I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck. But I love him.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Huck Finnigan and the Preacher Walrus
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Mulnich. We're about to have a talk session. Would you like to join us?"
The grey-haired sixty year old smiles pleasantly from her chair front of in the grandest window in St. Lucia's solarium, seeming her favorite spot in all of the facility.
"What would we talk about, dear?"
And Huck feels charmed, wants to pat her hand, do anything he can to make her happy and well.
"You know, our thoughts, our feelings."
This kind little lady twisting the pearl necklace 'round her throat.
"Oh. Well, I've never been very good at that. I'm afraid I wouldn't have anything much to say on the matter. But thank you anyway, dear."
"How are you, Grace?"
"I'm fine, Huck. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Are you sure though? Everything is alright?"
And now Grace stops whatever she has been involved with.
Turns.
Lovely face a complete question.
"I'm fine, Huck. Why do you ask? What's going on?"
He hesitates, he doesn't want to trouble her.
And still . .
"Well, we have a new patient at work, Mrs. Mulnich . . ."
. . . he finds himself telling the story.
Grace is gently smiling by the time he is done talking.
He doesn't know why; the story seems a terrible warning for all married women.
But she lets him in on her secret soon enough.
"I can imagine a homekeeper of so many years might feel trapped by her situation, by the work that never ends."
She reaches out, caresses the good side of his face, the side that can feel the softness of her touch.
And speaks again.
"I can imagine it being quite likely one might fall into a melancholia such as you've described this poor woman. No one ever really taking consideration and care for her. It being a foregone assumption that all is well and as it should be."
All the time smiling so warmly.
"But you don't have to worry about me, Huck. I have you. And I simply cannot imagine, even after all the years and years I plan to spend with you, that I would ever feel such despair. Not the way you take care of me."
Words honest and sincere.
"But if I do, I promise I'll talk about it. As much as I need to. And I'll make sure you listen. Without breaking everything in the house."
Until he can do nothing but believe them.
"Alright?"
"Alright."
"Come here."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Mulnich. Have you reconsidered joining us for a talk session today?"
"Oh no, dear. I'm fine. But thank you."
"I'd really appreciate it if you would. Perhaps just listen?"
"You may as well, Helena. William Holden won't let up until you do."
"William Holden? Is he here?"
And Huck believes his wife, his Grace, he truly does.
"Thank you for dinner, Grace. Those pork chops were delicious."
"Thank you, Huck. I'm glad you liked them."
Believes her when she says she will be alright, talk with him if she is not.
She has always been honest with him.
And it is his abiding hope, . . .
"What are you doing, Huck?"
"I'd like to help you clear the dishes. If that's alright."
. . . that she always will be.
"You don't have to. I can do it."
"I know. I like to help. If that's alright."
"It is."
But in the meantime . . .
"Which would you like me to do, wash or dry?"
"Dry."
"Alright."
. . . he'll help her do the . . .
"I love you, Huck."
"I love you too, Grace."
. . . dishes.
"Head Nurse Finnigan?"
"Yes, Nurse Palmer?"
"A church minister is here."
Oh.
We haven't had a minister here before.
Perhaps we could have some sort of service to encourage our g-
"He's here to speak to Mrs. Mulnich."
"Good afternoon, I'm Huck Finnigan, Head Nurse. May I help you?"
A rosy faced fellow.
"Yes, yes, my name is, uh, Thomas Brown. I am here to speak Mrs. Helena Mulnich."
Hardly a falter between the undeniable monstrosity of the left half of Huck's face.
"I've brung the Word of God to comfort and encourage her in her time of convalescing and reflection."
And the revelation of his being male nurse to boot.
"Oh. I see."
And Huck feels he has no choice . . .
"Mrs. Mulnich is in the solarium. If you'll follow me."
. . . but to extend their hospitality . . .
"Now, tell me, young man, where do you attend Sunday services? Surely one who has endured such . . . hardship as you finds succor in the worship and devotion of our Lord God."
. . . to this new visitor of St. Lucia.
"Oh, uh, . . ."
Huck doesn't know how he feels about God.
A God who looks after his flock and guides them gently away from danger with His rod and staff had not protected his mother's family from being swallowed up by the earth so very long ago.
Had not cooled the fever of his father's brow who had succumbed to the Spanish Flu many years later.
Had not skirted away the mutilated and mangled soldiers on the Germany battlefield or protected the left side of Huck's face from that Nazi scumbag even more years later.
He has been told all these things, as well as the dissolution of his marriage to Ruth were all part of God's Plan, the Mysterious Way of Him and such.
But Grace is in his life, is his wife, so he supposes . . .
"Helena, how are you, my dear lamb ?"
"Oh, well, I'm fine, Thomas, just fine. I was not expecting to see you here."
And Huck can see her tighten, realizes this has been a mistake.
"It was . . . kind of you to come."
As the man, smiles broad and toothy, at the soft-spoken woman who broke everything in her house.
"Well, of course, Helena, of course. It is my joy to tend to the Lord's flock."
And Huck finds his own teeth on edge, his even nature as strained as the waistband of the preacher's grey seersucker suit, the result of one too many invites to Sunday dinner, perhaps even from the parishioner in question herself.
Whom Minister Thomas seems to be very much focused on at the moment.
"Helena, I am in very much concern for you, my dear. You don't belong here. This is no place for a good, God-fearing Christian such as yourself."
Placing himself heavily in the chair next to her, taking her slender hand in both of his big, meaty ones.
"Our Lord provides us with everything we need, Helena. It is not for doctors and other outsiders to poke around inside our minds and souls and disturb the purpose of our lives with
Voice low and soothing as pure honey straight from the comb.
"You know as well as I, it is a wife's sacred duty to stay home and care for her husband."
Just like Governor Walrus.
Here, allow me to read aloud from the Good Book . . ."
And Huck can bear it no more.
"Excuse me for interrupting, Minister, but Mrs. Mulnich has a scheduled treatment I must take her to."
And irritation crosses the good-natured face of the man of God.
"We are in a devotional here, Mr. Finnigan."
And Huck moves resolutely to the side of older woman he cannot allow to be swallowed up in the maw of the great and terrible Preacher Walrus.
"I apologize. Mrs. Mulnich, would you like to take my arm?"
And they . . .
"Yes, Mr. Finnigan. Thank you."
. . . go.
"Is Mrs. Mulnich's visitor gone?"
"The minister? Yes."
"Good. Make a note of it that he is not allowed to see her again without my say so."
"Oh. Alright."
"Thank you."
"Everything alright, Huck?"
"It will be, Nurse Palmer. Thank you."
Thanks to DinahRay for kindly reviewing the previous chapter! Yes to Huck. And yes to Mrs. Mulnich! :)
