Her mother was not home yet, so as the eldest, it fell upon Lucy to warm up dinner for herself and her brothers, which she had been doing ever since she was old enough to use the oven on her own. She grabbed three turkey dinners with mashed potatoes and gravy from the deep freeze, and Lucy offered to pop one in for Schroeder as well, but he declined, saying his mother was fixing Chicken à la King that night. With the dinners baking, Lucy brought out her library books and notes from her room, and she spread them out across the kitchen table. She pulled her chair close to Schroeder's, withdrew her notebook from the stack, and gave him a brief description of the three speakers for each side of the debate.

"Since I'm the new kid, Sebastian put me as the second speaker," she said. "The second negative speaker goes after the second positive speaker, so I have to give my own argument and rebut my opponent's arguments — which could be about anything. Not that I'm afraid of a little improvisation," she added, smoothing back her hair. "I just don't like people throwing me curve balls."

"And what's your speech about?"

Lucy opened her notebook to the rough draft with her arguments and handed it to him.

"As a psychiatrist, I thought I might argue about how classical music helps the brain develop and gets babies to feel happier." She shrugged. "But I haven't found any evidence to say that Beethoven's music is any better than Mozart's or Chopin's. If the other team makes a case for replacing Beethoven with a different composer, what could I realistically argue against that?"

Schroeder scanned her outline. "I'm sure there's an answer, Lucy. I just need to think it over."

"And what if you can't?"

"Well… there are plenty of other good things you can argue about Beethoven," he offered, "like how he was one of the leading influences of Romantic music."

Lucy lifted her head, interested. "Romantic?"

"It's a music style," he promptly retorted. "The Romantic period came after the Classical period. It has nothing to do with cheesy love songs."

"Swell," Lucy muttered, deflating. "You had my attention for a moment there."

"Anyway," Schroeder continued with an air of dignity, "without Beethoven's work to influence them, the Romantic composers might not have written their best masterpieces so effectively."

Lucy considered it, frowning, then shrugged, grabbing her pencil to jot that down.

"Better than nothing," she said. "At least if I mess up, Sebastian and Lillian can still save our ship."

"I thought it was a pretty good argument," he muttered, plopping his chin on his hand.

"It was the most useful thing you have ever said to me, Schroeder," she assured him. "Keep going."

He did not need a second prompting, launching into many examples of the ripple effect of Beethoven's life — how he influenced musicians like Franz Schubert, who asked to be buried near Beethoven's grave, and how some famous modern conductors (whom Lucy had never heard of before) cited Beethoven as an inspiration. Schroeder also appealed to Lucy's more practical side by mentioning the tourism revenue which the Beethoven House regularly drew in for his hometown of Bonn.

Although Lucy did not agree with the relevance of most of his suggestions, she made a note on each anyway, just on the vague chance it would be useful for her rebuttal. Schroeder was an excellent study buddy, as long as it involved a topic he was passionate about, and nothing made his eyes shine like discussing his hero.

He's so cute when he smiles like that.

She studied his glowing face with amused adoration, but she resisted her usual dreamy sigh. After what Schroeder had said at the ice-cream parlor, Lucy did not want to do anything that would push him away from her now that they were finally together again, if only briefly.

I do care about his feelings, after all. I just want his feelings to care about me for a change, the fussbudget side of her argued, but she kept silent, gazing at Schroeder's wonderful smile which she never wanted to see disappear.

With the three dinners cooking, the kitchen was soon filled with a delicious aroma, and like clockwork Linus wandered in, sniffing deeply.

"Mmm, how much longer—?" he started to say, but he stopped short once he saw Schroeder. "Oh. Hello. This is a surprise."

Schroeder sat up, and he looked suddenly sheepish. "I'm helping Lucy get ready for her debate tomorrow."

"He's a walking encyclopedia of all things Beethoven," Lucy stated. "A smart debater knows when to utilize her best resource."

Linus gave Schroeder an odd, calculating look. "And you're here of your own volition?"

"Maybe," Schroeder returned, sounding a little defensive.

"He's being a good friend," Lucy told her brother, "and if you're not going to help too, then beat it. Dinner will be ready in another ten minutes."

Linus held up his hands, backing away. "I know when to retreat."

Lucy turned back to Schroeder, and she raised an eyebrow when she caught sight of his face.

"Hey, do you need a drink of water? You're all flushed."

"I'm fine," he grumbled, pointedly hiding himself behind a book. "Anything else you need to know about Beethoven, Lucy?"

She tapped her chin, thinking it over.

"Schroeder, can I ask you something without getting a fanatic's response?"

"You say 'fanatic' like it's a bad thing."

"C'mon, this is serious."

He sighed, lowering the book. "Fine."

"Suppose you didn't like Beethoven—"

He promptly straightened his shoulders, indignant.

"Hey, you promised," she chided him. Once he calmed, she started up again. "If you didn't like Beethoven, Schroeder—"

"Like in a mirror reality," he snarked.

"Sure, let's go with that. If you didn't like Beethoven, and you came to my debate tomorrow, what are the facts — the facts, Schroeder — that would convince you that Beethoven wasn't overrated?"

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. He rubbed his chin, frowning for a moment, but then he shook his head.

"I can't picture ever not liking Beethoven. His music is amazing. His genius is profound. His life story grabs your attention. If somebody didn't see that already, how could mere words change their mind?"

"You're forgetting the whole point of a debate."

He lifted his arms in a shrug. "I'm biased. I can admit it — even though I'm completely right."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "I'm more and more convinced that you musicians are from a different planet."

"Then let's turn your question around," he challenged. "You already don't like Beethoven. What would finally convince you to give him a chance? And not as a tool to get my attention," he added with a stern frown.

"I don't completely hate him, you know," she admitted, gazing at the books in front of her. "I read his biography when I was seven and kinda liked it — remember when I telephoned to tell you that, and you just told me that it was improper for girls to call boys on the phone?"

Schroeder ignored her reproachful glance, still wearing that firm expression.

Lucy sighed.

"But I'll admit I gave you plenty of reasons to be suspicious and to think I was just manipulating you yet again," she acknowledged begrudgingly.

He gave the slightest of nods.

"And I know I haven't listened to all seven hundred and twenty-two of his works yet, so you probably think I'm not being fair toward Beethoven," she continued, "but on that front, I can at least say I've found one song yesterday that I find a little pretty."

"Oh?" He still did not look completely convinced, but his expression altered as though willing to give her a chance to prove her claim.

"I was listening to that Beethoven record Dad got me — remember the White Elephant game I told you about? — and I liked 'Newy Lie-beeh, News Lebanon' and even replayed it a few times."

Schroeder stared at her. "Newy what now?"

"On the record was a piece called 'Newy Lie-beeh, News Lebanon.' I don't know what the words mean, but the piano part was pretty and made me think of you."

He knitted his brow as though he thought she was putting him on.

"Can you hum a little?"

She did, and after a moment recognition appeared in his eyes.

"That's 'Neue Liebe, neues Leben', Lucy," he corrected.

"Well, however you say it, it's pretty."

He studied her, curious. "Do you really mean that? Or are you just trying to manipulate me again?"

"Well, I'm not saying it's my most favorite song ever," she clarified. "I'm just saying that if you wanted to play it when I was at your house, that'd be a Beethoven song I wouldn't mind listening to."

"I make no promises," he said, but he leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "So… could you maybe share your experience with the song to make your argument, or is that not allowed?"

"We can use personal experience every now and then, but the judges usually prefer debaters to use cited sources. We need solid facts to persuade people. That's why I've been reading biographies and articles in music magazines and anything else I can find."

"And what do you think so far?" he asked, searching her face. "Is there anything that makes you like Beethoven more?"

Lucy exhaled and reached for a book, which had been open to a page with Beethoven's portrait. Her eyes swept over the stern, humorless expression, no doubt born from so many hardships in his life.

"I mean, I think his childhood was pretty sad," she continued, tracing a finger along the portrait edge, "but even with all that, he made something of himself. He could have moped around and felt sorry for himself like Charlie Brown does, but he was like, 'Nope! I'm a musician. I'm going to make the world see it!' So, he kept on trying, didn't he? Like you said at the music store, he didn't even let a thing like deafness stop him from doing what he loved."

"The very definition of tenacious," Schroeder said, beginning to smile.

Lucy leaned back in her chair, thoughtful.

"Sometimes, I think about what he went through as a kid. He was the oldest of his living siblings, and he had to support his family because his deadbeat dad wanted to mooch off him. It wasn't until he was eighteen that he was able to get an order to force his dad to help him take care of the younger kids, right, Schroeder?""

"His father had to give up half his pay."

"Then good for Beethoven for standing up to his dad," she declared vehemently. "I'd like to see my mom and the other Mothers Against Child Neglect go after that guy!"

Schroeder suddenly looked at his hands, grimacing. Lucy barely noticed as her train of thought explored this latest track.

"And that makes me think of what would have happened if I lived back then, you know?" she contemplated. "Like, suppose something happened to my parents. As the eldest, I would have to take care of my brothers — because there's no way anyone would hire Linus when he carries that stupid blanket everywhere, and Rerun would probably end up being a starving artist if he tried to support us with his comics. So, it would fall on me to go to work at a laundry or something."

Schroeder glanced at her and formed a lopsided smile. "Let's be real, Lucy. You would kick Linus out at the first opportunity."

"Only if he were a freeloader," she countered. "Maybe I could get him to sell matches door to door or something, but as a laundress, I'd probably be bringing home the lion's share of our income."

"Possibly."

Lucy clasped her face, imagining that unfortunate scenario.

"And I'd be a radiant beauty forced to stay at a hot wash tub all day, unable to meet a rich, handsome young man who would sweep me off my feet and take me away from my grueling life."

She did not resist a heavy, dramatic sigh at such a tragic thought.

"Oh, brother," Schroeder murmured.

She shot him a miffed look.

"Hey, marriage was a business transaction back then, not just a romantic thing. A girl who didn't marry might die destitute, so I'd be in trouble if no one wanted me. Would you like for me to end up a homeless and starving old lady, Schroeder?"

Schroeder had the grace to look (somewhat) apologetic. Satisfied, Lucy settled back in her chair, returning to her former train of thought.

"At least with Beethoven, he was a good musician," she considered, "and he became famous and got to meet royalty. Maybe hearing about Beethoven would have inspired me to learn music instead of going to work in a laundry. Then I could meet a rich, handsome husband." Her eyes gleamed at the thought before she spun in her seat to face Schroeder. "How much did musicians make back then?"

"Depends on their skill level, who hired them, and for what job."

"True." She touched her chin. "What about accordion players?"

Schroeder stiffened slightly. "Accordions weren't invented until about five years before Beethoven's death, so if you were his age, you'd be in your fifties before you could own one."

"Hmph, so I'd be an old woman before I could get my big break," she muttered. "Maybe I could have picked up the violin instead."

"Or the triangle," he snarked.

Still musing over her hypothetical life in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Lucy reached for her notepad and jotted down a few ideas.

They worked for another hour before Schroeder happened to glance at the clock, and he shot to his feet with a look of alarm.

"Oh, I'm late for dinner!"

"You can think about food when your mind is on Beethoven?" Lucy snarked, getting to her feet as well. She walked him to the front hall, but as he opened the door, she stopped him.

"Thanks, by the way," she said. "I appreciate you helping me out, even though you still have the Key West Effect."

"Westermarck Effect," he corrected flatly.

"Tomato, tomato," she answered with a shrug. "My point is I'm grateful for you doing something with me at my house for once. Studying Beethoven is less boring when you're around to share it with me, Schroeder."

"You've just about summed up my life's mission," he replied, "making Beethoven more palpable to the masses."

"You got your work cut out for you," she said before she remembered something. "Speaking of which, do you know what that song's about, Schroeder?"

"Which one?"

"The Beethoven song I like," she said. "The Newsy, Newsy one."

"'Neue Liebe, neues Leben'," he corrected.

"Well, whatever it's called, what does it mean?"

Schroeder opened his mouth, then closed it, seeming to reconsider.

"Well?" Lucy pressed, raising her eyebrow. "Is it something bad?"

"No, it's not that." He looked away, scratching his cheek. "I'm just suddenly aware of the weight that some pieces of knowledge carry."

"But how am I supposed to like Beethoven songs if I can't understand them?" she countered. "C'mon and tell me already."

Schroeder thinned his lips. "Look, why don't I tell you another day?"

She frowned, squinting at the discomfort on his countenance. "Is it full of swear words?"

"Of course not." He ran a hand over his yellow hair, gazing out the door. "It's just… a sentimental song."

"About?"

He turned away from her, rolling his shoulders. "About a, uh, a man reacting to a new love."

Lucy took a step toward him. "You mean it's a Beethoven love song?"

"Do not say it like that," he snapped, refusing to look at her. "Beethoven was a pioneer in music, so he experimented with different types. Statistically speaking, he was going to write about that topic at some point."

"Indeed he did," Lucy agreed, beginning to smile. "The Romantic composer was also a romantic composer!"

"See, I knew I shouldn't have told you!" Schroeder jerked away further, scowling, and a shade of pink suffused up to his ears. "So much for respecting my feelings!"

Lucy quickly covered her mouth.

"Oh, I'm trying, Schroeder. Really, I am," she insisted, although her eyes continued to gleam. "That's why I'm not going to give you a kiss on the nose for looking so cute when you blush. That's how well I'm going to respect your feelings from now on."

"I'm eternally grateful," he snarked before he stepped out onto the stoop.

After supper, it was Schroeder's job to do the dishes while his mother packed up the leftovers. Normally, he breezed through it in order to sneak in as much time as possible at his piano before he had to go to bed, yet tonight he found himself washing the same dish three times before he remembered to set it on the rack to dry.

He sure had a lot to think about tonight.

Had it only been that afternoon when he borrowed the school camera and followed Lucy and Sebastian into the auditorium?

Had he actually been so glum after school that he had allowed Lucy to drag him downtown, where she had yelled at Mr. Baxter and got them both thrown out of Schroeder's favorite music store?

Had they really gone to the old ice-cream parlor afterwards, where Lucy finally admitted she had been avoiding him in order to make him like her more?

And after that declaration of her intentions, had Schroeder voluntarily gone with Lucy to her house and spent even more time with her?

And throughout it all, he had barely practiced for his upcoming concert.

Schroeder exhaled — and he only realized then that he had been holding a pot under the running water far longer than his parents would have found necessary. He hurriedly shut off the tap and gave the pot a shake before stacking it with the rest. The left side of the sink now only contained soapy water and the cooking utensils; Schroeder let it drain, and once he rinsed off the last ladle, he dried his hands and went straight to the living room.

Although he had barely touched his homework, he determined then to get at least five minutes of practice in before he did anything else.

Instead of Wellington's Victory, however, he retrieved the sheet music for the finale of his concert, Beethoven's "Germania", a celebratory, patriotic song written after the victory against Napoleon during the Wars of Liberation. (Schroeder had learned a lot about that era, thanks to viewing history through a Beethoven lens.) Although Wellington's Victory celebrated the defeat against Napoleon's brother, Joseph Bonaparte, Schroeder thought "Germania" thematically fit to end the concert on a high note.

He started the rousing number, and at once he could feel all prior tension loosen. He threw himself into the piece, and the more his fingers struck the keys, the more he felt like his old self. When he completed it, he leaned back and breathed a contented sigh, closing his eyes. He was playing Beethoven, and the world was beginning to make sense again.

I wonder if Lucy will like this, a stray thought murmured, but he remembered then that nonsense she had spewed about avoiding him just because she thought he saw her as a sister. If she kept that up, she might stay away from his concert altogether.

Fine by me, he sneered to himself, starting up "Germania" once more, but ten seconds in he could tell his performance was less enthusiastic this time. He continued to play, however, preferring a subpar delivery over silence.

…It was not as though Lucy's plan to get him to like her had actually worked, he told himself. He had gone nearly two weeks without noticing her absence, after all. He had only been bothered by her sudden avoidance of him because he had felt guilty about hurting her feelings. Then when she had refused Schroeder's help and had instead hung out with an accordion player who turned out to be the golden son of Mr. Baxter, Schroeder had been perplexed by her odd behavior, not to mention a little annoyed and a little threatened and… and…

He groaned and covered his eyes.

Why me? Why her?

"That's a long face for somebody who just had cherry pie à la mode for dessert."

Schroeder sat up and quickly rearranged his sheet music as his mother entered the living room, carrying her sewing basket. Sometimes she liked to listen to Schroeder playing while she worked on a dress or mended a shirt, but instead of going to the armchair like usual, Mom set her basket on the piano and perched on the edge of his bench, with her back to the keyboard; Schroeder scooted over to make room for her. He kept his gaze low, but Schroeder knew she was studying him.

"The house is so quiet without you filling it up with Beethoven, sweetheart," she began in that probing yet knowing way which made Schroeder sometimes wonder if she used Sherlock Holmes books as a manual for motherhood. "Are you tired?"

"A little, I guess," he admitted. It was true and (more importantly) safe to say. "Long day, you know?"

Mom ran a hand over his yellow hair. "Did it have anything to do with why you were late for dinner? You said you were helping a friend with a project."

Schroeder cringed, aware of the blood rushing to his face. Maybe Mom was related to Sherlock Holmes.

Shrugging, he quickly played a few random notes as casually as he could.

"Oh, that. Lucy's debate team is having their weekly practice debate tomorrow, and the topic is about Beethoven. She asked for my help."

"Ah." Mom chuckled and ruffled his hair, something which he allowed only a few people to do. "No wonder you lost track of the time. You should have called and asked to stay there for supper if you weren't finished talking about Beethoven."

"Lucy offered to fix me a frozen dinner, but I didn't want to give her the wrong impression," he mumbled.

"As a gentleman does," Mom answered mildly, but she sounded a little amused. "Did you guys have fun?"

"Talking about Beethoven always is." He rolled his shoulders, debating for a moment, then took a chance. "But before that, we went downtown together. She, uh, yelled at Mr. Baxter."

Mom quirked an eyebrow. "The music-store owner?"

Schroeder gave her a brief summary of that afternoon, right up to the moment when Lucy said Bach was overrated. Mom blinked a few times, but instead of getting angry with him or Lucy for bothering Mr. Baxter, she folded her arms, seeming to mull over that.

"Lucy's a passionate little thing, isn't she?" Mom finally said.

"That's one way of putting it," Schroeder muttered. He raised his eyes again, swallowing slightly. "But then afterwards, we went to the ice-cream parlor to wait for our bus, and… Lucy told me something else, Mom."

"What's that, sweetheart?"

Schroeder pressed his brown shoes against the piano pedals a few times, even though he was not playing anything now.

"She said… she inferred that she… feels like Sebastian does, about her own parents."

"I see." Mom leaned back lightly against the piano, and the white keys produced soft notes as they sank beneath her weight. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. I'm glad Lucy could finally open up to you about it."

Schroeder stared at her. "Wait. You already knew?"

"I suspected as much," she replied, touching her cheek. "Certain things alert a mother's intuition, after all."

Maybe his mom was Sherlock Holmes, a female one.

"Like what?" he asked softly.

He half-expected Mom to chide him for gossiping, but this time she gave him a sad smile.

"Well, things that Lucy has said or done over the years. When a small child is bossy, sometimes it means she wants to be in control of her circumstances, so then the next question is why does someone her age feel like she isn't in control. And when a child is fussy all the time, you then have to ask what is making her feel the need to fuss. In both cases, the answer likely lies in her home life. After seeing how Mrs. Van Pelt raises her children, it wasn't hard to put two and two together."

"But Mrs. Van Pelt is part of the Mothers Against Child Neglect," Schroeder protested. "Lucy's always talking about the charities and leagues and fundraisers her mom is a part of. I wouldn't think Mrs. Van Pelt would just ignore her kids."

"Not on purpose," Mom clarified. "As the old saying goes, 'The cobbler's children go barefoot, and the doctor's wife dies young.' Sometimes, grown-ups get so focused on their work or hobbies that it makes them forget their more important priorities."

She sighed and took Schroeder's hand to pat it, something which he did not mind when it was just the two of them like this.

"In Mrs. Van Pelt's mind," she said, "she probably thinks she's doing the world a great service with her charities — and to be fair, she is helping people, which makes her even more nearsighted."

Schroeder nodded slowly.

"Then you have to factor in that her husband is busy with his job because he has a family to provide for," Mom continued, "so Mrs. Van Pelt would be even more eager to have other adults to talk to, instead of only having her children for company. Going to all those meetings means she's getting away from the house and making friends; she gets emotional validation, and she gets to see positive change happen because of her actions. That's the sort of thing that could go to anyone's head, even mine" — with a wry, but sympathetic, smile. "Yet if you forget to keep things balanced, then the people you care most about can slip through the cracks, and so Lucy and her brothers feel ignored."

"I guess that makes sense," Schroeder said softly.

Mom shook her head. "I remember a few years ago I had run to the grocery store to pick up some eggnog. It was snowing, and Mrs. Van Pelt was out front with her bike, talking to a friend. Rerun was still little enough to sit on the seat in the back, and he was covered head to toe in snow." Her eyes narrowed. "I hurried over and helped brush him off. His little teeth were chattering, and his mother started apologizing to him, and from the way Rerun said he forgave her, it was clear this sort of thing had happened before. Over the years I had noticed similar things with his brother and sister, but that had been the most obvious display I'd ever seen."

Schroeder looked down. "Is that what you meant a few days ago when you told me I had blessings that Lucy doesn't?"

Mom laid a hand on his shoulder. "You rarely have to eat dinner alone, right, sweetheart?"

He nodded silently.

"But I'm glad Lucy confided in you," Mom said. "I always figured that's why she took such a shine to you, because you paid attention to her."

He snapped his head up, incredulous. "But I was always trying to get rid of her."

"Not always, sweetheart," Mom smiled, tweaking his nose. "Many a time I would be passing by the living room while you two were together, and I would hear you stop playing the piano just to tell Lucy something about Beethoven or to ask her opinion on your latest composition."

"I was only— I mean— Beethoven can make anything tolerable, even Lucy," he insisted, but it sounded flustered even to his own ears.

"Even so, to a little girl who wonders if her parents really want her around, having a friend share the things he values most probably made Lucy feel like she mattered to someone, even a little."

Schroeder looked away.

"And I was always proud," Mom continued, patting his shoulder again, "of how gracious you could be towards Lucy, no matter how much you complained about her. You never have to feel like you must be friends with her, Schroeder, but I was glad when you handled yourself like a little gentleman."

"I'm not much of a friend anyhow," he answered softly. "If it doesn't involve music, I don't notice anything important."

"But you get a pass for being young," Mom said gently. "Some grownups don't see a thing outside their own interests."

Schroeder shook his head with a sigh. Mom promptly enveloped him in a hug.

"Some things are too big for a young man to fix on his own, Schroeder," she told him, laying her head against his own. "It's not your responsibility to change the Van Pelt parents or right their wrongs, and it's certainly not your job to 'fix' things for Lucy. All you can control is yourself and how you react."

Schroeder did not respond except to pat his mother's arm. She drew back, wearing a kind smile.

"Now, will you play some Beethoven for your mother while she works?"

Schroeder, however, shook his head, slipping off the bench. "Actually, I still have some homework I need to finish."

"There's a first," she chuckled. "Usually, I'm the one who has to remind you to stop playing and do homework."

Schroeder flashed a quick smile before he headed toward the doorway.

He worked his way through the assignments for his morning classes before he stopped, figuring he could do the rest during study hall tomorrow. He stood, moseying over to his bookcase to find something fun to read. His hand brushed over his collections of Robin Hood and Sherlock Holmes short stories, but on a sudden impulse he spun away and crossed over to his closet. He climbed onto a plastic tub where his mom kept his winter clothes and felt around the high shelf until his fingers grabbed hold of a short, plastic piano leg. Carefully, he retrieved the red toy piano and cradled it against his chest as he carried it to his bed.

It was a little dusty, so he grabbed a tissue and wiped the surfaces clean. Satisfied, he settled on his bed, legs crossed, and he opened the cover, gazing at the now slightly off-white plastic and the peeling paint of the nonexistent black keys, the evidence of a well-used and beloved instrument. His hands were too big now to play comfortably, but that hardly stopped him from letting the fingers of his right hand walk across the keys, picking out the slightly somber second movement from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony. His shoulders began to ache from hunching, however, so he stretched himself out on his bed, rolling onto his side. With one hand propping up his head, he continued playing.

Often when he dived into music, his mind was free to create colorful images or find solutions to various problems. Being next to his toy piano again, he found himself remembering the last time he had used it, back in the fourth grade. After his summer growth spurt, he had taken to keeping the piano on top of a table in order to protect his back from cramping from long hours of pouring over the keys. Lucy had easily adapted to the change, often reclining against the table in the chair opposite his.

On that last day, out of the blue, she had turned to look at Schroeder, sitting up with excitement.

"I believe I've just thought of a way for you to make Beethoven interesting to people on a worldwide scale."

Schroeder had raised his head. Although there was always the seventy-thirty chance that whatever Lucy said would make him regret humoring her, sometimes she came up with genuinely good ideas.

Seeing she had his interest, she had twisted around until she could look directly into his quiet, skeptical eyes.

"Seeing how I plan to be president someday," she had begun in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'll be one of the most powerful people on the whole planet, right? So, if we get married, you're going to be the First Gentleman — the first ever First Gentleman, if I have anything to say about it. So, you'll be in the history books for all time, Schroeder."

He had raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. Lucy had leaned forward, her eyes gleaming.

"Think of all the TV interviews, Schroeder! Think of all the parties at the White House you'll be helping me host! Think of the charities you can support with benefit concerts! And everywhere you go, you can make sure that Beethoven gets mentioned. You can play the piano on live television, and the whole country will tune in to watch. And if I can get elected twice, that'll be eight years of you using your influence to push Beethoven — and even after I have to step down, you'll still be an important figure! Students everywhere will be reading your biography and writing essays on your life, and everyone will always remember that First Gentleman Schroeder, husband of President Lucy, supported Beethoven. Both of your names will always be mentioned in the same breath — along with mine, your beloved commander-in-chief."

Lucy had then laid her elbows on the toy piano and rested her head on her hands. Her smile had grown sweeter.

Schroeder had stared at her in stunned silence, digesting her little speech for what felt like several minutes before he had recovered his senses. He had turned back to his piano, resuming his playing at a louder volume.

Instead of getting offended, Lucy had chirped, "I noticed you had to think about it first."

At the teasing triumph in her sunny voice, he had scowled, and he had responded by yanking his toy piano out from under her elbows, causing her to crash onto the tabletop.

"'For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?'" he had retorted, quoting a Bible verse which he had heard in Sunday school a few times.

Now, Schroeder sighed and stopped his playing to run his finger along the keys in a glissando.

I must have missed too many meals, he thought. It's affecting my brain.

Why else would he be remembering such a silly memory right now?

…And why else would he be wondering what would have happened if he had tried to understand Lucy back then, instead of pushing her away all the time?

Gazing solemnly at the piano, he tapped the keys at random, picking out a tune without trying to make it sound melodious, but his agitation did not lessen; neither did that stab of guilt.

Am I just a machine who only plays Beethoven and isn't good for anything else? he wondered. A human Panharmonicon?

A few weeks ago, he would have resisted these feelings, insisting he did not have to care about Lucy's problems when he wanted nothing to do with her in the first place. Now, though, he wondered why he had never considered that his friend had been unhappy at home. She had been his most constant companion throughout his life; they had talked about all sorts of topics, from Beethoven to the baseball team to whether he needed a haircut, then back to Beethoven again. In all that time — in all those hours and hours together — why hadn't he picked up on what she was dealing with?

But Sebastian had, Schroeder realized with a wince. He had known Lucy for less than a month, but he must have seen something there that afternoon in the auditorium when he had placed his accordion to the side and told her, "I'm listening, Lucy." He had offered her his undivided attention as a kindred spirit — and something else.

Something that annoyed Schroeder to no end.

Schroeder scowled without meaning to, quickening the tempo of his song, and it was only then that he realized what he was playing: Beethoven's "Seufzer eines Ungeliebten" or, in English, "Sigh of an Unloved."

Mentally kicking himself, he rolled onto his other side, his back now toward his piano.

"Even with Therese and von Drußdik, I bet Beethoven never had to go through this," he muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes.

One thing you can say about Schroeder is that he never tries to "gatekeep" Beethoven from those he considers "unworthy." Although he tends to be skeptical when Lucy talks about Beethoven, as she often pretends to like him as a way to get to Schroeder's heart, when she sincerely shows an interest, he sometimes responds favorably to her. (See the back-to-back strips for 9/27/60 and 9/28/60 as a possible example.) As for Lucy, despite her resistance to Beethoven due to her jealousy, she does like some types of classical music. In the strip for 1/13/65, she imagines Strauss waltzes being played at a fancy ball, and in 4/22/72, she was surprised to discover she liked opera music.

Rerun covered in snow — This is a reference to the comic strip for Dec 8, 1980, albeit it's played for laughs there.

As for the Van Pelt parents, while there are some questionable things going on (see the strips for July 18, 1952; July 18, 1953; and Oct 12, 1962), that's not to say they hate their children. In the strip for April 3, 1963, Mrs. Van Pelt goes to the kids' baseball game, and in the strip for Sept 13, 1967, Linus implies that she's the one who permits him to have his blanket, and Mr. Van Pelt allows Rerun to hide under his bed to avoid school (9/3/96) and hides under his own bed to avoid going to work!