Disclaimer: I am neither Charles Shultz or Giuseppe Verdi. I.e. I do not own this. This is merely a school project I felt like sharing. I fully encourage all of you to go buy those books full of Peanuts comics and for you to read them while watching 'La Traviata'. It'll be a fun time, I swear.
Schroeder did not like parties. He preferred sitting alone with his piano, playing Beethoven into the late hours of the night. However, parties, in Paris at the time, were the only way to get recognized as an up and coming musician. So there Schroeder was, wearing a fake smile and greeting his guest warmly, if just a little halfheartedly. It didn't matter; he didn't know who half of them were anyways. No, he was waiting for…
"I am NOT your Sweet Baboo!" came an exasperated voice from outside the door.
"Aww, isn't he the cutest thing?!" came the reply, then the sound of girls' giggling. A moment later, a party of three came in. On the right was the Marquis D' Brown, Sally, dressed in a speckled pink dress and with her golden locks held in place by a frilly pink bow. On the left was the Baron Frieda, dressed in a great purple, puffy evening gown and playing with her thick, auburn curls. And in the middle was one of Schroeder's closest friends, Linus Peppermont. He was looking mighty snazzy in a light blue frock coat and hair stylishly combed back.
"Linus, my friends, the rest of the evening will be more enjoyable because of you," the working class pianist greeted his friends.
"Are you up to it?" asked Linus, knowing of his friend's lack of interest in parties.
"I've got to be. I give myself to my piano, and these people allow me to do that," Schroeder sighed.
"Indeed, life is heightened by music," smiled Linus wisely.
"And money," whispered Frieda to Sally.
Before the conversation could continue, in walked a dapper, dark-skinned gentleman, on whose arm walked a maiden in blue with curly, raven hair.
"Good grief! Lucy!" Linus cried and quickly fle- I mean, left to go to the bathroom.
"Good evening, Franklin," Schroeder greeted.
"Hey, Schroeder," replied Franklin. The two exchanged a fist bump.
"I would like to introduce you to Lucy Peppermont. In her, I present someone who is very fond of you."
"My dear Lucy," Sally smiled, shaking the young woman's hand.
"Marquis. I thought Linus would be with you," Lucy quarried.
"I…where did he go? Sweet Baboo!" Sally called, hurrying away to find her "true love". Schroeder could have sworn he heard "I'm not your Sweet Baboo" coming from off in the distance.
"Told you this would be fun," Franklin smirked, turning to Lucy.
As this was all going on, a strange looking servant appeared so as to lay out the table. He had a large nose, an oddly furry face, and a nametag that read, "Hello, my name is Snoopy. (You killed my father. Prepare to die)". Though short, he was followed by still shorter servants whom, upon closer inspection, appeared to be a flock of little, yellow birds. In aprons and good spirits, the odd gang of peanut sized servants rushed about, setting food atop Schroeder's grand, oaken dining table.
All went smoothly but for one instance. One of the careless birdmen tripped as he was bringing in a platter of roast pork. Unnoticed by the trippee, the leader of the workers, Snoopy, fell into the bowels of the platter as it slid across the polished floor. When the plate was unveiled, there lay Snoopy, flat on his stomach, with an apple in his mouth. Swallowing the apple quickly, he jumped up and made strange, angry noises at the poor birdman. The underling apparently understood and walked away with his head down in shame.
As soon as they were done setting up, Snoopy put a bugle to his lips and played a quick toot (one of the small servants fell out of the instrument in the process).
"Please be seated!" Schroeder announced.
"Hooray!" cried the guests. Schroeder sat down between Franklin and Lucy, the latter of whom smiled flirtatiously at her host. Across from Schroeder sat an empty seat for Linus when he cared to return to the main group. Sally and Frieda sat on either side of it.
"Lucy thinks quite highly of you," whispered Franklin to his host.
"You're kidding me?!" exclaimed Schroeder (quietly, of course)
"No. When you were sick, she called everyday, asking about you," Franklin smiled.
"Oh, don't say stuff like that," replied Schroeder, "I'm nothing to her."
"I'm not making this up."
"So it's true?!" gasped Schroeder, confused, "But why? I don't understand."
"But it is," Lucy had taken note of her companions conversation and had decided to end any doubts of Schroeder's.
"I…Thanks," blushed Schroeder.
"Wait, why am I blushing?" Schroeder chided himself.
"You, Baron Frieda, were less thoughtful," Schroeder accused the curly-haired woman, turning to her.
"But I haven't known you that long," argued Frieda.
"And yet I've known Lucy for approx. 4 minutes and 27 seconds." Schroeder reasoned.
"I don't like her," Frieda whispered, casting Lucy a wary eye.
"Why not? She seems pleasant enough. And oddly familiar…"
The door opened, interrupting Schroeder's musings. In, very, very slowly, walked Linus.
"What's wrong?" cried Schroeder, rising from his chair. He had reason to ask.
Linus was shaking slightly and his eyes were as wide as a deer in headlights (not that there were many headlights at the time, or even cars for deer to be entranced by). More peculiar still, he was holding an arm to his ear, lightly rubbing the blue fabric of his dinner jacket along the side of his face. Equally, he was sucking his thum.
"Nothing," mumbled Linus, taking his seat.
"So you did turn that old blanket into a jacket," purred Lucy.
"Hello Lucy." Linus did not look up.
"Linus," Lucy sighed, "I know I haven't always been…how do I put this…the most…supportive person in the world for you. I'm…. sorry about that, now."
"So let's turn over a fresh leaf. Will you love your sister again?" Schroeder raised an eyebrow. Sister? Linus gave a wispy smile.
"Sure," he said, and the two embraced.
"Sorry to break up what would probably be a lovely sibling reunion," Frieda interjected suddenly, "But who's gonna give the toast?"
"I'll do it!" cried a recently re-heartened Linus.
"Hear, hear!" called the other guests. Someone even wolf-whistled.
"Hem, hem," Linus cleared his throat and began:
"In the year 1621, the pilgrims held their first Thanksgiving feast and they invited the great Indian chief, Massasoit, who brought 90 of his brave Indians and a great abundance of food and Governor William Bradford and Captain Miles Standish where honored guests. Elder William Brewster, who was a minister, said a prayer that went something like this: We thank God for our homes and our food and our safety in a new land. We thank God for the opportunity to create a new world for freedom and justice."
"Amen," added Sally. Everyone else was speechless.
"Well then," Frieda started slowly, "Who wants to make a toast that makes sense?" She looked pointedly at Schroeder. He nodded feebly, in slight shock of Linus' grand, American-holiday inspired speech.
"Beethoven was baptized in 1770. He-"
"OK! Let's eat now!" Frieda interjected again. Schroeder sighed and nodded. He waved a hand to the servants waiting eagerly to serve. Led by Snoopy, they unveiled the dishes one by one in a great flurry of tin and feathers.
For the next while, the table of happy partygoers gorged themselves on roast pork, marinated venison, hard-boiled eggs on honeyed toast, and many other fine delicacies. The mood was light and gay, as was the conversation. Everyone was smiling down their glasses of root beer at one another. Any fights or arguments that broke out were swift and in jest. A myriad of "Ooohs" and "Ahhs" were accompanied by the arrival of desserts. Trays piled high with sweets and cakes, treacle and fudge, were laid in front of the lucky guests. Though many of the guests where already full, they made some room for the delicious looking things placed before them.
As soon as the desserts were cleared away, music was heard from the room next-door. Schroeder smiled.
"Ah, Beethoven," he said, "Who would care to dance?"
"Yes!" cried the contented crowd as one.
"Then let's go!"
"Huzzah!" called the crowd and moved foreword as to enter the room before them. Suddenly, however, Schroeder face paled and his breath grew shallow. He placed a hand upon the table to steady himself.
"Are you alright?" came many worried voices.
"Yes, yes. I…I'm fine," Schroeder reassured, though made no attempt to move from his propped up position.
"Are you sure?" asked Linus.
"Yes. Now go. Go. Shoo. Don't worry about me," Schroeder waved the crowd forward. The gaggle of good-natured guests made their way to the other room, leaving their host alone to catch his breath.
"Good grief, I'm shaking," Schroeder gasped before entering a long and hard coughing fit. When that had finished, he looked up, gasping for air. Directly front of him stood Lucy, looking incredibly worried.
"You," was all Schroeder could get out.
"Are you alright?" asked Lucy, stepping in closer at the recognition.
"I'm better now," Schroeder finally caught his breath.
"You look like a turkey half plucked and thrown through the wash tube." Schroeder raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe not that bad but the way you carry on; you'll kill yourself. You should take better care of your health," admonished Lucy as she helped Schroeder sit down.
"How can I?" asked Schroeder, leaning his head on a hand.
"If only I could take care of you," Lucy said, taking the seat beside the pianist.
"What a thing to say! No one cares about me," Schroeder sighed.
"…except for me," Lucy said quietly. Schroeder smiled.
"True. I had forgotten about that great passion of yours."
"I'm not kidding. I mean it."
"Then how long have you loved me?" Schroeder asked bemusedly.
"For more than a year. On that happy day, you walked through my life and since then I 've been madly in love. You are the torment and delight of my heart." Lucy confessed.
"If that's true, leave me. I can only be your friend. I…I don't know how to love. I'm being honest. Go find someone else, it would be easier to forget me." Franklin appeared at the doorway as Schroeder said this.
"Good grief, what are you two doing in here?" he exclaimed, leaning on the doorframe.
"Talking nonsense," sighed Schroeder, giving Lucy a pointed look.
"Oh, then I won't bother you," Franklin gave Schroeder a wink before disappearing once more into the hubbub of the next room.
"No more talk of love, alright?" implored Schroeder.
"Whatever you want. My aunt Marian did say not to discuss love with musicians. I'm going," Lucy started to get up.
"Wait, take this," Schroeder grabbed a violet from the vase on the table and handed it to Lucy.
"What's this for?" she asked.
"Bring it back to me when it's withered," Schroeder instructed.
"So basically, I should come 'round tomorrow, about the same time?" Lucy clarified.
"Yeah, pretty much. Do you still love me after all that?"
"Yes, certainly! I'm happy, oh so happy!" Lucy twirled about in a circle to prove it. "Goodbye, my beloved!" she smiled.
"Did you know Beethoven would have loved that flower?!" Schroeder called in response. She didn't hear him; she was too busy flying to Cloud 9.
"How strange," Schroeder said aloud once all the guests had gone home.
"Those words actually had an impact on me. No woman's ever really sparked my interest. But what would love do for me? Good grief….I've never really loved…or to be loved? This girl who stood alone in a crowd, hovered around my sickbed. Do I love her? What am I even saying? It's madness, madness I say! A poor, lonely pianist in the teeming desert known as Paris. What can I do but try to enjoy myself." Schroeder sighed. Soliloquizing takes a lot out of a man, particularly one suffering from the consumption.
"Take my hand," came a singing voice outside his window. Upon further inspection, it turned out to be Lucy.
"Take my whole love too," she continued.
"Love, the torment and desire of my heart." Schroeder murmured to himself.
"For I can't help-"
"Falling in love with you," Schroeder injected in.
"Oh!" exclaimed Lucy, startled.
"Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you an Elvis fan." Schroeder smiled in spite of himself.
"Elvis?" Lucy asked.
"Nevermind." Schroeder said quickly.
"Is it already tomorrow?" quarried Lucy, a smile playing about her lips.
"Maybe," was the reply. Schroeder agilely scampered down the trellis leaning against the wall by his window, careful not to pull down any of the roses.
"So. What do you to say?" asked Lucy calmly, though underneath she was bubbling with anticipation.
"I…I have never felt this way before," Schroeder admitted, "Something about your honesty…your sincerity…" he leaned up against the wall, "Is this love? This strange burning sensation?" he asked, not looking at the woman beside him.
"For my sake, I truly hope it is." Lucy replied. She leaned in close, wisps of her black hair tickling his face. "Come away with me," she whispered, "Come out to the country. It will do you good; you are so pale." And with that she kissed him, lightly, yet with all the passion of a thousand suns.
"Yes." He muttered, "I'll go with you. To the country. For my health, of course, nothing else."
"Of course not."
"And my piano's coming."
"Wouldn't dream of leaving it."