The Good-Morrow

I wonder by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not wean'd till then?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

John Donne

XXX

The afternoon had been a long and lonely one for Harold Hill. Although several patrons at the saloon were eager enough to talk, Harold had shied away from conversation and, instead, focused on his own thoughts. He knew he needed to talk with Marian. One night away from his wife had convinced him of that. He shook his head in amusement. He'd only awakened next to her once, but that one time was enough – he wanted to see his wife sleeping beside him every morning. The thought of that not happening was unpleasant and one he didn't care to entertain.

Now, as he made his way back to the hotel, Harold found himself once again reflecting on Marian and her obvious distress. He didn't know what he was going to say to his wife when he saw her, but he knew he owed her some form of an apology. Making his way into the lobby and up the stairway, he experienced a pang of nerves as he approached the door to their room. After spending an entire day with only his thoughts, Harold wasn't sure what kind of reception he would receive. Perhaps he should not have left and instead waited on Marian to return, but the idea of sitting alone in an empty bridal suite had been too much for him.

As the door quietly opened, he was greeted by darkness. Looking around, he gave a sigh of disappointment. Marian still hadn't returned. He wondered if he should be alarmed by her absence, but quickly dismissed his worry. Marian was a sensible woman. She would have stayed in public areas. Perhaps she simply needed some time with her thoughts as he had. Hoping that was the case, he closed the door behind him and made his way through the darkness to the washroom. After a day spent in a smoke-filled room, he felt dirty. The idea of cool, clean water splashing across his skin sounded appealing, but when he stood before the wash basin mirror, an unfamiliar face greeted him. Ever since he'd been old enough to pick up a razor (and a few times before he was old enough), Harold had prided himself on maintaining a clean appearance. He could easily count the number of instances when he'd forgone his morning ritual of shaving. Given his former occupation, he'd also spent many an evening in front of the washroom mirror making himself presentable for his latest conquest. But this morning, he had been in no mood to indulge in his daily ritual. The man that stared back at him was quite unfamiliar. Thick stubble covered his face, and his immaculate hair was disheveled and flat. Turning away from his reflection, he decided to simply change into his robe and forgo shaving.

He'd made it to the door when he was stopped by a stray memory. Marian had been nestled in his arms after one of their more amorous strolls to the footbridge. The evening was cool, and Harold had taken advantage of the chill by gathering his librarian closer to him and resting his cheek against hers. He could remember the sound of her soft breathing and then her hesitant question as to what lotion he used when shaving. When he'd told her, Marian had buried her face into his neck and murmured her bold affection for it. Harold's heart had almost stopped with sheer longing at such a declaration, and from that night forward, Harold made a point to always take the time to apply his shaving lotion before visiting his little librarian.

Returning to stare at his reflection once more, he came to a decision. Marian was bound to return tonight. After all, she had no other place to stay. As such, it would behoove him to present a clean appearance when his wife eventually returned. A wan smile flitted across his face as he realized it also wouldn't hurt to apply the fragrance of which she was so fond.

When Harold emerged from the washroom several minutes later, he made his way to the fireplace and stoked the glowing coals until they began to burn brighter. He added two logs to the small flames, and waited until he saw a healthy flame emerge. Deciding the fire would make a nightshirt unnecessary, he shed his clothing and donned his robe, then moved to the dresser where he retrieved a small, leather-bound volume from the top drawer before retiring to the chair.

Leafing through the pages, Harold was reminded of the bittersweet October afternoon when Marian had given him the collected love poems of John Donne before he boarded his train. It had been difficult to leave her and come to Des Moines for two weeks, even if it had been a wonderful opportunity to gain inventory for his fledgling emporium. But knowing he would be unable to express his parting sentiments in such a public setting as the depot, he chose to visit his librarian at her home the evening before he departed. After Mrs. Paroo retired to the kitchen and Harold persuaded Marian to join him outside on the swing, he took advantage of the opportunity and swept his lovely piano teacher into his arms to give her a thorough and proper goodbye. Those stolen kisses and the memory of her soft sighs had sustained him during his absence from his little librarian, but upon his return, he'd headed straight to her home on West Elm to make up for lost time. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he recalled the fetching ensemble that had greeted him when she opened the door.

But Harold's smile quickly faded when he turned the page and saw the familiar words of The Good-Morrow. It had been one of his earliest readings of the collected works. The page was dog-eared, something he knew would horrify Marian if she ever discovered it, but the poem had strongly resonated with him, and Harold wanted to find it quickly whenever he fancied reading it. This particular piece had prominently figured in his nightly readings. As he spent his evenings alone in an empty hotel room – evenings that too sharply recalled the loneliness of his former life – he had pored over the sentiments conveyed through Donne's words countless times. It had been on his third lonely evening, Harold realized, with startling clarity, he'd found the only woman he would ever want to marry. He – a jaded conman who had built a life by betting on people's gullibility – was ready to take the biggest gamble of them all. Marriage. For a self-professed bachelor of 42 years, it had been a jarring reality to acknowledge. But as the idea settled into his heart, he realized building a life with Marian was all that mattered to him. Once he had accepted the truth as fact, his loneliness had vanished and, true to form, he set out to make his desire a reality. When he read the words again in the evenings that followed, he found comfort and peace from the writings.

But now, as his eyes traveled over the familiar passage, his heart constricted. He had been apart from Marian when he'd first discovered the poem. It was sadly fitting that now, even though she was with him, a gulf still separated them.

With a heavy sigh, Harold lifted the heavy decanter from the nearby table and poured a large glass of the Kentucky bourbon he'd brought back from saloon. Downing a generous portion, he continued to reread the passage until his eyes grew heavy and the volume fell to his lap as he slowly succumbed to sleep.

XXX

Twilight had fully settled upon Des Moines when Marian finally returned to the Hotel Randolph. The darkness of the evening, which had draped in her silence, quickly vanished when she stepped inside the main doors and the evening's revelry spilled out from the parlor in to the lobby. She could hear raucous laughter and music coming from within the room, and she was momentarily tempted to take a peek and see if Harold was in there. But after a moment's consideration, she decided better of it. If Harold was there, she didn't think she'd be able to face him with so many strangers nearby listening to their conversation. It would be best to return to their room and wait. As she ascended the stairway, nervous worries darted through her mind. Would Harold be waiting on her? If so, would he be amenable to talking? After all, she had made him sleep on the couch. That was certain to not have set well with her husband, even if he had respected her wishes and not joined her last night. If he were willing to talk, what would he say? Would he be angry? Dismissing her fears, she forced herself to be reasonable. Worrying about what Harold may or may not say would accomplish nothing. There was only one way to gain answers to her questions. Taking a deep breath, Marian squared her shoulders and opened the door. The room was dark, save for the flickering illumination of fire crackling in the hearth. The flames cast a muted orange glow, and she could spy the outline of someone in the chair: Harold.

Relieved that her husband was indeed there, Marian closed the door gently behind her and softly called his name. But when she failed to receive a response, she moved toward the fire, concerned; however, her worry quickly faded when she realized her husband was fast asleep. It wasn't often she'd been given the opportunity to watch him unawares before their marriage, so she took advantage of the moment. As she quietly studied him, her heart constricted. His brow was furrowed in what appeared to be a fitful sleep, and his lips moved in silent conversation. She felt a pang of regret lance through her, knowing she was the cause of his distress.

Leaning closer to him, Marian ran her palm along his cheek in an effort to allay his worries, and was surprised to feel the smooth evidence of a recent shave. Her heart skipped a beat when she inhaled deeply and was greeted by the heady scent of his shaving lotion. She had spent many a silent evening in bed, recalling the scent that was so uniquely Harold and dreaming of the day when it would greet her every morning. Watching him now, hair disarrayed and bare legs and feet peeking out from beneath the hem of his robe as the scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, Marian was startled to discover how truly alluring her husband was in such a disheveled state. Outside of yesterday morning and the one afternoon they had worked to prepare their future home, she had never witnessed her husband as anything less than impeccably dressed. Her pulse increased when she realized he wore no night shirt under his robe – the heat of the fireplace evidently being enough to warm him. Suddenly, Marian wanted nothing more than to wake her husband and confess how much she had missed him. She stepped closer to do just that, but stopped short when she noticed a book in his lap.

Bending down, she retrieved it and opened the cover, immediately recognizing the familiar handwriting inside as her own. Tears began to fill her eyes as she realized he had been reading the book of Love Poems she'd given to him shortly before their engagement. Harold had been traveling to Des Moines, and Marian, bereft at the thought of being parted from him for the first time, wanted to communicate her love for him in a meaningful yet subtle way. The collection of poems had seemed the ideal solution. Marian had spent hours poring over what to write on the inside cover, but eventually, she'd settled on a simple inscription. The carefully-selected, "Yours, Marian" had been a bold move for her, but when Harold had appeared on her doorstep – direct from his late-night train – and taken her in his arms, she knew it had been the correct choice. She had known Harold appreciated the book, but hadn't realized how much he obviously treasured it. For him to bring it with him on their honeymoon spoke volumes. Her eyes slid shut as she was reminded that she still had much to learn about her husband. Reopening them, she pondered this and watched Harold as his chest rose and fell with his steady breathing. The worry of the day had taken its toll of him. The dark circles beneath his eyes testified to that. She hated to disturb his slumber now that it had become somewhat calmer, but she didn't want to spend another evening away from him. Last night had been lonely enough.

Deciding to follow her husband's lead and change into her own dressing gown before waking him, she turned to place the book on the end table and was shocked to discover a half-empty decanter of a brown liquid already sitting there. During their courtship, she had never seen Harold indulge in so much as a sip of alcohol. For him to do so now was a stark indication of how distraught he was by their argument. Leaning over, she sniffed it, wrinkling her nose in disgust when she realized it was bourbon. She recognized it from the bourbon her father used to drink when she was a little girl. He had always kept a decanter in the parlor and once, he had let her take a sip. She'd pursed her lips in disgust, much to her father's amusement, and then imperiously demanded a glass of lemonade afterwards.

Her earlier apprehension fading, a warm emotion washed over Marian as she realized her husband shared the same affinity for her father's drink. Although Papa and Harold were very different men, every day she was discovering more similarities between the two. She smiled wistfully, wishing Harold could have met Papa, and knowing that eventually, her father would have wholeheartedly approved of the man who had won her heart.

Observing her husband with fond affection, Marian knew that had she not already forgiven her husband and comes to terms with his past, she would be unable to cling to her anger after witnessing the obvious heartbreak he had gone through while she was absent.

She smiled to herself: they were truly a pair. Her heart swelled with an almost painful longing. She couldn't imagine a life without Harold – no matter what his past may be. Gazing at her husband a moment longer, Marian quietly placed the book on the end table and moved to the wardrobe, quietly extracting her nightgown and robe before retiring to the bathroom.

XXX

After quickly changing into her nighttime attire and arranging her blonde tresses around her shoulders, Marian emerged from the washroom and softly crept to where Harold still sat sleeping. His sleep had become peaceful, and she was glad to see the earlier worry that had been etched across his features was now absent.

Kneeling before him, she reached forward and threaded her fingers through his while reaching upward with her other hand to gently stroke a mutinous curl that had fallen over his forehead.

"Harold," she gently called.

He stirred, but did not wake.

"Darling," she tried again, her hand caressing the side of his face. "Darling, wake up." She watched as Harold slowly opened his eyes, seeming somewhat disoriented by his surroundings. But they quickly came into focus when he saw found her standing there before him.

"Marian!" he exclaimed, startled. "What are you doing … I thought … that is, I didn't …"

Marian patiently waited as Harold made several unsuccessful attempts to speak before finally giving up and simply staring at her with honest, but guarded, eyes. She smiled lovingly at him in what she hoped was an encouraging manner, but Harold remained silent, watching her with obvious apprehension.

Raising herself from the floor, she gazed at him in frank consideration. The librarian could discern the confusion dancing behind her husband's candid gaze as he quietly bore her scrutiny, and her heart constricted at the sight of Harold sitting so cautiously before her. The usually confident and effusive salesman was hesitant and reserved – it was evident he was nervous of what she had to say. Sadness coursed through her as she realized her earlier actions had contributed to his discomfort. If she wanted to make any headway with Harold, she would need to do something to pry him away from the cautious nature he'd suddenly adopted. Making a swift decision, Marian swiftly settled herself on Harold's lap and wound her arms around his neck. When his eyes widened in shock at her actions, she knew she had his complete attention and took advantage of the opportunity. Her words, when they came, were soft and considered, but nonetheless, firm.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long, Harold, but I needed the time to think and gather my thoughts."

Harold nodded, but still gazed at her cautiously. "And were you able to gather them?"

Marian nodded. "I was," she murmured and then bowed her head slightly. "I owe you an apology," she whispered.

Harold instantly interrupted her. "No Marian, you owe me nothing. It's I who owe you an apology." His voice tapered away and when he spoke again, his eyes carried a sad quality that lanced through her heart. "Marian, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but I can't change my past, no matter how much I may want to." His shoulders slumped in an uncharacteristic display of defeat, as if he expected her to admonish him for this inexorable but unpalatable truth . "I can't."

Marian responded with compassionate understanding. "I know that, Harold, and it was selfish of me to be angry at you for something you did before I was ever in your life."

Harold shook his head in immediate disagreement. "No, Marian, you had every right. If I hadn't -"

Marian laid a warm finger against his lips, halting his protest. "Darling, you're not going to emerge victorious in this argument." The impish smile she gave him belied the tenor of her words, and a tender look stole into her eyes as she watched the tension slowly disappear from his gaze. "As I said, I spent a good deal of my day thinking," she informed him and removed her hand.

"Oh?" Harold questioned, raising an eyebrow at her. It was apparent to her that he still didn't quite trust that she had forgiven him.

"And I came to a startling conclusion," she admitted, giving him a wry smile.

Harold continued to gaze at her. "And what might that be?"

"I realized that it was foolish of me to be angry over someone from your past. You didn't know me then, and I didn't know you. So yes, I do owe you an apology."

Raising a hand again, Marian placed it gently against his lips, effectively halting his renewed argument, and smiled lovingly at him. "It was wrong of me to hold you accountable to react as I did for something that happened long before you ever met me."

Marian watched Harold's eyes fill with a guarded hope and continued, "As much as it pained me to see someone from your past with whom you'd been intimate, it made me realize something. Although there have been other women in your life, you chose me."

Harold feverishly clasped her hands and pulled them tightly to his chest. "Marian, there were other women before you, but I can assure you, there will never be another woman after you."

Marian regarded him with tear-filled eyes. His stark admission and heartfelt promise sent a wave of relief cascading through her, washing away her fears and pain. "I believe you, Harold," she assured him. Silence followed as she studied her husband. The earlier disbelief that had clouded his eyes slowly faded, and Marian was delighted to see a cautious joy begin to stir as he continued to gaze at her. But when he still didn't respond, she allowed a playful smile to spread across her features, then leveled a challenging stare at him. "If I'm not mistaken, Professor, I believe this is the part where you take me in your arms and concede defeat."

Marian had to smother her laughter when Harold's eyes widened in amazement. For a moment, it looked as if he didn't know how to reply to Marian's bold suggestion. But true to form, he recovered quickly and wrapped his arms around his wife, nestling her against him.

"I suppose if I must," he sighed dramatically and then gazed at her with evident affection. "I know I've told you this before, but Madam Librarian, you are a lady from the ground up."

Now, Marian couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled over at his cheeky comment. Rolling her eyes in mock exasperation, she leaned closer and laid her head against Harold's chest. She listened as the rhythmic beating of his heart softly thudded beneath her ear. When his hands begin to trace lazy circles across her back, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. This was how she had envisioned her honeymoon to be – wrapped in her husband's embrace and secure in the knowledge of his love and devotion to her. When she felt Harold shift and pull her tightly against him, she couldn't help recall her words to him on the train.

A lifetime to discover all the joys and happiness marriage would bring.

Her heart began to race to when she realized that they truly did have a lifetime together. Harold must have felt her pulse increase, because he leaned back and gazed at her with questioning eyes. Unable to voice the myriad of thoughts racing through her mind, Marian lifted her face and captured her husband's lips with hers, communicating the love and affection she felt for him through her kiss.

"Marian," Harold murmured as he broke away and shifted in the chair.

"Mmm?"

"I think we'd be far more comfortable in our bed," he suggested softly. His hands moved lower and caressed her hips through the smooth silk of her gown. Marian could feel the heat from his fingertips seep past the thin material, and she shuddered at her husband's tender touch.

"I think we would, too," she agreed breathlessly. Raising her head, she saw the heated desire she knew mirrored her own reflected in Harold's eyes. As she brought her mouth to his, her arms encircled his neck, molding her body to him. She felt his hands tighten around her hips when she shifted on his lap. Feeling decidedly bold, Marian moved again, slowly and deliberately this time, and was rewarded when Harold suddenly stood up, his arm settling behind her knees even as his other wrapped around her waist. Without breaking their kiss, he whisked her across the room until they stood by their bed. Gently lowering Marian to the floor, he brought her to stand before him and, confidence restored, smiled roguishly at her as he moved his hand to the sash of her robe and began to slowly undo the loose knot.

"Mrs. Hill, if I may be so bold," he grinned playfully.

Marian arched an eyebrow at him in return, giggling when she felt Harold open her robe and tenderly push it away from her shoulders. She sensed his eyes upon her as he reached down and casually draped it across the chair by the bed. He then turned back to her with serious eyes and brought his hands to the material of her gown.

"If I'm not mistaken, I don't believe you'll be needing this either," he murmured huskily and began to remove it from her.

The mood suddenly became quite serious and Marian's eyes slid shut as Harold's nimble fingers deftly undid the buttons on her gown. When the cool silk of the material fell away moments later, she shivered slightly as the chill of the night air danced across her bare skin. Harold noticed and quickly gathered her in his arms, gently lowering her to the soft mattress. When he had carefully settled her, he leaned back and gazed at her, his eyes travelling over her naked form. Marian stifled her instinctive reaction to cover herself and instead allowed her husband to study her. She could feel a heated blush rise to her cheeks at providing such a provocative display, but she also acknowledged the slight thrill that raced through her as Harold shamelessly admired her.

As Harold turned from her and removed his own robe, Marian watched him in rapt fascination. The flickering firelight cast muted shadows that danced across the planes of his body in an almost-hypnotic fashion. She had often dreamed of Harold in ways such as this, but seeing him before her was entirely different. When he returned to her side, Marian continued to gaze at him. His eyes found hers as he slid beneath the covers to lie next to her. A moment later, she felt Harold's lips brush against her ear as he gathered her close to him.

"Oh Marian, how I've missed you," he whispered softly, and Marian could hear the thread of pain in his voice.

"I know, Harold, and it was wrong of me to deny you this last night." Her voice faltered, and she averted her eyes, embarrassed.

Harold quickly quieted her, and lowered his lips to her neck, trailing soft kisses until he reached her collarbone.

"Never out of duty," he murmured. "I never want you to come to me out of obligation, darling."

Closing her eyes, Marian listened as her husband's gentle words washed over her and she sighed in contentment, allowing his kisses to carry her away while he lovingly demonstrated the sincerity of his statement. Feeling him tenderly nuzzle her neck, Marian smiled and raised a hand to graze her fingers through the soft fringe of hair on the back of his head. She giggled when she felt Harold smile against her skin then gently nip at her in a teasing manner. But his affectionate demeanor melted into an amorous one a moment later when Marian languidly trailed her bare foot up along his leg. With a groan, he rolled her beneath him and brought his hands to rest briefly against her thighs before moving them higher.

Marian's eyes fluttered open when she felt Harold's hand glide along her hip, and she met his eyes for a long moment, gazing at him, trying to discern the emotions she saw there. As he lowered his head to her breast, she continued to watch him, but a moment later, she gasped and her eyes slid shut in silent pleasure as Harold's tongue moved against her bare skin in a tender caress. When his palm closed over her other breast in a gentle caress, the librarian's breath caught in her throat. Their first time together had been more wonderful than she could have imagined, but tonight, though, it almost seemed as if Harold was communicating his apology through their lovemaking.

When he entered her a few moments later, Marian eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him towards her even as she raised her legs and wrapped them snugly around his waist, lifting herself to him. Harold met her eyes in a shocked gaze, and she knew he was surprised at her brazen gesture. On the train ride to Des Moines, he had confided that early on in their courtship, he'd realized a passionate woman lay beneath her poised demeanor, but judging from his reaction, Marian suspected her husband hadn't expected anything like this from her so soon. But as she watched, his amazement was quickly lost in a haze of desire as he began to slowly move within her. She moaned softly and raised her hips to him, intent on matching his every thrust.

As her desire mounted, Marian didn't understand how it was possible for their lovemaking to be better than before, but when Harold raised himself to peer into her eyes, she suddenly knew that it somehow was. Steadily watching her husband as he glided in and out of her, she realized they had only begun to explore their love together. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and she reached up to brush it away from his eyes before burying her face into the crook of Harold's neck, her cries of pleasure muffled against his slick skin. Harold's heated declarations caressed her ears as she twisted in his arms, seeking something more.

"I need you, Marian," Harold whispered, his voice cracking. The loving admission, uttered in quiet honesty, proved to be too much for her: Moaning, Marian wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him close, repeating his name as she shuddered in his arms and surrendered to pleasure. Moments later, she felt Harold tense in her embrace and cry out her name as he found his own release, his wordless moans tapering off into satiated murmurs.

As Marian quietly waited, Harold's breathing returned to the steady sounds she had become familiar with as she'd lain awake listening to him sleep on the couch . When he lifted his head to gaze at her with a satisfied smile, Marian beamed back at him and brought her mouth to his for a gentle kiss. When they parted, Harold gathered her close and placed tender kisses against her hair, sighing in contentment as she stroked her hands along his bare shoulders.

Finding solace in her husband's steady breathing, Marian realized they were going to be fine. Harold loved her, and she loved him. No doubt, there would be arguments in their future. She understood that now. But as long as they listened to one another and were willing to forgive, they would manage to find their way through them. As slumber slowly crept upon her, Marian recalled the heated words Harold had uttered against her skin. Turning in his embrace, she pressed closer to him and allowed sleep to claim her, content and secure in her husband's arms.