenleaf, Some Rain Must Fall

XXX

April 23, 1926

Jane wasn't worried. Really, she wasn't.

It was just that, after nearly a whole year of courtship, Jim seemed no closer to proposing to her than he'd been that first wonderful night they'd come to a new understanding on the footbridge. Certainly, he'd more than reassured her of his love and devotion through both words and caresses since then, and they had grown very close indeed over the past year. At first, Jane had been entirely content to let Jim to set the pace of their courtship. But as their conversations gradually grew less scholarly and more provocative, and their caresses deepened, she was starting to feel the most exasperating sense of impatience. Where his long and ardent goodnight kisses used to soothe and satiate her – for a little while, anyway – they now maddened and inflamed her, the ghost of his gentle but eager mouth lingering on her lips and throat and neck and teasing her like an itch she couldn't scratch.

So, Jane was definitely not worried. But vexed and perplexed? Almost certainly. When was he going to propose?

As bold and comfortable as the assistant librarian had become with her speech in the history teacher's company, not even she had the gumption to broach such a dicey conversation. Nor would she do him the disservice of suspecting he was a cad who was content to string her along and keep her at arm's length indefinitely. From the beginning, Jim had outright stated he planned to marry her should their courtship prove successful and, from the way he talked to her, looked at her, and held her in his arms, she had absolutely no doubts that things were going just swimmingly between them. But it would have been nice to have at least a general idea of the timetable he was following.

XXX

As April turned to May, with not even the vaguest hint of a forthcoming proposal on the horizon, Jane had to do something. Since she couldn't bring herself to talk to Jim, her dearest friend and confidante was the next logical choice. One afternoon, when she was visiting Miss Marian while Professor Hill and the girls were out of the house – leaving the two librarians to coo over little Robert, who was now toddling about and babbling almost coherently – Jane started in on the conversation without preamble:

"How does a woman confess to a man just how much she wants him to marry her, without frightening him off?"

Jane hadn't meant to be so frank and forthright, but Miss Marian smiled understandingly. Clearly, confessions of the heart were an arena with which she'd had a fair amount of experience. "She simply opens her mouth and tells him when the time is right."

This seemed far too simple – and dangerous. "And if he tells her he doesn't want to marry her anymore?"

"Then she cries a little, and goes on with her life," Miss Marian said prosaically. "I was fully prepared to weather this possibility with Harold even after he'd settled in River City. But I wouldn't have regretted the love I felt, nor would I have regretted opening my heart to the man I loved. Because even if we couldn't have been together in the end, my life was much richer for having loved him." She reached out and squeezed the assistant librarian's trembling hand. "Dearest Jane," she said warmly and with conviction, "I don't think you're in the slightest danger of Jim not wanting to marry you."

"Then why hasn't he even hinted at proposing?" Jane asked, trying not to sound as sullen as she felt.

Miss Marian smiled knowingly. "Perhaps he's waiting for the woman he loves to give him a 'ladylike hint' that she would be receptive to such life-changing overtures."

Jane considered this viewpoint, and realized that Miss Marian may well be right. Jim knew better than anyone else the walls she had built around her heart, and had both gently and patiently waited for her to dismantle them enough to let him see who she truly was. A year ago, he'd hesitated to ask her for a mere date prematurely, lest he push her away. He certainly wouldn't rush something as life-changing as a proposal of marriage. In all likelihood, he was waiting for a hint from her.

However, that brought Jane back to her original dilemma – just how should she give him such a sign? Miss Marian said it was easy as opening her mouth and letting the words come out when the time was right, but she was, and always would be, far too blunt about such delicate matters. She would never have the poise, tact, or discretion of her dear friend, who was the consummate "lady from the ground up."

But perhaps she was overthinking this. Perhaps it was indeed as easy as Miss Marian said. In any case, Jim had staunchly averred on more than one occasion that he loved her for her bluntness, rather than in spite of it. Now she would test this love, and have her proof of it.

Or not.

XXX

When Harold and the children returned from their outing, Jane joined the family for dinner, but she did not speak much. When the assistant librarian finally departed after the children were put to bed, Marian was standing on the front porch and watching her dear, befuddled sister-friend with an indulgent smile when she felt a pair of arms surround her waist and a kiss drop onto the nape of her neck.

"Poor, pining Miss Peabody again?" Harold guessed.

When the librarian nodded, the music professor let out a low whistle. "Jim Hearst is a master of the long game. I've never met any man with so much patience, for being so passionately in love." His hands tightened around her hips and he turned her to look at him.

"Yes," Marian agreed with rueful amusement, "and it's driving poor Jane to distraction!"

Harold chuckled as he pulled her into privacy of the house. "She might just end up throwing herself at him if he doesn't make his move soon."

"That very well may be," Marian mused.

He grinned. "The way you threw yourself at me on the footbridge."

She gasped with far more offense than she actually felt. "You call a heartfelt declaration of love qualified by no expectation of reciprocation throwing myself at you? If you recall, Mister Hill, you really had to turn on the charm to convince me to even meet you there in the first place! And what would you call your loud declarations in the library in front of everyone?"

His grin turned rueful. "Touché, Madam Librarian… though I would call those declarations 'bringing you out of your shell and providing manifold opportunities to admit your feelings,' which I long suspected were there."

"Well, aren't you the confident one!" Marian laughed. "I despised you at first, despite that pesky physical attraction I nursed." Antagonize her, would he? Two could play that game. She pressed her hips against his.

Harold groaned and leaned into her, turning her triumphant beam into a moan that echoed his. "I know," he admitted, gazing at her with earnest eyes. "You surprised me that night. I knew you liked me, but I never guessed you'd seen so completely through my charm, and loved me anyway. Would you have told me, if I hadn't been so persistent?"

"I don't know," she admitted in a soft voice. "But I'm very glad things happened exactly the way they did."

"Tell me now, Marian," he said in a low voice that was not velvety, but entreating. He kissed the lobe of her ear and traced his lips down along the line of her jaw. "Tell me over and over again… "

Marian wrapped her arms even tighter around him. "I love you, Harold Gregory Hill. Always and forever."

Then Harold's eager mouth found hers, and nothing more was said for quite awhile.

XXX

A few afternoons later, Jane and Jim sat together at a small table in the corner of the library. Their conversation was as scholarly as ever, but as the day was summer-warm and they were completely alone in the library, the assistant librarian found herself in a rather mischievous mood. Her knee kept "accidentally" brushing the history teacher's, until he just as "accidentally" dropped his pencil. When he bent down to pick it up, Jane felt a sly caress brush the top of her knee. She giggled as he emerged with a twinkle in his eyes. As their conversation resumed, she continued to bump him gently at various intervals, until his hand caught her wandering knee and stilled it. Their eyes locked, and she gave him a provocative smirk.

Jim got that deliciously determined look he always did when she issued a challenge, and his fingers moved beneath the hem of her skirt to stroke the top of her stockinged knee – and then snaked their way to the back of it. Jane let out a small gasp, and his eyes blazed with affectionate triumph.

Once again, they resumed their conversation, Jane doing her best to concentrate on the subject at hand as Jim's clever fingers continued to stroke the back of her knee in tingling, feather-soft touches that made it quite difficult to maintain an even breathing pattern. For a little while, she thoroughly enjoyed the tender ministrations she had encouraged until, unbidden and unwelcome, she imagined her aunt and uncle looking down on her from heaven. No doubt they highly disapproved of her romantic shenanigans, particularly with William and even perhaps with Jim, but that didn't bother her, not really. She had made her peace with their eternal disapproval long before they passed away. But her parents…

"What's the matter, dearest?" Jim asked softly, stilling his hand.

Jane hadn't realized it, but she had stiffened beneath his touch. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gave him a shaky smile. "I never knew anything of my parents, except how my aunt and uncle described them to me. And being very loath to speak of the dead, especially after such a terrible tragedy, they told me very little. According to them, my parents were paragons of virtue. My father was a gentleman of decency and integrity, and my mother was the consummate lady, gracious and kind to everyone." She swallowed again, and wiped away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. "I've spent my whole life trying to live up to their memory, and I can't help wondering if perhaps my mother and father are sitting on that cloud, along with my aunt and uncle, and frowning down at me every time I have an unladylike thought, or express an unconventional opinion, or do something they wouldn't have agreed with… "

Jim gave her knee a sympathetic squeeze as he regarded her with a smile that had now turned sad. "I do hope heaven is a lot more enlightened than you have unfortunately been led to believe."

Jane let out a laugh that was more of a sob. "And if it isn't?"

He pulled her into a fierce hug. "If anyone ever tried to disgrace you, living or dead, I'd stand right beside you. I'm no Reverend Dimmesdale, letting Hester bear all the dishonor for love while hiding behind a black veil of cowardice."

Indeed, he had already proven his integrity in this matter. A few weeks ago, when one of those silly, giggling girls had stumbled upon the two of them together in the stacks, standing a wee bit closer than propriety allowed, and hand in hand to boot, Jim had immediately moved in front of Jane, who was blushing too severely to be of any use, and demanded the girl to explain her business with a low but authoritative tone that wiped the scandalized grin right off her face. In response, she stammered an apology and left with flushed cheeks and a tremble in her step. While this solved the issue for a brief interval, the callow youth had not been cowed into silence permanently, and there had been a minor firestorm of gossip after word of their interlude got out. Jim had held his head high and refused to be baited by the scandal-greedy doyennes who clucked about the history teacher and assistant librarian's shocking lack of modesty. After all, they'd been through this before.

But instead of retreating to the safety and the boredom of handclasps and smiles, Jim continued to offer his arm to Jane when they strolled in public, to pull her into alcoves for private moments, and to give her long kisses goodnight beneath the towering rhododendron next to her front porch. If anyone in the vicinity dared to whisper, giggle, or even raise an eyebrow at the courting couple, his arm tightened around hers, and he gazed benignly but steadily back at the interloper, daring him or her to challenge their respectability. The older and bolder River City-ziens gave a disapproving harrumph before going about their business, but most people, shamed by such a confident rebuff of their prurience, meekly lowered their eyes and turned away. While Jane was not nearly so poised at first, she drew a great deal of strength from Jim's resolve, and quickly learned to hold her head just as high and gaze back just as self-assuredly. When the gossip was at its peak and Miss Marian regarded her with sympathetic concern, she was able to give a devil-may-care smile that was genuinely amused and exasperated. Eventually, the rumor mill moved on in search of more rewarding targets to feast upon, and Jim and Jane not only emerged unscathed, but even more united in understanding than they had been before.

Jim's eyes met hers again. Jane's heart skipped a beat. This was it – this was the moment she'd been waiting for. Jane opened her mouth, hoping that instinct would shape just the right words where conscious effort had failed. But to her surprise and annoyance, out came this gem:

"Jim… do you always believe that God is benevolent and all-knowing?"

He gave her a look that was both considering and inscrutable. "Jane," he finally said, "I'm going to tell you about some thoughts I've long had about the nature of the divine, something I've never even told Gracie. She was a devout Methodist and would have been horrified to contemplate such unorthodoxy. But… being a scholar of the ancient world has given me a broader than usual view of the metaphysical. The ancient world had so many gods and goddesses. Mesopotamia alone had thousands, some of the most popular being Enlil, An, Enki, and Ishtar. Ancient Egyptians also had countless deities – Ra, Anubis, Isis, Osiris, Bastet, Sekhmet, to name a few. Then of course, there were the Greeks and Romans with their enormous pantheon – Zeus, Athena, Aphrodite, Apollo, Dionysus… I could list the gods of old all afternoon and not even scratch the surface. Then came Judaism with Yahweh, the novel idea of only one god who loves his chosen people. From that, Christianity arose, with God and his son Jesus, and then Islam with Allah and his prophet Muhammed. You and I, and most people born in this republic and epoch in history, have been brought up as steadfast Christians, absolutely certain that our faith is the true one. We disparage all the ancient myths for their ridiculousness and cruelty, dismissing them as the fairy tales of superstitious and unenlightened bygone eras. And yet… " He paused, and bit his lip before continuing. "The ancients believed in their gods with just as much fervor as we do ours. They had elaborate ceremonies and rituals and moral prescriptions woven into the fabric of their lives. They shunned, banned, killed, and even went to war with outsiders over their beliefs. Who's to say that in another thousand years, there won't be an even bigger and better god that the people follow – or perhaps even no god at all – and they laugh at all of the Abrahamic religions for our ridiculousness and cruelty."

Jane gazed at him, fascinated, as his eyes bored into hers. It was exhilarating to hear Jim put into words all the vague and guilt-ridden thoughts she had nursed over the years about the nature of the divine, though her ponderings were nowhere near as articulate or well-developed. "I've always thought it was folly to believe in something too blindly, without question or careful consideration," she acknowledged. "And… I've never been able to discuss these matters with anyone, not even Miss Marian, who is a devout Presbyterian."

Jim took her hands in his. "Anyone of a skeptical, academic bent will be viewed with concern and suspicion," he said conspiratorially. "No matter what the era."

"Especially if you are a woman," Jane laughed, giddy at how perfectly they understood each other, in a way that no one else ever had. "At least nowadays, no one is going to burn me at the stake for it!"

He grinned and returned one of his hands to the top of her knee. "As Professor Hill would say, thank whatever fortune, fate, or deity for that."

Despite Jane's initial blunder in the opening salvo, it had turned out to be a wonderful conversation after all – but not precisely what she was hoping to achieve.

XXX

May 14, 1926

When the history teacher and the assistant librarian took a second picnic to the secluded clearing, the romantic tension between them was so thick that they could practically eat it. Not that either of them demonstrated such a hearty appetite – they both picked fitfully at their sandwiches. Jane did not dare suggest wading today, even as she gazed longingly at the rock ledge overhanging the brook and remembered Jim's promise to someday teach her how to swim. Even if the water wasn't still too cold this time of year, she could not trust herself to venture such a proposition when the two of them were not able to keep their hands off each other. Jim no longer saved his longest and deepest kisses for their goodnights beneath the towering rhododendron bush. The moment they found themselves alone anywhere – in the library stacks, in an alcove in Madison Picnic Park, on the footbridge, even ducking down an alley between buildings on Center Street – something passed between them. Sometimes it was benign as a kiss on the cheek, a tweak of a curl, a peck on the lips, kisses on her fingertips as she straightened his tie, a caress on the back of her knee. Often, it was much more heated, her hands desperately fisting in his suit-coat and pulling him close as his mouth greedily found hers. Yet somehow, even in the midst of these fervent embraces, they never crossed the line she and William had, never pressed their hips together in a frenzied and excruciating pantomime of lovemaking.

But Jane knew in the ragged and unfulfilled way Jim panted and the way her own body continued to ache and throb even after they finally managed to let each other go that it wouldn't be much longer before that boundary disintegrated, too. They were both burning with a flame that even their heaviest petting could no longer reduce to embers, and were in imminent danger of caving in any day now. Passionate courtship was no longer enough for her. She wanted him to make love to her. She wanted to make love to him. When was he going to propose?

Perhaps it would be this afternoon. Such a supposition certainly made sense when reviewing all the particulars. For all their stolen little moments together, they had not been as alone as this for quite some time, so a remote picnic would be the perfect opportunity. Not only that, for this outing Jim had rented the very nice 1924 Tudor sedan from Squires' Livery – the one with the roomy backseat, a temptation a man of honor would not have risked if his intentions were more serious than a casual romp. And Jane had been sneaking enough glances at the history teacher during their quiet lunch to catch him gazing back at her with an intriguing mix of longing and apprehension. One would think these details would have set her at ease, but perversely, they taxed her patience even further. She had to go as far as sitting on her hands and biting the inside of her cheek so she wouldn't fidget unbecomingly or blurt out the question she was so desperately waiting for him to ask her.

Apparently, whatever fortune, fate, or deity was watching over them did not approve of her impertinence, because the puffy cumulus clouds – the very type she'd likened to the heavenly cities of the dearly departed – had darkened considerably since their arrival to the lake. As large raindrops began to splash down, lazily at first and then more steadily, the two of them jumped up in disconcertment, hastily shoved everything they could into the picnic basket, and ran for the Ford.

And that's how the history teacher and the assistant librarian found themselves sitting in the roomy backseat, panting and dripping. Ensconced together in such a rumpled state should have been the start of yet another deliciously electric moment between them, but the way Jim's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched indicated that he was not at all pleased with the situation in which they had found themselves.

The awkward silence between them had been bad enough outside, but in such close quarters, it was unbearable. Great torrents of water smeared the windows of the sedan, so she seized on that banality to open the conversation. "I take it we're trapped here until the rain stops – it can't be safe to drive in this weather."

Jim merely nodded, not even giving her the ghost of an affable smile.

Jane giggled nervously and patted her mussed curls. "I must look a fright!"

He gazed intently at her. "You look good enough to eat."

Coming from another man, this would have been a brazen flirtation calculated to seduce. But from Jim, this was raw and unvarnished desire given voice after having been stifled for far too long. Jane knew this because she could see it written plainly across his face, and loved him all the more for his unabashed longing.

But before she could so much as reach toward him in reciprocation, he looked away. "Sorry for being so crass."

"Oh, you mustn't apologize!" she burst. "After all, shouldn't a man and woman in love feel this way?" She swallowed, and had to look away herself, lest the frustration in her expression betray her. "Shouldn't they want each other?"

She felt Jim's hands on hers, soft and gentle. "Absolutely," he said. "But lust is not a solid foundation for a lasting relationship."

Given that their relationship had been one of platonic intellectual discourse and friendship long before it turned romantic, Jane had to laugh at that. "We are the last couple on earth who needs to be worried about the dangers of getting carried away by a whirlwind romance!" Her eyes met his again and, heartened by the yearning in them, as if he'd been waiting just as desperately as she had for even the smallest sign of being open to matrimony, she decided to take the risk. "If anything, you've been moving a bit too slow for my liking."

She'd meant to sound teasing, but it came out with more reproach than she'd intended. Jim sighed and lifted her hands to his lips. "I know," he said ruefully in between kisses. "I was planning to ask you to marry me today, right after we finished eating lunch. I've been planning this outing for quite some time now. I suppose I could have asked you in the library on some evening when we alone together, or during one of our strolls to the footbridge, but I wanted it to be a little more memorable than that. And not only that, I wanted there to be absolutely no chance that anyone could interrupt us, or overhear the news and spread it halfway around town before we could properly enjoy our engagement before telling people." He glared at the rain, which was still pounding down on the car in steady rivulets. "But the best-laid plans of mice and men… "

"Nothing has been ruined," Jane insisted, extracting one of her hands to smooth back the disheveled tresses tumbling over his forehead. She had never seen Jim's smartly coifed hair so out of place, and it was intoxicating – she couldn't not touch it.

He still looked rather pained, and gently took her hand back in his. "Jane, I've wanted to ask you to marry me for several months. But the soonest we could practically marry is the end of the school year, and I didn't want our engagement to be drawn out too long. Engagement changes everything – there is a certain freedom in it that courtship entirely lacks. If we were engaged for too long, we'd have an awfully hard time holding back until our wedding night, especially at our age, and both of us knowing at least a little about what there is to look forward to… " He took the tips of her fingers, one by one, into his mouth, something he had never done before.

"I know you'd never disgrace me," Jane said, even as she moaned and leaned into him, relishing rather than fearing the idea of all the delightful and as yet unknown pleasures he wished to share with her. "Your conscience as well as mine would never let us go too far."

He paused in his ministrations and bit his lip. "Jane, I may not be able to give you children. Gracie never even had the faintest rumor of pregnancy in all our years together and, forgive my indelicacy, it was not for lack of trying. In the midst of such heartbreak and disappointment, there is also a certain freedom in knowing that one is infertile, and in a heated moment, it would be all too easy to rationalize that we needn't wait."

"But it may not have been your fault," Jane couldn't help rudely blurting out. To soften her bluntness, she quickly added, "Even if that is the case, it doesn't matter to me. In all honesty, I did wonder why you didn't have children, and I suspected either something of this nature, or a loss that was too painful for you to talk about. Not being able to have children doesn't change my mind about wanting to marry you, not a bit. I would certainly welcome children, but I don't need them." Now it was her turn to bite her lip in attempt to hold back the sheer emotion roiling inside her and threatening to bubble up and outward. "I need you."

The longing in Jim's eyes flared up at that. "Jane, you've had such a cheerless childhood and lonely maidenhood, and more than enough sorrow for one lifetime. I do not say this out of pity, but out of pain that the woman I've loved so long and so dearly has suffered so much. You deserve only happiness, and while I'm not so foolish to think I can spare you from ever feeling any pain or loss ever again, I promise to do all I can to bring you only joy."

Tears started streaming down Jane's cheeks as Jim reached into his pocket, brought out a simple but elegantly wrought diamond solitaire on a gold band, and slid it on her finger. He had barely managed to ask the question she'd been waiting so long to hear before she threw her arms around him and covered his mouth with hers.

"I take it that's a 'yes'?" Jim gasped when they finally parted for air, grinning as if he couldn't believe his luck.

Jane beamed at him and pressed even closer, even though by this point, their arms were wrapped tightly around each other and she was practically sitting in his lap. "It's a 'yes, of course, how could you possibly be in any doubt?'"

"I'm not," he said in a low, intent voice that made her stomach flutter and her heart race.

Although respectability still did not allow them to consummate their relationship just yet, Jane found that she no longer had any qualms talking about certain desires that she would have been far too embarrassed to mention just a few minutes ago. "Promise me that after we are married, we will rent this car and come out here again," she said, not in a coquettish manner, but with a longing that was as unvarnished as his when he told her she looked good enough to eat. "Promise me that you will wade with me, and teach me how to swim, and that we will do more than simply flirt about roomy backseats." She didn't even blush when she said any of this. Jim was right – engagement did change everything.

"Someday," Jim promised, and kissed her again.