Harold did not dream – his slumber was fitful but otherwise undisturbed. When he finally dragged himself to his feet sometime around seven o'clock the next morning, he felt just as drained and dispirited as he had the night before, and peevishly wondered why he'd bothered to try to sleep at all.

Then his gaze landed on the clogged mouthpiece, and he suddenly remembered. Although he was alone, he felt his face crimson with shame. Not over having sought out another illicit dream – it would serve Marian right, after the way she'd slowly but steadily stifled his ardor if not his advances over the past few months – but that he'd been reduced to such pathetic half-measures in the first place. A real man would do more than dream.

But instead of picking up the mouthpiece and unjamming it, Harold found himself leaving the emporium entirely. It was much too early to open, and he needed some fresh air – a brisk constitutional would be just the thing. And when that brisk constitutional led him right to the charming Victorian he'd once happily called home, he told himself he was merely checking on his daughters. After all, he hadn't been around to kiss them goodnight, and they must have missed him terribly. But when he ended up standing at the foot of his bed watching his wife sleep, he could find no excuse for his lack of masculine pride.

Because even after all that had happened, after how deeply Marian had wounded him, he loved her. Utterly, hopelessly, desperately. And she loved him with the same intensity of not just feeling, but need – she was clutching his pillow tightly to her, burying her face in it.

But the prim librarian could no longer admit that to him when she was awake. And he lacked the enthusiasm for prying heated confessions out of her that he once downright relished. Which is why he didn't bother climbing into bed with her, even though every fiber of his being was aching to do just that.

A real man would do more than dream.

Harold scowled and turned off Marian's alarm clock. It was almost time for her to wake up, but she hadn't so much as stirred at his presence. If it wasn't for that damn alarm, she'd most likely sleep all day; this was especially irritating in light of her criticism that he did nothing around the house except eat her cooking and coddle the twins. So he'd handle getting the girls ready today.

Indeed, Penny and Elly were thrilled to see their father and, after affectionately reproaching him for his absence at bedtime last night, cheerfully obeyed his directive to get ready as quickly and quietly as possible. He was a bit surprised that neither of them so much as raised an eyebrow at his explanation that their mother couldn't see them off as usual because she wasn't feeling well, and he felt a prickle of concern – something might just be wrong with the librarian, after all, if even their children noticed her malaise.

But this just irked Harold even more – Marian's "Iowa stubborn" refusal to admit anything was awry was causing their problems in the first place! When his wife still hadn't awakened by the time the girls were eating their breakfasts, Harold felt a mingled jumble of relief and resentment as he penned a hasty explanation for her to find when she finally managed to rouse herself from slumber:

Marian –

I've taken the liberty of getting Penny and Elly ready for school. They'll be eating lunch at the emporium with me, and then returning there after school, since you'll be at the library this afternoon. I'll send the girls home this evening for dinner.

– H.

As angry as he was, Harold winced at the coldness of his note as he reread it. He briefly considered crumpling up the paper, sending the girls to school, going upstairs, slipping into bed next to Marian –

Suddenly, Lisette Latimer's longing, hungry glance popped into his head.

– and in his unsettled state, he was in real danger of spilling the beans and damaging their marriage irreparably.

So the terse note was the best he could do right now. It was all he had left to give.

XXX

In the end, it was a lot easier to unclog Billy Latimer's mouthpiece than the music professor had anticipated. After about twenty minutes of painstaking whittling with a piece of wire, Harold managed to dislodge most of the eraser and, after he gave the mouthpiece one hard blow, the final bit emerged with a pop. Still, he felt a sense of pride as well as relief that he hadn't chipped the darn thing and, though there didn't appear to be any noticeable dings or scratches, he gave it a thorough polishing for good measure.

After the music professor had completed that little chore, he took a seat in his desk chair and let his mind wander. And as ever, it wandered right to Marian. With a twinge of guilt, Harold remembered that his wife was supposed to open the library today, and he wondered if she'd woken up yet, as it was nearly nine o'clock. All the kids would be in class right now – including his daughters – so there was no one he could send there on one pretext or another. For a moment, he contemplated picking up the phone and calling home, just to check. But he quickly dismissed that idea. If the librarian did pick up, she'd no doubt give him an earful about turning off her alarm, and if the phone rang and rang, he'd still be stuck with the maddening uncertainty as to whether she'd made it to work on time. It was far more practical to cut right to the chase and call the library, instead – and then hang up as soon as Marian answered. That way, he'd be able to ascertain his wife's whereabouts without actually having to talk to her, and she'd dismiss the hang up as a juvenile prank call.

So Harold did just that. And when no one picked up after fifteen rings, he had his answer.

Something was wrong. If the music professor had to guess – he still refused to call home – the librarian continued to sleep soundly, curled up and clutching his pillow to her. But it wasn't like Marian to sleep in, even without her alarm to prompt her to get up. And she had never been so upset or unbalanced after one of their fights that she had to take to bed. If anything, she made herself scarce at home, spending more time at the library whenever the atmosphere was tense between them. But then again, he couldn't recall the last time she had looked so haggard and pale on a regular basis; his heart tightened when he recalled the undeniable air of exhaustion that had hung over her this morning. No decent – let alone devoted – husband would allow his wife to continue in such a precarious state; it was his duty to get to the bottom of what was ailing her, and hopefully Dr. Pyne would be able to intervene before, God forbid, it was too late to stop whatever illness was progressing. Of course, there was a good chance that perhaps her exhaustion and malaise were merely side effects of the change of life. Either way, it was better to know, rather than remaining firmly – and potentially dangerously – in denial.

But before he could go barreling into this minefield, Harold had to get a hold on his anger and dissatisfaction. In his present mood, he would be far more likely to provoke another fight, which would only make Marian even more disinclined to confide in him or seek treatment for her condition. And he couldn't afford to make their situation even worse than it already was. It was best if he remained at the emporium for a day or two, until both of their tempers had cooled. Then he'd be in a much better frame of mind to dive into the difficult conversation ahead.

Unsurprisingly, his conscience refused to be assuaged by this rational course of action. Now, isn't that a beautiful heap of horse manure! Marian's temper hasn't cooled for the past three months. Pick up the phone and call her. Or better yet – go home.

No, Harold told this voice, even as it continued to heckle him for his cowardice and perfidy.

And so the morning dragged on. Sensing that the music professor still hadn't quite recovered from being under the weather yesterday, Tommy had thoughtfully left Harold to stew in his own monotony. When lunchtime rolled around, Penny and Elly's arrival provided a welcome distraction, especially in light of the revealing information they had to relate as they blithely chattered about their day: Penny had torn her dress climbing a tree and had to stop at home to change before coming to the emporium for lunch… and was relieved that her mother was not around to scold her for such unladylike behavior. His curiosity piqued, Harold sent each of his daughters on errands – Elly to the library, and Penny to Mrs. Paroo's. Penny returned first, and through roundabout questioning, he learned that his wife had not taken refuge at her mother's, as he'd supposed. Perhaps she'd opened the library, after all. But then Elly came back with the news that not only was Madison Public Library "closed until further notice, due to illness," the note informing the public was in Amaryllis Paroo's handwriting.

Quelling the urge to march right over to Winthrop's house and throttle his well-meaning but tactless sister-in-law for once again saying far more than was necessary, Harold turned his attention to his daughters, who were now all too aware that something was up.

"If Mother's not home resting in bed, then why would she have had Aunt Amaryllis write that note?" Penny wondered aloud, as Elly regarded her father with a worried frown and asked, "Is Mother all right?"

"I don't know," Harold admitted. "But I'm going to give your Aunt Amaryllis a call to see what's going on."

Liar.

Though the former conman felt a twinge at his mendacity, it was worth seeing the girls brighten. "Can we stay and listen?" Penny had the audacity to ask – though it was clear from Elly's pleading expression that she wanted permission, as well.

"No, you've got to get back to class," Harold insisted. "But don't you worry – I'll have this mystery solved by the end of the school day." As his daughters still looked inclined to protest, he waggled his finger at them. "Go on, now."

Coward.

Indeed, the music professor did not phone Amaryllis after his daughters exited the emporium. Even if he and Marian weren't fighting, his sister-in-law was the last person he would ever want to involve in a situation like this. Though Harold wouldn't go so far as to call himself a Sherlock Holmes, he had no doubt he could locate the missing librarian entirely on his own steam. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil, he starting listing all the possible places she could be, and then mentally ticking off the probability of finding her there:

Home? No, according to Penny.

Library? No, according to Elly.

Mrs. Paroo? No, according to Penny.

Jane Edna Peabody? No, she's currently visiting her sick aunt in Marshalltown.

Mrs. Shinn or one of the other ladies? Not likely, there's no Events Committee meeting scheduled for today. Doubtful she'd want such nosy company right now.

Dr. Pyne? Possibly, but how to check without raising suspicion?

Amaryllis? Maybe. Also too nosy for company.

The faraway field? Doubtful. If she wasn't up to opening the library, she wouldn't have the energy for such a long walk. Still, I wouldn't put it past her to try…

Cornfield in the middle of nowhere? Please, God – anywhere but that. I'd never reach her in time.

Train out of town? Where on earth would she go? Des Moines? Cincinnati? Paris?

The footbridge? The Candy Kitchen? One of the shops on Center Street? The billiard parlor? Now this is just getting ridiculous!

Harold sighed. So far, this exercise had not only proved thoroughly useless, it opened up whole new vistas of alarm for him to ponder. The worst were the visions of Marian fainting en route to her favorite hideaway – which he promptly put out of his mind. She had to be somewhere in River City. The faraway field was their spot now; several years ago, the librarian had divulged that she could no longer go there after they'd fought, because she couldn't bear the idea of poisoning such a dear place with unhappiness. Perhaps she was on the move, and he just kept missing her through sheer coincidence, a ghastly comedy of errors. But how could he go about finding her without tearing around town like a lunatic?

Call Marcellus. If anyone can maintain a low profile while also keeping his eyes and ears open, he's your man.

So Harold rang up the livery stable. While he was chagrinned but not surprised to learn that Marcellus hadn't crossed paths with the librarian in his travels, it eased the music professor's mind to know that he had someone in his corner – someone he could fully trust to be discreet as well as observant.

But after another hour passed without a word from his loyal comrade, Harold was once again beside himself as panic started to well up inside him. Why hadn't his wife left him or at least the girls a note as to her whereabouts? Even the coldest and tersest missive would have been better than this horrific not knowing! He was suddenly struck by the thought that maybe Marian didn't want to be found – and the notion made him both angry and heartsick. Did they even have a marriage, at this point? What was he going to tell their daughters when they returned to the emporium after school let out for the afternoon? He'd promised them an answer but, for the first time, he'd have absolutely nothing to deliver. Maybe this was Marian's way of getting revenge for the icy note he'd left her this morning. Harold's fists clenched. Shaming him in front of their daughters – this was a new low, even for her! Even if it was inevitable that his reputation as benevolent and all-knowing father would naturally diminish as the girls grew older and perceived his many human failings, his own wife should not be helping to tarnish his standing by engineering such cruel disappointments.

Before the music professor could work himself up into too much of a lather, there was a knock at his office door. His heart foolishly leaped up. Marian?

It was Tommy. "Sorry to disturb you, Professor, but Mrs. Latimer is here to see about Billy's mouthpiece."

Harold's eyes widened – in the course of the morning, he had completely forgotten about the widow's pending visit, as his search for Marian consumed him entirely. But his surprise faded as resentment flared up once more. He should never have bothered to hope that it was Marian knocking at his office door. It was too much to expect that, for the first time in her life, the prim and prideful librarian had mustered up both the humility and the gumption to come to him to patch up an argument.

Hiding his pique with a showman's grin, the music professor declared, "The mouthpiece is good as new."

Tommy looked relieved. "Do you want me to take it to Mrs. Latimer?"

Harold shook his head and got to his feet. "I could do with a change of scenery, after being holed up here all morning!"

Brightening even more at the bandleader's apparent recovery of his usual good cheer, Tommy nodded and returned to the shop. As Harold strode out of his office after the young man, his heart pounded crazily. A sensible man would have given the mouthpiece to his second-in-command to pass along – it was reckless to purposely put himself in the vicinity of a woman whose heated glance promised him every single thing he'd been missing from his wife. But what better opportunity to confront Mrs. Latimer head on, while he was still in reasonable control of his baser instincts? Another heated dream or two, and he'd be plotting to contrive a way to cross paths with the widow – and perhaps in less public circumstances. He needed to figure out whatever it was that had happened between them the day of the parade. Most likely, he was captivated by a chimera of his own making, and this silly enchantment of his would fade once he actually talked to Mrs. Latimer.

Or your attraction to her could increase, that irritatingly rational and dutiful voice pointed out.

While Harold couldn't deny their encounter could go either way, it was better if he found out sooner rather than later. And he wouldn't know unless he took a chance.

Unsurprisingly, his conscience continued to squawk at this flimsy rationalization, but the music professor muzzled it as he rounded the corner of the hallway and the widow came into view.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly, extending his hand. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

In response Mrs. Latimer smiled shyly and gave him the briefest and lightest of handclasps in return.

Not only did Harold not feel a tingle when their hands touched, he was turned off by her extremely diffident manner. He preferred flashing eyes, a challenging smile, and a firm handshake from a woman. Lisette Latimer was already shaping up to be exactly the sort of timid little mouse he could barely muster up the enthusiasm to exchange flirtatious pleasantries with, let alone seduce! Still, despite this character flaw, the widow was a lovely and soothing vision of delicate femininity in her pale pink gown. Though he couldn't help noticing, also with a pang of disappointment, that her light-brown locks were not nearly as ringleted or lustrous as they'd been in his fevered imaginings of her tresses cascading down her back, and her figure was a lot reedier than he'd dreamed.

However, Harold wasn't finished quite yet. First impressions of personality could be awfully misleading. "It took some doing, but I managed to unclog Billy's mouthpiece," the music professor informed the widow. "Not a scratch on it!"

At that, Mrs. Latimer's eyes lit up. "Oh, how wonderful!" she said enthusiastically. "I was hoping you'd be able to fix it."

Harold's stomach flip-flopped at the sudden melting of her reserve – fervor brought a delicious crimson flush to her cheeks, which only increased her beauty. But her ease didn't last long. As he held out the mouthpiece for her to take, she carefully avoided brushing his fingers with hers. By the time she withdrew her hand, the tediously tranquil expression had once again settled over her countenance. "Thank you, Professor Hill," she said, her tone flawlessly polite. "How much?"

The music professor normally would have been intrigued, but he found he was actually annoyed. Lisette Latimer blew cold one minute, then hot the next, then back to cold – the last thing he needed in his life was another mercurial minx with a prim exterior! Not that it ultimately mattered what kind of personality the widow had or how wild she was in the bedroom, as he was a married man.

Yeah, he thought sullenly. A married man whose wife doesn't even see fit to let him know where she disappeared to! Given that Marian had abandoned him, he felt no compunction in continuing to stand there and chat with Mrs. Latimer, even after the conclusion of their business transaction.

"No charge," he said graciously, and then launched into the dazzling small talk he excelled at. Although Mrs. Latimer merely listened to him with a placid smile and only responded with brief answers when absolutely necessary, she seemed just as loath to leave his company as he was to let her depart. Harold found her agreeable demeanor pleasant but dull; again, he reflected that a woman needed to have more snap and fire to hold his interest. But no matter – he manufactured enough wit to keep them both amused. And while their conversation was nowhere near the sparkling give-and-take repartee he relished engaging in with Marian, it was nice to have an admiring audience. He still hadn't crossed any lines, either, as he took care to say nothing that could be construed as outright flirting. When Billy Latimer arrived at the emporium and came over to join them, it seemed to provide even more proof that he wasn't actually doing anything untoward.

However, as Harold prattled on to both the widow and her son, showing them all sorts of gew gaws they didn't actually need for the boy's trumpet, his stomach continued to churn uneasily. As the minutes ticked by, he gradually became aware of a pair of disapproving eyes on him, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Did someone suspect? The music professor shot a glance at Tommy. His second-in-command was smirking, but not in censure – clearly, he supposed Harold was engaging in his usual trick of making a customer feel like the most important person in the room. Who else could it be, then? The boys were starting to trickle into the emporium, but they continued on through the shop to the auditorium, as it was nearly time for rehearsal. Other than that, there were few customers lingering in the shop, and they were going about their business, unfazed by the perfectly innocent tableau of the bandleader talking with a boy and his mother.

Except for John Carlisle, that is.

John Carlisle was a farmer north of town whose son was also in the band. He was a quiet and stoic man who kept to himself – not at all bad looking, but otherwise so unremarkable as to go unnoticed by the widows and spinsters seeking to catch a husband. Not that he appeared to mind being overlooked, as he had never attempted to so much as court another lady after his wife passed away several years ago. This was a man who faded into the backdrop just as effortlessly and naturally as Professor Hill drew attention. Though John Carlisle might have seemed taciturn to the casual observer, Harold knew from the farmer's rigid posture and quiet but hard gaze that he was most decidedly out of sorts. Jealous? the music professor thought wolfishly, aiming a brief but insolent smile in the man's direction. At that, Farmer John's fists clenched, and he glared openly at Harold with a thundercloud expression. But as ever, he remained in the periphery, so no one else noticed his upset.

You're playing with fire, Hill, his mind warned. Yet he continued to throw even more coal on the inferno. Mrs. Latimer, for all her diffidence, had become quite comfortable in his presence, and the longer he talked, the more enamored her gaze grew. Though Harold had despaired of ever exchanging scintillating banter with the widow, the roses in her cheeks were too delectable to let fade just yet. It wasn't long before Farmer John started twitching where he stood, as if he was just barely holding back from pouncing. As Harold regarded the sturdy, muscular man from the corner of his eye, he remembered Mrs. Dunlop – or was it one of the other clucking hens? – telling him that John Carlisle had won several trophies for wrestling in high school. Even if he hadn't been facing such a formidable adversary, Harold's best weapon had always been his silver tongue; on the rare occasions he couldn't smooth-talk his way out of trouble and push literally came to shove, his nimble agility was no match for brute force. Thank whatever fortune, fate or deity for Marcellus Washburn, who'd never hesitated to play the heavy on his behalf! But the former charlatan's comrade was not in the vicinity at present, so there was no one to leap to his defense if things got ugly.

Stop this before it's too late.

Still, Harold kept going. Nobody else was aware of these unsavory undercurrents – all eyes were riveted to him, as usual. And by now, he had drawn a crowd with his repartee. Whatever was going on between him and Mrs. Latimer – if there was even anything, at this point! – it certainly wasn't an intimate, flirtatious tête-à-tête. Surrounded by a bevy of admirers, the music professor felt as if he were holding court in the grand and lordly style of Henry the Eighth. The timorous widow was now merely one of the many hanging on to his every word.

However, that didn't stop John Carlisle from looking daggers at him. But Harold wasn't worried – if Farmer John did lose his temper and attack, people would be stunned and appalled by this seemingly unexpected outburst, and public opinion would immediately side with the music professor. Still, it was awfully foolhardy of him to risk bodily harm. Why was he doing this? Curiosity? Boredom? Seeking just desserts for his own perversity? Deep down, Harold knew perfectly well he deserved a good punch in the face for what he was doing to both the poor, besotted widow and the man who carried a real torch for her.

And the music professor just might have earned that decking, after all, if he hadn't derailed his own exhibition by saying something that so uproariously hilarious that even Lisette Latimer couldn't help bursting into unrestrained laughter.

Granted, she wasn't the only one who laughed at his remark. But she laughed the longest and the loudest. And the sound that resulted was a ghastly combination of a donkey's bray and hyena's screech, which mingled to produce the oddest and most ungainly laugh Harold had ever heard coming from a woman. The final remnants of the queer hold Lisette Latimer had on him dissipated, and he likewise burst into laughter. It wasn't long before the other River City-ziens, who had been stunned into silence by the widow's raucous display, joined him in his jollity, though they at least had the grace to keep their eyes trained anywhere besides Mrs. Latimer, who was now gazing at the music professor with a hurt and affronted expression.

"Oh dear," Harold said apologetically, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. "You'll have to forgive me" – another bout of uncontrollable laughter seized him – "I didn't get a good night's sleep last night… "

He was so close to recovering his composure, but a snicker from Tommy set him off again. And the music professor kept laughing, even as he saw Lisette Latimer falling out of love with him with each guffaw that shook his frame. By the time he finally regained full control of his faculties, he'd permanently damaged his standing in the widow's eyes – no amount of flattery could ever coax her back into admiring him.

While Harold was sorry to have hurt the lonely widow – and if truth be told, his pride smarted a bit at having repulsed a pretty woman – he was mostly relieved that the attraction between them was now thoroughly destroyed on both sides. But he did feel a twinge of regret when he saw Billy looking pensively at him, as if he was seeing his beloved Professor Hill with entirely new eyes. When Mrs. Latimer stiffly informed her son that it was time to go home, the boy didn't protest, even though band rehearsal was due to start in fifteen minutes. Likewise, Farmer John collected his son – who did put up a fuss, but was quickly silenced by his father's sharp glance – and left right after her. Harold didn't press the widow or farmer to let their boys stay – his enterprise would survive their lack of patronage. In any case, it was far better to lose a few customers than it would have been to lose the love of his daughters, who were presently giggling behind their hands as they watched the scene unfold.

After the group surrounding the music professor dispersed and all the kids trooped into the auditorium, Tommy let loose. "Boy, you sure made a mess of that one, Professor!"

Feeling lighter than he had since the afternoon of that fateful parade, Harold shrugged. "You win some, you lose some." With that, he left the shop in his second-in-command's capable hands and headed back to his office to gather the materials he needed for that afternoon's rehearsal.

However, although the music professor had once again come out on top – not only was Mrs. Latimer no longer an alluring siren, she would no longer look at him as a shining Adonis – he felt strangely dejected. Not because he'd missed out on a passionate tryst with a pretty woman – no matter how hungry the widow's glance had been, he doubted that placidly smiling mouth had ever dared to utter a single one of those scandalous and heated words he'd imagined – but because it was merely one dream-chimera he'd slayed today. Lisette Latimer wasn't the only pretty face and fawning admirer in River City, and despite his best and noblest intentions, Harold didn't have it in him to live as a monk if his wife continued to play the blushing rose with him. Should their estrangement continue, someone else could easily strike his fancy – someone with a sweeter laugh and a livelier personality. Even though this attraction would be fleeting and even though he'd do his damnedest to ignore it until it passed, it was an inconvenience and a danger he didn't need or want.

Because no matter what temptations might entice him to stray from the path he'd chosen, Harold refused to go back to the cold and empty existence of conman and philanderer he'd left behind so long ago. He didn't want an endless parade of pretty strangers flitting in and out of his bed, he wanted to spend long, languid nights entwined with the woman who knew and loved every inch of him, body, heart and soul. It was Marian he wanted to make laugh uproariously, Marian he wanted to gaze at him with naked adoration, Marian he wanted to make scandalous love to. He had to find her as soon as rehearsal was over, and he had to talk to her – really talk to her. Even if she wasn't ready to talk to him, he had to at least try.

And if he wanted to win the librarian back to him, he had to forget about Paris. As Marian had constantly – and rightly – reminded him over the past few months, they had full and active lives in River City. Even if there were no gossips to gainsay their romantic flights of fancy at Madison Public Library or the Candy Kitchen or the footbridge, the music professor and librarian had children to raise, a household to maintain, a business and library to run, and a whole host of social and civic obligations on top of those. Their days would never be as leisurely and carefree as they were on their second honeymoon, and Harold would miss that. Even now, he felt a mutinous twinge of resentment at the idea of giving up the expectation that their lovemaking could achieve the heights of Paris ever again. But it was the only way forward. He'd spent far too much time trying to relive the past and ignoring the problems they were having in the present, problems that would ultimately doom their marriage if they didn't get to the bottom of them. As long as Marian still loved and wanted him as much as he loved and wanted her, he wasn't going to rest until things felt right between them again.

Resolved, the music professor headed to the auditorium for rehearsal.

XXX

A/N – A shout-out to Emery Saks' delightful fic Mischief Managed, which gave me the idea for the jammed mouthpiece!