I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angelboy Huck.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Into the Library
"Hello, Huck."
She comes around the circulation desk of the Sacramento City College Library.
All close cropped, waved brown hair.
Dark eyes sparkling behind horn-rimmed glasses.
She's shorter than him, ever since freshman year of high school.
And maybe just a little rounder than she has been before.
And Huck Finnigan . . .
"Hey, Ma."
. . . just loves her.
"How've you been, son?"
"Oh, you know. Can't complain."
She smells the same, of talcum powder and books. Brown wool grid pattern skirt and sweater set she has worn since Huck was a teenager.
And the strength of her hug, the love flowing through, despite all of the 'expert' suggestions that mothers should not dote so upon their children for fear of spoiling them, is the same.
Maybe more so.
He releases her after a moment.
And turns toward Grace.
"Mother, this is Grace Miller. Grace, this is my mother, Mrs. Beulah Finnigan."
It is one of the proudest moments of his adult life.
Introducing Grace to his mother.
Grace.
Huck's heart swells just at the look of her.
She's a picture of beauty always, in Huck's humble opinion.
And today is no exception.
Burgundy A-line skirt, matching hat.
Strawberry blond waves just touching the shoulders of her short sleeve, honey-colored sweater blouse.
Warm, if slightly nervous, expression.
Which somehow makes her more beautiful to him, her hopeful anxiety of meeting his mother.
Not to mention the intelligence, the kindness, the patience, the sheer life she exudes all the time.
And he loves her, he really loves her, blood red lips and all.
And, based on what he has written in his letters, the occasional phone call, his mother is fully and absolutely prepared . . .
"Hello, Grace. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure's all mine, Mrs. Finnigan."
. . . to love her as well.
"I've brought you something."
And indeed she has, has Grace.
A book.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
"I understand this is your favorite book. I know you probably have a copy. I thought you'd like another. I hope I am not too presumptive in my note on the inside cover."
Huck thinks he may hear a slight jitter to her voice as she says this.
And her hand clutches his tremulously as he watches his mother open the tome.
And read the flowing script just on the inside.
Huck cannot read it, he is not at an angle to do so.
But his mother does.
Breathes in deeply.
And out.
And looks up, tears shimmering in her eyes as she closes the cover carefully.
"Thank you, Grace. If you are as Huck says, my son is a very lucky man."
The moment holds and Huck wonders how they will continue on with their visit after such an emotional exchange.
And then his mother . . .
"Well, before I dissolve into a puddle and damage the books, would you two like to come in for a bite? I've made a cake."
. . . does it for them.
"Cake?"
Especially Grace.
The trip was long.
Five and a half hours in the hot California summer.
With Grace by his side, the wearisome trip was much more pleasure.
The only problem neither of them could relieve being the heat.
And even that, a mere nuisance.
And now, tucked away in a little library apartment, there is cool lemonade.
And orange and olive oil cake.
Which is delicious.
Was.
And it still is, he is sure.
Plenty left over.
Not on their plates though.
Those have been nearly scraped clean.
Especially . . .
"That was delicious, Mrs. Finnigan. Thank you."
. . . Grace.
"I'm so glad you liked it, dear. Huck told me you have a proclivity for sweets."
Who smiles as she nods.
"Yes. My father likes to tease me that in another life I was a honeybee."
And Huck, never having heard that, . . .
"Really? How sweet."
"Yes . . . was that a pun?"
. . . thinks that is adorable.
"Yes, yes, it was. Huck, I like this young lady friend of yours. I think you should keep her."
I like her too.
"Thank you, Ma."
I love her.
"She is pretty swell."
"Huck, you go on in to the sitting room and let us ladies do the dishes. No eavesdropping now."
And Huck, . . .
"Yes, ma'am."
. . . does as he is bid.
The library apartment is tiny.
Sitting room, kitchen, watercloset.
Bedroom, spare.
Though the spare is almost only the size of a large pantry closet.
He never did mind.
It is into the sitting room Huck finds himself shooed.
Aptly named, consisting mostly of two well used sitting chairs, green for Ma . . .
Huck, you read to me while I darn these socks.
. . . and blue . . .
This is Huck Finn, Ma. You know it by heart. You've read it a million times.
Yes. But you haven't. Go on. It'll help your fluency. Read to me.
. . . for Huck.
Worn walnut sidetable between them.
Ancient Oriental rug covering the bare wood floor.
Radio at the ready.
And, of course, the books.
Not bookshelves and bookshelves of them, as one would expect from a spinsterly librarian who dines upon the written language as the Rockerfellers dine on fine steak and caviar.
She has an entire library at her fingertips, and so well uses, she has no need to horde them away from other appreciaters of the banquet of words.
No, these are her personal collection.
Books that she has kept with on her journey of life.
Six in all.
Though he knows she has read thousands.
Among them, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
Her own copy.
Worn. Tattered. Almost Biblical in the reverence it has been given throughout his life.
And now, on the sidetable on which she will set her nightly cup of tea, the copy Grace has, only within the past hour, well, graced, her with.
It is new.
Hardback.
Colorful in inked picture.
Huck.
Tom Sawyer.
Jim.
Relatively fresh off the presses.
And Huck knows that is of no concern to his gentle-spirited mother.
He edges forward, away from the swinging door that leads to the tiny kitchen.
No eavesdropping now.
And closer to . . .
Well, she didn't say not to rubberneck.
. . . the sidetable.
Grazes the familiar-tale-in-new-casing with his fingertips.
Pauses.
And lifts cover.
Thank you for the gift of your Huck. I treasure him as the best man I have ever known.
-Grace
And he feels his heart swell and warm and ache until it almost hurts.
"Huck? Would you like some coffee?"
"Oh, um, yes, ma'am."
"Good. Bring a chair in from the kitchen and we'll sit down and chat before giving Grace a tour of the library. Grace, you can have Huck's chair."
"You don't mind, Huck?"
"No, Grace, not at all."
Now that I've gone back through it, we've almost got Bilbo Baggins/Bag End type thing going on here.
Which frankly, I think Mrs. Olive Finnigan would be amused by. ;)
This little mini story arc/story arc continuation will be lasting six chapters.
Maybe seven.
Hmm.
Anyway, thanks to DinahRay and Conbird for previously reviewing. You're much appreciated!
