It was a quiet rainy day in Maycomb, Alabama. For the most part.
The Finch and Harris household was never quiet. Well, it was a treat when it was.
The early morning beckoned ten year old Maudie and seven year old Dill Junior to pack their bags for school.
Their mother made them breakfast and their father kissed her on the cheek. Then, he headed off to his law firm for a long day at work.
However, the owner of the home himself, the elderly Atticus Finch sat quietly in his chair.
Atticus looked younger than his age, he took good care of himself. For about seventy, he was well on his way to live to at least one hundred.
Atticus and his daughter, Scout Harris (formerly Finch), stayed home with her youngest child, Arthur.
On that rainy day, Arthur was four years old. He was a very smart boy. He took on the traits of his much older grandfather.
Arthur was fast asleep in his room where his uncle Jem slept in years and years before. He shared that room with his brother, Dill. Not to confuse him with his father, who was also called Dill.
Scout and Atticus stared out at the rain and the street in front of them. Miss Maudie Atkinson, the namesake for Scout and Dill's eldest child, was sitting on her rocking chair.
Big Maudie and Little Maudie spoke quite often, however, that day, was a school day. Little Maudie was trapped within four walls. So was poor Dill Junior, who had the same second grade teacher as Scout did in her younger years.
"It's nice, isn't it?" The retired lawyer asked his daughter.
She nodded her head swiftly in agreement. "Yes, it is. It's quite calming."
"On days like these, I miss my work." He tells her. "I enjoyed helping those people. Even if I failed. The jury always told me I had something to say. There was never a time they didn't, not once.
"On days like these, I miss my childhood. It's too bad Cal's not around anymore.. I wish I could have someone to help me sometimes.."
Their faithful maid, Calpurnia, passed away a year before Arthur was born. Leaving a hole in the image of the the household. They still hadn't hired a new maid. Anyone else would have been unimaginable.
"I agree, Scout. There's not much of anyone around here to do that..."
The year was nineteen fifty six and the civil rights movement was beginning to take shape mere miles away from the small town.
"I can ask. Lots of maids are losing their jobs. They just do things the people here don't like. You know that those people are dead wrong." Scout learned well from her father. She learned the truth. The good truth that people in the South had no understanding of.
"I know that in the past ten years, you've worked quite hard, Dill has also. But you have given your children something you never had, halfway without Cal to show you the way.. And I think you deserve it. You deserve help and you deserve a friend. I'll ask the newspaper to put in a ad first thing tonight."
Scout was appalled by her father's gesture. "Thank you so much..."
Scout did have a few friends in her teen years, but they went to bigger, broader places.
Her distant cousin and best friend in high school, Lily Brooke, married Dill's friend from Meridian, Marcus, who she met at Scout and Dill's wedding. They moved to New York so she could pursue her true dream of being a big time dressmaker.
Lily's dream, contrary to Scout's initial beliefs, actually came true. She designed and sewed dresses and suits for the big stars like Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, and Gregory Peck, a lookalike of Atticus from his younger days.
Lily and Scout wrote each other weekly letters to update on each other's lives. Lily and Marcus also showed up every year back in Maycomb for the Holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. The less familial holidays were celebrated with Lily's clients and Marcus's coworkers from New York.
Harper, another friend, was caught up quite a bit in her motherly affairs like Scout and tried to make as much time possible to spend with Jem, her husband and Scout's older brother.
She and Jem had four children, two boys and two girls, respectively. From oldest to youngest their names are: George, Atticus (not to confuse with the older Atticus) and Louise and Gracie, the identical twin girls. Each with totally different personalities and hobbies of their own.
George was a assistant to the baseball team, one day, he hoped to make it to the high school team and eventually the big leagues, maybe.
Atticus Junior wrote quite a bit on the typewriter Atticus Senior bought him for Chirstmas. He and Arthur shared the same interests and gave each other ideas about writing and reading. They had won the revived town spelling bee that year for the elementary team division.
Louise was a artist. She was Arthur's age, but created timeless finger paintings and splattered canvases which her mother hung on the wall in pride.
Gracie liked to watch birds. It was a strange hobby, but she was curious and liked pointing out their colors. Sometimes, her aunt, Scout, would take her out to watch them and helped her record the day's finds.
Atticus and Scout sat in their chairs for a while until they finally heard little feet through the front door. It was Arthur. He was finally seen after hours of quiet and invisibility. He was carrying a book in his hands and a star in his eye.
It was a book that was brand new, it was still wrapped in newspaper and a red ribbon.
"Mommy! Grandpa! Look at what I found in the tree!"
He sat the book in his mother's lap without unwrapping the present.
There was scrawled handwriting on it in red paint.
To my little comrade. Maybe when I get home, I'll read it to you. - Boo.
Scout beamed. Lately, the infamous Boo Radley was busy. He worked at the newspaper, in the office. He used the leftovers for his fireplace and sometimes, as gift wrap, for presents he left in the not very recently cement free oak tree. That day, for whatever reason it was, Arthur expected a package. And that was exactly what he got.
"That's wonderful!" She ruffled her little son's blonde hair. "Open it, sweetheart!"
Arthur unwrapped it without further ado, seeing a book that was unfamiliar to both Scout and Atticus. It wasn't around in Scout's childhood, it was something she never thought of reading to her son before.
The book was Charlotte's Web.
There was more of the scrawled handwriting on the back of the front cover, however, the excitement of a new book overpowered that.
"Let's read it! Together!" Arthur ran to the couch, signaling his grownup companions to follow him. When they did so, they sat next to each other. Arthur sat on both of their knees, because being him, he loved them both equally.
"Who wants to go first?" Arthur looked up at his mother and grandfather.
Atticus laughed. "Today, I'm going to let you go first." He tells his youngest grandson.
"Really?"
"Yes. You can do it. For a little one, you've written some pretty good poems."
He was correct. Arthur wrote haikus and line poetry. Atticus Junior was more focused on the bigger things, he was already eight years old. He still enjoyed time with his younger cousin.
He glanced at his mother to ask her if she wanted to read.
"No, Arthur. I think you can do it. You've started even earlier than I did!" She gave him a genuine smile. "Come on, you can read it. I know you can!"
Arthur cleared his throat, imitating his grandfather, before he began reading. His eyes widened at the first sentence.
He was given looks of reassurance to begin the passage.
"'Where's papa going with that ax?' Said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast."
Arthur stuttered the first two sentences of the book. He was exhausted by it.
"Good work, Arthur!" Atticus applauded him, as did his mother.
"Just that is wonderful, Arthur. You see, there is nothing like a good, old fashioned book."
It was true. Atticus did many other things in his childhood. He shot air rifles and played football like the other boys had. However, his true callings were reading, writing, and working with the law. He found that out much later than he had wanted. However, he was glad he had done those things, because he finally figured out what he really wanted to do with his life.
"I'll read the next few." He volunteered.
"'Out to the hoghouse', replied Mrs. Arable. 'Some pigs were born last night.' 'I don't see why he needs a ax,' continued Fern, who was only eight. 'Well,' said her mother, 'one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it.'"
Atticus was getting teary-eyed. He was thinking of Tom Robinson, who every once in a while, still came back to haunt him.
"Grandpa, are you alright?" Arthur saw his distress. And so did Scout, who placed a supportive hand on his shoulder.
"Arthur, Scout, I am perfectly fine.. I just remembered my friend, Tom.. Arthur, I'll tell you when you're old enough to understand."
"Oh. Okay. You want to keep reading?" Arthur's excitement about the book brought Atticus back to the present.
"Of course! Where were we?"
"Right here, Grandpa! We only read four sentences." He pointed to the first page, exactly where they left off.
"'Do away with it?' shrieked Fern. 'You mean kill it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"
Atticus smiled even more. Not just because of Fern and her determination to save the runt pig. He displayed that determination with Tom Robinson. He lost that fight, but he ended it with pure dignity. What he smiled about besides that was the fact that Arthur truly enjoyed the good, old fashioned bond that storytelling brought to the Finch family. He really understood the good behind it; the happiness that it gave his grandfather and mother. Finally, he realized the happiness it gave him himself.