Alfreda Schweitzer and Her Bargain with the Milk-Man

[lavivi]

Christmas-present story is complete.

Alfreda Schweitzer and Her Bargain with the Milk-Man

 

Alfreda Schweitzer swung her cloth bundle carrying her lunch of cheese and bread, singing a country folksong her mother had taught her.  Her long golden braids, tied with white ribbons, swung in the breeze as she walked along the meadow beside her father’s herd of goats.  She was wearing a cotton dress with a print of tiny flowers and a white apron tied around it.  Her feet, in sturdy shoes, brushed through the flowers.

           

But suddenly, her sturdy shoe tripped on a rock, and she stumbled sideways, falling off the cliff beside her!  Her cotton dress caught onto the branch, and she managed to grab hold of it before the dress tore, while alas, her bundle of bread and cheese fell to the perilous depths below, into the raging sea. 

 

Terrified, Alfreda clutched the withered branch as she swung back and forth.  Then there was an alarming creak of wood, and she realized her lifeline was about to break.  Raising her eyes, she saw she had not fallen far from the edge – if she could but reach up and grab onto the ground, she’d be safe to go back to herd her father’s goats.  Alfreda struggled to move closer to the face of the cliff, but the branch creaked warningly.  Desperately she reached up, struggling for any hold – nearly there, her fingers grasped at the grass while the branch cracked –

 

But this story isn’t really about her at all.

 

It is a dark and stormy night.  No lightning as of yet however, so the swim coaches figured it was still legal to push their swimmers on.  The wind swirls the rain, pounding it against the side of the Rogers castle.  The bare trees wave their branches wildly, as though crying “no” to something.  The grounds are empty, with all the family and servants safely indoors.  There are a few lighted rooms, visible through the windows to the trees outside, but we’ll focus on the highest, through the glass panes of which could be seen a man in his prime, bent over parchment, scribbling furiously with his quill.  He has a full head of wavy black hair and is wearing a wine-colored tunic and little else, because it has now been proven that SAT math questions eat away at writers’ brains.  His name is Judah Rogers.

 

“Aha!” he exclaims, throwing down his quill as his good wife Lynette, dressed in a green…dress, enters the room.  “My book is complete!”

 

“I’m so happy for you, darling.  May I read over your last chapter?”

 

“Certainly, my good wife.”  Judah hands it to her.  As she begins to read, he muttered, “My only concern is that they might mistake the humor of it for bad writing.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be very understanding.”

 

“Or possibly,” he continues, apparently without hearing her, “the humor won’t sufficiently disguise the bad writing.”

 

In the west wing of the house, their daughter Laverne is dreamily brushing out her long, fine auburn hair that reached the floor because Laverne is quite clever and would therefore never, ever cut it.  She sighs sadly, thinking of her late brother Conrad, who so unfortunately died of a prolonged case of boredom early in childhood.  He had seemed to need something that wasn’t available during this era.  Tears fill Laverne’s eyes as she thought of the horrible sadness of the case…perhaps, if he had been born in a later time period, something might have saved him….

 

The next day, the happy family is walking down the road of their little village, taking Judah’s stack of parchment to their good friend Johannes.  It is now a sunny day, and the roads are in excellent shape, not muddy at all, despite last night’s storm.  Songbirds and crows twitter and fly overhead. 

 

As they pass by a Mexican wheat field, a volcano exploded from the ground.  It rose higher and higher into the air, rumbling, the entire area shaking.  The Rogers family pauses in their walk to stare up at it.

 

A slick black substance begins to bubble up slide down from the summit, occasionally exploding so it splattered the ground.  Judah bends down and examines it.  “Oil,” he mutters in surprise.

 

“You!”  An imperious bellow comes from above, and Judah looks up, startled.

 

A man had stepped out of the summit of the volcano.  He was wearing a suit of mixed furs, of every variety, which he had gathered from animals after killing them with his toes.  Despite this strange raiment, he held himself stiffly and with apparent dignity began to stalk down the volcano.  He had just come from an oil rig he had been inspecting, after writing a patent for it, and had decided no one was doing their work correctly, so he was showing them how it should be done.  His name was Kenaniah.

 

Kenaniah advances toward Judah, Lynette, and Laverne, who are rather surprised and feeling slightly alarmed.

 

“You did not attend my tap-dancing performance last night at the Southern Baptist Convention,” Kenaniah says sternly.  “I am disgusted by your actions, especially after you signed that contract that you would attend every performance that took place after six o’clock, Tuesday through Friday.  Because of this, I demand that you cook fish for me every weekday for the next six and a half years!”

 

Judah draws himself up.  “No, Kenaniah.  I and all the other townspeople are quite sick and tired of your tap-dancing performances and numerous contracts.  I now challenge you to an authentic Viking duel!”  He draws out his authentic Viking sword.

 

Kenanaiah glares at Judah.  “I refuse to be intimidated by your illogical actions.”

 

Before Judah could reply, Kenaniah suddenly falls to the ground, dead, because he is far too unpleasant and depressing as a character for this story.  Judah, Lynette, and Laverne continue on their way.

 

And so the book was given to Johannes, who promises to publish it, even though he admits to being busy lately due to an obsession over fan fiction.  “There’s just so many of them, and they all have such interesting ideas and theories…”

 

Judah is polite, though he sighs to his wife on the way home, “Honestly, it’s not like those can be published, while my book obviously can and is about to be…”

 

Laverne doesn’t hear, for she is more concerned by a story she is reading.  It is incomplete, and she worries that it might never be finished, for the author has confided to her that she has writer’s block, even though she has not even reached two and a half pages.  The author fears her supply of wit has run out, and her deadline of Christmas Day approaches.

 

Laverne is so worried about this that she doesn’t realize she is wandering into a newly-made swamp, created by the volcano explosion of oil.  Before, it was but a happy forest, the home of many foxes.  By the time she comes to herself, the oil-swamp is already above her knees.

 

“Judah!  Mama!” she cries, clinging to a nearby tree for balance.  She didn’t have to wait very long before they arrive, Judah in oil-resilient boots, carrying Lynette in true Viking fashion. 

 

“Oh, Laverne!” gasps her mother, pointing.  Laverne turns from where she is standing to see her long, fine auburn hair has been caught up in the branches of the tree.

 

“Oh, no!” Laverne wails, tears coming to her eyes.  “My beautiful hair!”

 

Judah draws his authentic Viking sword.  “Never fear, Laverne, I’ll free you.”

 

“No!”  Lynette leaps to the ground, regardless of the swamp.  “You mustn’t cut her hair!  I won’t let you!”

 

Surprised, Judah lowers his sword.  “But she’s completely tangled up!”

 

Desperate, Lynette turns and studies the situation.  It was true – the foxes, mistaking any humans at all for the ones who had turned their forest into an oil swamp, had done a very nice job of tying up Laverne’s hair in the branch.  “You’ll have to cut the branch,” Lynette declares finally.

 

Judah looks horrified.  “My sword is a Viking weapon, not a common axe!”

 

“Judah!  Laverne’s hair is more important than your sword!  And besides, you have twenty more just like it at home.  Now, darling,” – Lynette turns back to her daughter – “once we get you and the branch home, we can work on untangling it.”

 

“All right, Mama.”

 

So Judah hacks away at the branch with his Viking sword, careful not to hit Laverne, and finally the branch falls off the tree.  Judah catches it as Laverne stumbles backwards.

 

“Well, let’s see – Laverne, you’ll have to sit on the branch, and I’ll carry it and Lynette again out of the swamp.”

 

But no sooner have they come out of the swamp onto the road again, and Jud set Lynette down, that they heard strange, croaky moans.  Turning, they see several wood spirits emerging from the swamp, angered by the injury of the tree at which Jud chopped.  Alarmed, the Rogers flee down the road, with the wood spirits giving chase.

 

Fortunately, the villagers, led by Bernard Schweitzer, help Judah, Lynette, and Laverne, lighting torches and chasing the wood spirits, so the Rogers are able to make it into their castle safely, where they throw out all the hours wasted with Earthlink Technical Support, which sufficiently crush all the wood spirits, so that they won’t be able to rise for the next ninety-two years. 

 

Inside the castle, Judah, Lynette, and Laverne are able to relax.  Judah is thanking Bernard Schweitzer.  “Much obliged, sir, much obliged.”

 

“It was but my duty.  I have a daughter, Alfreda, who herds my goats every day.”

 

With the servants’ help, Lynette is soon able to untangle Laverne’s hair from the branch, and it is soon restored to its original beauty.

 

“Just in time for my waltz lesson!” exclaims Laverne, hurrying to the dancing parlor.

 

Her instructor is waiting for her.  “It’s good to see you, Laverne.  I trust you are well?”

 

“Oh, quite, Mr. Depp.”

 

Lynette appears with her harpsichord, and settles down before the fire to play for them.

 

“So I assume you’ve seen Finding Neverland by now.”

 

“Alas, I have not been able to, though it has been my dearest wish…”

 

 

 

- by Lavinia and Ana, the latter of whom put in quite a few good suggestions (such as Kenaniah appearing out of a volcano and the wood spirits), but doesn’t want any credit

 

 

There's a title page, accompanied with small, slightly-cropped picture, to be found here.

Comments

[soharavsalienta.livejournal.com]

Hee, hee, hee! Enjoyed muchly, dahling.