Lucy paced the downstairs area, her temper mounting each time she glanced at the mantle clock. Every so often she would go to one of the windows at the front of the house or the back, and she scanned the area, but upon not seeing the sight she expected, she let out a long exhale and went back to pacing.
Her youngest brother, Rerun, laid on his stomach on the living room floor, working on his coloring book with an artistic hand. He did not seem bothered by the typical warning signs of his sister's anger; Lucy rarely actually yelled at him, being more motherly toward him due to their age gap than she was to the middle Van Pelt sibling. Sure enough, when she stopped beside him, tapping her foot, he looked up calmly to see her temper was far from being directed at him.
"It's just like your brother," she told Rerun with a huff. "Every time I need his help, he goes off with that blanket and leaves me to carry all the responsibility around here."
Rerun looked amazed. "Does it really take two kids to watch me, Big Sister?"
"It's the principle of the matter," Lucy replied, folding her arms. "If Mom says we both have to watch you, then Linus should be here when he's supposed to."
"Maybe he got chased by a queen snake," Rerun suggested.
"Then he should remember he has less to fear from a snake than from me."
Agitated, she stomped out onto the front stoop to check for any sign of Linus, but an empty yard met her. Grumbling, she was about to spin away, but a bit of movement by the fence caught her eye, and four figures maneuvered onto the lawn.
Pallid and clammy, Linus staggered and lurched over the grass, propped by Charlie Brown and Schroeder on either side. Hovering around the boys, Sally Brown wrung her hands and murmured encouragement like, "Almost there. Just a few more steps."
Despite her annoyance, Lucy's stomach lurched at the sight of her brother, and she stepped down the stoop before she realized it.
"What happened?" she called.
"My blanket! My blanket!" Linus gasped, looking dazed. "My poor blanket!"
It was then that Lucy realized his blue blanket was nowhere in sight.
"What happened?" she repeated, her alarm growing in spite of her desire to stay mad at him.
"It was that big kid, Clarence Thompson, and his friends," Charlie Brown told her, steadying Linus. "They snuck up on him at the park and knocked him down, and—"
"And they took my blanket!" Linus sobbed.
"What he said," Charlie Brown added with a grim nod.
"Let's get him into the house," said Schroeder, hefting Linus up higher onto his shoulder.
Lucy jogged back up the stoop and opened the door wide. The older boys had to turn sideways to guide Linus into the front hall. With every step, Linus moaned and whimpered as though his own child had been ripped from his arms.
"I should have been quicker," he mourned. "My blanket needed me, and I wasn't fast enough. It probably thinks I abandoned it…"
The boys helped him over to the living-room couch, and Sally rushed ahead to arrange the couch pillow for his head. Rerun, alarmed, crept over to his brother's side and patted his damp head.
"Poor Big Brother, it'll be okay," he mumbled. "…I hope."
"Of course it will," Lucy said sensibly. "He's survived going without his blanket before. He'll get through this too."
Sally turned her head, her little eyes wide open.
"I'm really worried about him this time, Lucy," she said. "Watch this."
She pivoted to Linus with a loving smile and cooed, "Oh, Sweet Babboo!"
Linus did not respond but continued to stare straight ahead with dazed eyes. Sally looked back at Lucy in dismay.
"See?" she cried. "He didn't complain at all!"
"He'll live," Lucy insisted, but she glanced carefully at her brother's clammy face.
The others set to work making Linus comfortable. Charlie Brown grabbed the other couch pillow and used it to fan his face while Rerun went into Linus's room and brought back the quilt from his bed, which Linus clutched to his chest as a bulky substitute. Sally sat beside him and patted his shoulder, reminding him to breathe deeply. Schroeder helpfully jogged back home to retrieve his toy piano, and he sat with it on the floor by the couch, trying to ease Linus's anxiety with gentle Beethoven works.
"All this because of a dumb blanket," Lucy grumbled, standing to one side.
She had barely uttered these words when the mailslot creaked open and shut, but a glimpse at the mantle clock showed that it was too late in the day for the postman. Rerun got to his feet and trotted into the front hall to inspect the noise. In seconds, he brought back an envelope.
"It's addressed to 'The Dumb Kid with the Blanket,'" he announced, carrying it over to his brother.
Linus shot to his feet and rushed over to meet Rerun in the middle of the room, nearly tripping over the quilt tangled around his feet. He accepted the letter with trembling fingers, and he struggled to tear open the flap while the others crowded around him. Even Lucy stepped close with a look of morbid curiosity. Gingerly, Linus pulled out a folded piece of paper and opened it. He read through it once, then blanched.
"It's— It's a ransom note!" he gulped.
"What?!" the others cried.
"They— They want me to— to give them five hundred dollars," he stammered, gaping at the text. "They want it tonight! At — at six o'clock! Or they'll cut my blanket to shreds!"
He gripped the note and envelope, crushing them in his fingers.
"I don't have that kind of money," he wailed. "They'll cut up my poor blanket, and I'll never see it again!"
Charlie Brown had to grab Linus by the shoulders to keep him from collapsing. Schroeder and Sally exchanged dismayed looks.
"How can anyone be so cruel?" Schroeder demanded, shaking his head.
"They can't treat my Sweet Babboo that way!" Sally cried. She swung her fists at an invisible enemy. "I outta go over there and punch them right in the nose!"
"Where can I get that money?" Linus wailed. "I'll never raise enough."
Charlie Brown reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. He forlornly held it out to Linus.
"That's all I got left from my allowance, but you can have it."
"Great, only four hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents to go," Linus mumbled, staring at it as though he were a drowning man encountering the world's smallest lifesaver.
"I got five pennies in my piggy bank, Big Brother," Rerun offered, tugging on Linus's arm.
"I might have a dollar," Sally chimed in.
Schroeder rubbed his neck. "I spent most of my allowance on an album of Böhm's organ music, but you can have what's left."
"I a-appreciate all your— your help," Linus choked out, "but it's still nowhere near enough! What else can I do?"
"Lucy should have some money," Sally remembered. "She's probably made a fortune off being my brother's psychiatrist."
Lucy frowned. "Hey, my money doesn't go to terrorists, thank you very much."
Schroeder shot her a look. "Can't you help out your flesh and blood this one time?"
Lucy lifted her head, ignoring his jibe.
"This is probably for the best," she said in a sensible tone. "Linus can finally kick the habit, and those kids won't get a cent from him. He'll have the last laugh."
Linus rounded on her, eyes flashing.
"Of course you don't care!" he exclaimed. "You've hated my blanket ever since I was a baby! And now you're just gonna sit back and smirk while your own brother suffers and suffers, and you don't care that I've lost all my security and have to face the whole world by myself!"
"That isn't true," Lucy started to say, but Sally suddenly pointed to the envelope.
"Hey, something else is in there, Linus," she said, arching her eyebrows.
Linus opened the envelope again, now with a jerk. He reached inside and began to pull out something blue —and he let out a scream, letting the envelope and ransom note drop.
"A piece of my blanket!" he shrieked, holding up the sheared piece. "They cut up my poor blanket!"
Charlie Brown quickly covered Rerun's eyes, preventing the little boy from looking. Schroeder and Sally both clutched their stomachs, looking ill. Linus fell to his knees, clutching the cloth to his face.
"My blanket!" he moaned, teardrops collecting around his closed eyes. "I'll never see it again! My poor blanket!"
Lucy stared, frowning, at her broken brother, and as the tears ribboned down his red face, something shifted in her mind. Straightening her shoulders, she crossed over to Linus and grabbed his arm, hauling her sobbing brother across the floor to the couch, and she half-threw him onto it.
"You stay there," she ordered. "Don't mess things up by getting in my way."
Linus was too devastated to question her. Lucy snapped her head toward Charlie Brown, who was still shielding Rerun.
"Charlie Brown," she said in a tight voice, "where's Snoopy?"
"Flying his Sopwith Camel when I left home earlier," he said blankly. "He might be celebrating his victories in the officers' club by now."
"In other words, he's drinking root beer in your living room," she translated. She narrowed her eyes in crabby thought, then jerked a nod to herself. "Yes, yes, I can work with that."
"Work with what?" Schroeder questioned with a frown.
Instead of answering, Lucy went over to the ransom note on the fallen envelope. She swiped it up, folded it, and then shoved it into her dress pocket.
"Schroeder, keep playing Beethoven for Linus," she commanded. "Keep him calm enough so that he doesn't do something drastic and ruin everything. Charlie Brown and Sally, fix Linus something warm he can sip. Rerun, you're in charge of your brother until I get back."
Rerun looked grave. "I shall carry out my solemn duty to the best of my abilities."
"Good boy," she said with a curt nod before she spun on her saddle-shoe heel and stormed for the door.
"Here is the World War One Flying Ace throwing darts in the officers' club after a long day of hunting for the Red Baron," Flying Ace Snoopy narrated to himself, expertly lobbing a dart at the plastic board hanging near the doorway of the Browns' living room. "Although the Baron has eluded him once again, the Flying Ace is undeterred, already planning his next exploit as he quaffs a few root beers."
The Flying Ace reached for his mug as he thought this, taking a grateful gulp, and he sighed with a mixture of emotions. War was bitter, but root beer was sweet.
The Flying Ace tried to distract himself by tossing more darts at the dartboard, experimenting with a few trick shots that would no doubt impress a few French country lasses (if they had been allowed in the officers' club). Perhaps a few German lasses would have been impressed as well if they could see their roguishly handsome enemy now, too awestruck by his prowess to remember their loyalties laid elsewhere.
"Ah, but that is war," the Flying Ace sighed to himself.
Despite his green aviator helmet covering his sharp ears, the Flying Ace heard the front door open then without a knock, and a young human stomped into the house. He did not fear an enemy German, however; without looking, he knew it was the crabby girl who he affectionately called "Sweetie." (In his mind he called all the human girls in the neighborhood "Sweetie" since it was easier than remembering a bunch of names.)
Unbidden, Sweetie marched right into the living room, planting her hands on her hips.
"Okay, Beagle," she said, "listen up!"
"What's this? A young lass has entered the officers' club with an urgent message from the aerodrome! The Flying Ace shakes his head. It's probably from Woodrow Wilson asking for advice again. Doesn't the president know that the Flying Ace has to hunt down the Red Baron, not oversee ground battles and political problems?"
"Don't shake your head at me before you hear what I have to say!" Sweetie snapped. "You know I don't like your World War One act, but this time I'll play along. Got it?"
"The young lass's nerves are shot, and she is half-mad with terror. She begs for the Flying Ace to help. How could he say no to such an innocent maid?"
At the Flying Ace's quiet stare, Sweetie folded her arms. "All right, Beagle. I have a message from your commanding officer, General Pershing."
The Flying Ace's mouth fell open. "This is not a mere country lass, after all, but a female spy helping the Allies! The Flying Ace quickly listens as she relays a secret message intended for his ears only."
"Some members of the Central Powers stole a blanket with a secret code woven into the fabric," Sweetie told him. "You are to accompany me on this mission and help me get it back."
The Flying Ace stood up straight and saluted.
"Let's go," she ordered, jerking away.
"Here is the World War One Flying Ace accompanying the female spy behind enemy lines," the beagle narrated as he jogged after Agent Sweetie. "He has stopped only to put on one of his famous disguises."
He gave his black Pickelhaube helmet a smirking pat; he had taken it from a German soldier a few months back as a spoil of war. It concealed his aviator helmet, and he had pulled his goggles over his eyes to conceal his identity further. (He was, after all, a famous pilot for the Allies, and even German peasants knew his face.)
"I think we're close," Agent Sweetie said suddenly. "Someone told me Clarence lives in a green house on Brookville Lane."
They reached the corner and turned, and Agent Sweetie stopped, pointing.
"That must be it," she told the Flying Ace. "You ready, Dog?"
The Flying Ace saluted.
"'Jawohl,' he answers in a perfect German accent. (Did you expect less from a hound with such clever disguises?)"
"Great," Agent Sweetie said. "Now, don't goof up. We might only get one shot at this."
"'I've faced worse odds, mademoiselle,' the Flying Ace tells her smoothly."
Agent Sweetie beckoned for him to follow, and they made their way over to the house in question. The front yard was loaded with lawn ornaments, particularly of the flamingo variety, and the Flying Ace took note of a green field spread out in the back, broken by a few thriving copses.
"Here is the Flying Ace and the spy approaching German trenches, disguised as the enemy. The German trenches are made of concrete and are more advanced than what the Entente have constructed thus far. The Flying Ace takes careful note of his surroundings, already formulating a daring escape should the mission fail…"
A television was blaring from an unseen living room as they approached. (Coded transmissions from the German radios, the Flying Ace told himself.) Sweetie stomped right up the stoop steps and made three sharp raps. She tapped her foot, waiting with a scowl, then rapped again. The volume of the television lowered, and in moments a tall, broad-shouldered boy with brown hair opened the door.
"You selling cookies or something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Otherwise, get lost. The game's on."
Agent Sweetie did not even blink.
"I'm here for Linus Van Pelt's blanket," she said. "You have one chance to turn it over without consequences. I suggest you take it."
Clarence uttered a soft scoff, looking her up and down.
"Oooh, big words from a little girl," he sneered. "You got my money, kid?"
"You needn't worry about that," she said, unsmiling. "I'm leaving here with that blanket one way or another. How I'm going to get it is up to you, Clarence Thompson."
"Is that a fact?" He sounded amused. "Maybe I could give it to you, kid. Piece by itty-bitty piece." His eyes glittered balefully. "Unless you want to go ahead and pay me."
"How do I know you even have the blanket?" Agent Sweetie demanded, holding her arms akimbo. "You could have tossed it into the incinerator. I'm not paying for anything until I see it for myself."
Clarence sneered and pushed himself off the doorpost. "Wait here, kid."
He shut the door, and his footsteps retreated. The house was quiet for several minutes save for the soft TV sounds, and soon he returned, opening the door just enough to stick his face out. He extended his hand through the gap, showing a corner of blue fabric — and immediately Agent Sweetie leapt off the stoop.
"NOW, SNOOPY!" she bellowed, jogging backwards.
The Flying Ace threw off his helmet and leapt forward, catching a mouthful of fabric before Clarence could pull his arm back. Spinning, he charged off the stoop and dropped onto the grass, now on all fours. Clarence had enough presence of mind to tighten his grip — but he was yanked off his feet and, screaming, flapped in air behind the blanket like a kite.
"Here is the Flying Ace making a daring escape with the recovered plans," the beagle told himself, smiling around the blanket as he hauled Clarence straight past Sweetie toward the side fence before he whipped right around the corner of the house. "A German soldier attempts to grapple with our hero, but the dashing pilot charges into no man's land, dragging the soldier along while dodging a cloud of bullets from machine guns. He leaps over barbed wires and ducks around rocks and boulders…"
"Stop! Stop! You stupid dog, stop!" Clarence hollered, whipping up and down in the air.
The Flying Ace did not break pace. He zoomed right into the big field stretching out in front of him now. Ten feet in, he made a sharp turn and charged into a nearby copse, threading himself around the birch trees like a needle, and the blanket and Clarence smoothly followed.
"Stop, please!" Clarence cried. "I'm going to be sick."
"Sensing he has the upperhand — or, rather, paw — our hero makes quick work of his adversary."
The Flying Ace dug his paws into the dirt, skidding to a halt — Clarence's momentum hurled him over the Flying Ace's head — and just as the blanket went taut again, the Flying Ace deftly pulled back and began to swing Clarence in the air like a lasso. Unlike the owner of the blanket, Clarence did not have quite as good a grip, and he slipped right off the end, flying through the air like a rock from a sling. He crashed onto the grass and let out a dizzy groan.
Still on all fours, the Flying Ace turned and trotted back toward the house with the blanket trailing behind him. He found Sweetie waiting for him by the back corner.
"Good dog," she grinned, reaching out to give him a pat on the head.
"'Just doing my duty, mademoiselle,' the Flying Ace smiles back."
Working together, Charlie Brown and Sally had managed to heat a mug's worth of (scalded) milk, but try as he might, Linus could barely choke down more than a few sips.
"It's no use," he said, flopping back as the room swam around him. "I can barely swallow. Without my blanket, I'm defenseless, and my body knows this. I've lost my feeling of security, and I keep spiraling and spiraling and spiraling…"
Just the thought of spiraling made him feel dizzier, and he clutched his head, trying to anchor himself mentally.
"Why do you always call it your 'security blanket,' Linus?" Schroeder wanted to know, looking up from his piano with an expression of exasperation. "What does a little kid your age have to feel insecure about?"
Linus managed to roll onto his side, blinking at his friend (along with the three other Schroeders circling about with the original like the image in a kaleidoscope).
"Well, for starters—" he began, but the sound of the front door opening interrupted him, and Snoopy came strutting into the living room, wearing his aviator helmet while he carried a riding crop smartly against his side. He went right over to his owner and saluted, then puffed out his furry, white chest, looking quite pleased with himself. Charlie Brown blinked, quirking an eyebrow.
"A medal?" he said as though repeating what Snoopy had audibly said. "You did something to earn a medal?"
"As much I don't like to admit it," came Lucy's voice from the front hall, "but that dog would probably have done well in a real war."
Lucy sauntered into the room. Under her arm, folded and wrinkled, was—
"My blanket!" Linus cried, sitting upright.
All the discomfort evaporated from his body, and he bolted from the couch. Lucy calmly tossed the blanket up, and Linus caught it neatly in the air. He buried his face into the fabric, sighing happily. (Schroeder began to play a celebratory tune on the piano.)
"I'm such an enabler," Lucy exhaled, shaking her head.
Linus let the blanket drop open, inspecting it between his hands. Aside from the corner where Clarence had cut out a patch, it looked unharmed. Tears blurred his vision, and he hugged the blanket against his cheek, sucking his thumb.
Lucy pointedly cleared her throat, giving Linus an expectant glare. "I hope you appreciate what a great big sister you have."
"Of course I do," Linus grinned, pulling his thumb from his mouth. "But… why, Lucy? I thought you hated my blanket."
"It's the principle of the matter," she harrumphed, folding her arms. "Only two kids on this whole planet are allowed to torment you, Linus: me and Rerun. And even then, I have seniority."
The gruffness in her tone only made Linus's smile spread. "In other words, 'I love you, Linus'?"
"Don't push it," she retorted, tossing her head back.
Linus was too joyful to feel slighted. Still gripping one end of his blanket, he jumped forward and threw his arms around his big sister's neck.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he kept saying.
"You need about fifty more thank-yous just to scrape the iceberg of repaying me," she sniffed, but she patted his back, clearly pleased.
Meanwhile, Rerun, looking thoughtful, crawled carefully toward his siblings.
"So… I'm allowed to torment my big brother?" he asked, amazed. He slowly reached for the other end of the blanket dangling by Lucy's heels.
Linus did not raise his head. "Try it and see what happens, Pipsqueak."
Rerun quickly retracted his hand. "And now I'm confused…"
With the storm over, the others left the Van Pelt siblings to themselves and walked together toward their respective homes, with Snoopy leading the way with his riding crop tucked against his side.
"I still don't understand it," Schroeder said, carrying his plastic piano under his arm. "Lucy is always getting on Linus's case about that blanket. She could have stood back and let those kids tear it to shreds, but she went to get it back herself."
"Of course, she did," said Sally matter-of-factly. "She couldn't do anything else in that situation."
He raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure that?"
Charlie Brown's lips stretched into a knowing smile, and he reached for Sally's hand.
"It's a little hard to explain to an only child, Schroeder," he said, giving his sister's hand a brotherly squeeze.
THE END
A/N: I think the best examples of showing the contrast of Lucy being a big sister and Schroeder being an only child are the back-to-back strips for 8/23/59 & 8/24/59, where Lucy understands that Charlie Brown has to skip the ballgame because his mother wants him to push Sally in her stroller while Schroeder is less sympathetic.