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It is unheard of for a boy living during the 1830s in St. Petersburg, Missouri, to have never received corporal punishment. It is only slightly more plausible for a girl, although those who believe girls don’t get their fair share of smacks have either never met a girl, or never paid any attention whatsoever to their mothers.
Although it would be a stretch to say Huck Finn has ever been disciplined, unparented as is, he is no stranger to getting hit. His Pap’s always been violent, as far as he can remember, and so have the men his Pap was acquainted with. Since Pap left, Huck figured out right quick that shopkeepers don’t hold back when chasing away riff-raff and thieves. And amongst the homeless population of St. Petersburg, even kindly Muff Potter has been known to smack one in the mouth now and again, when he’s just on that edge of too drunk and can’t stand something that was said or done.
So yes, Huck has been beaten, punched, shoved, slapped, kicked, whipped, and has endured many kinds of physical pain.
But he’d never actually been properly disciplined, before coming into a considerable amount of money and being placed under the strict guardianship of the Widow Douglas and her sister, Miss Watson.
“Sorry’m, you want me to what?”
“You heard me perfectly well, Huckleberry Finn,” scolds Miss Watson in that pinched and proper tone she has. “You are to lower your pants, and bend over my lap.”
It takes all the self control Huck has for him not to guffaw at the image that conjures.
“Miss Watson, I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna do that,” he drawls, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m too big, and besides, it wouldn’t do much.”
“Do not talk back to me, young man! A child’s duty is to obey their betters, and obey me you will!”
Huck shrugs again, eying Miss Watson’s thin, frail frame, ensconced in her dress and shawl. She is holding the ruler she sometimes raps his knuckles with, when he gets distracted from whatever she’s trying to teach him. It looks just as flimsy as she does.
“If you want to whip me I can go get a switch or a belt,” he offers. “I won’t dodge or nothin’.”
Oddly, his suggestion only serves to make her more enraged.
“YOU WILL DO AS I SAY, HUCKLEBERRY FINN, OR YOU WILL GO TO BED WITH NO SUPPER FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK,” she shrieks, two vermillion splotches adorning her cheekbones.
Huck’s eyes widen. He’s seen Miss Watson have conniptions before, has been the cause of quite a few, but her skin has never flushed so, while also being deathly pale. She clutches at her chest as she tries to rise from her chair, other hand grappling for purchase, and she promptly topples over.
The ruler clatters to the ground.
Huck rushes to her, and her eyes are so wide they’re bulging. The boy runs out the room.
“WIDOW DOUGLAS!” he screams towards the staircase.
Careening through the hallway, he nearly runs straight into young Jane, who is carrying a bundle of laundry.
“Oh, Jane, sorry! Miss Watson had a conniption, a bad one, I think she needs the doctor. Find the Widow and bring her to the study, will you?”
He doesn’t give the girl any time to answer. In a minute, he is leaving the property and sprinting towards town.
When Huck comes back, doctor in tow, the whole house is abuzz with rumors and theories about what happened. The doctor is quick to dismiss any musing that isn’t fact, and is informed that Miss Watson has been carried to her rooms, the Widow Douglas at her bedside, caring for her. He strides inside, Huck following closely, and the Widow’s relief when the doctor comes in is palpable. They talk, hushed and fast, and as the doctor lifts the covers to examine his patient, Huck quietly shuffles away to his own room.
Alone and settling down from all the hubbub, he finds his mind wandering. Is this his fault? He knows he didn’t curse her, like was being said in the kitchen, but could it be that what Miss Watson calls his ‘wicked, uncivilized ways’ are affecting her health? If Miss Watson were to fall sick and die, the Widow Douglas would lose the last member of her family. And Huck can’t be responsible for that.
He waits in his room for the proverbial axe to fall, for the Widow to come in and chase him away, but after a few long hours, nothing has happened. So he ventures out of his room, and, stomach growling, goes to snatch something from the kitchen.
After eating the plate that was set aside for him, and nothing happening at all, Huck resolves to try and have a normal day. So he does his chores, and fumbles through the writing and reading exercises that are assigned to him daily, despite being unsupervised. But his mind keeps running with guilt. He should probably leave, let the Widow and her sister get on with their lives, not having to worry about somehow making him civilized – a task that seems more impossible each passing day.
“Huck?”
The boy startles and looks up from his ink-stained fingers. The Widow Douglas is giving him a gentle look, and she goes to sit in one of the plush chairs.
“Come sit with me,” she offers.
Slowly, Huck caps the inkwell, wipes his hands and the tip of the pen, and makes his way to the sitting area, where he stands awkwardly, eyes glued to his feet. The Widow sighs softly.
“Abigail will be all right,” she says, and it takes Huck a second to remember who Abigail is. He never uses Miss Watson’s first name, isn’t allowed to. “She is on strict bedrest instructions, and has to keep her mood level, and her heart calm. She told me what happened, and insists you must be punished, but I’d like to hear your side of the story, please.”
Huck blinks a few times, taken off-guard. Adults don’t usually ask for his side of anything.
“Erm, Widow Douglas,” he starts, and swallows, his mouth feeling too dry. “Miss Watson, she caught me coming back early this morning – I went out during the night, you see, and as I’m not allowed to do that anymore she was very unhappy with me. So she was going to whoop me, which I understand, but she grabbed her ruler and wanted me to take my pants off and lay across her legs? And I couldn’t do it because, well, I hate to have to say this but she is, she…”
Huck glances up, and the Widow is looking at him with a kind, open face, so he soldiers on.
“She’s small. And frail. And I know her health isn’t always very good. And she was holding her ruler, and I thought, well, if I lay across her lap and she hits me with that, my weight will hurt her legs, and that ruler won’t even feel like nothin’. So I said no. I promise I wasn’t trying to get out of it! I offered to go cut a switch, to help her out, but that’s when she got really angry, and collapsed. I didn’t mean to make her angry, honest!”
The Widow raises a hand to her face and hides her mouth, and Huck can only assume she is reeling from the horrors his wickedness has brought into her home.
“So I thought maybe I should leave,” he adds. “I don’t want Miss Watson to be sick ‘cause of me.”
“Oh Huck, don’t say silly things like that,” admonishes the Widow, uncovering her face, and Huck can see a faint smile melting away. “It is not your fault my sister has this condition. She’s always been a spitfire, ever since we were young, and she knows she should keep her temper in check and not exert herself. You are trying your very best to assimilate, despite a few acts of mischief, and if Abigail cannot handle her reactions to you, it is not your responsibility.”
Huck mulls this over for a while.
“I get what you’re saying, ma’am. But I probably should’ve done as she asked, even if it made no sense to me. I’m still the reason she collapsed. Because I was being disrespectful.”
The Widow Douglas looks at him with sad eyes.
“I understand why you’d feel that way. You know I favor more gentle means of correction, but if you need it to feel atoned, I can give you the spanking Abigail intended.”
A spanking? A spanking! Huck nearly smacks his own forehead. Of course, that’s what Miss Watson was going to do! The whole situation suddenly makes sense. Tom’s aunt, Polly, spanks him all the time, or tries to, to punish him for his mischief and raise him right and proper. Tom calls them "lickings," to make himself sound tougher, and claims they don’t hurt at all, but they make aunt Polly feel better, so he lets her get him from time to time. And all the other boys have mothers who spank them, to - allegedly - little effect.
Huck feels so stupid for not figuring it out sooner, and even worse for defying Miss Watson, and all but laughing at her. He sits down.
“Oh,” he manages, still processing, and the Widow presses her lips together.
She looks very sad, all of a sudden.
“You said you knew she wanted to ‘whoop’ you,” she prompts, gentle.
“Yes’m, but…” he starts. “I didn’t, I don’t know why, I didn’t think of a licking– I mean a spanking. I thought she’d want to beat me, for real, you know? I didn’t think she’d want to…”
Huck realizes he’s rambling, and cuts himself off, throat squeezing with emotion.
“Oh, Huck,” says the Widow, and she cups his face in her hands. “Abigail wants to do right by you. I don’t always approve of her methods, but she wouldn’t beat you. A spanking is about the worst thing either of us would do to you.”
Huck is surprised to feel some wetness on his cheeks. He quickly brushes at his eyes, the Widow’s hands falling away.
“Right, okay. Well, will you…?”
He can’t quite finish the question, can’t believe the Widow Douglas would want to treat him as her own boy after what he’s done to Miss Watson, but the Widow takes his hand and squeezes it.
“Of course, Huck. You went out at night after being warned not to, and disobeyed Miss Watson. I think a spanking will be just right.”
She nods, and stands up, pulling Huck along with her.
Spankings don’t hurt.
As he is led through the house and up to his own bedroom, that is what Huck tells himself, to try and calm the nerves he feels thrumming under his skin.
Tom always laughs about them, calls them “baby punishments” and mocks Sid relentlessly for whining and complaining about them. And Huck is way tougher than Sid.
No, this isn’t going to hurt.
So why does Huck’s throat feel dry and tight?
“Wait here please, I’ll be right back,” says the Widow, turning Huck to face a corner.
He shifts, and glances behind him as she shuts the door, then back at the corner.
He’s been put in a corner before. Both the Widow and Miss Watson have used this when they find him too unruly. Huck doesn’t know how being bored to death will cure him from being unruly, since he usually acts out because of boredom initially, but the first time he argued his sentence kept getting longer, so he learned to just bear it while it lasts.
This time it’s rather short; it isn’t five minutes before the Widow comes back and shuts the door once again. He hears her pulling his chair across the hardwood floor, and shifts uncomfortably, knowing his licking is imminent.
“You can turn around, Huck,” she says, and he obeys.
She’s put the chair up against the bed, and has a wooden hairbrush in her left hand. She waves him closer, and he steps forward with more confidence than he feels.
Spankings don’t hurt.
“I’m going to sit on the chair, and you will lower your pants and bend over my lap. Don’t you worry about being too heavy or too tall for me to handle. Your upper body will be resting on the bed, and I’m sure you’ll find me more than capable of administering a proper spanking.” She sits, and pats her lap. “Come on, over you go.”
Huck grimaces, tries to shove his pants down his legs, remembers he wears a belt now, fumbles with it for a while, manages to shove his pants down his legs. Face burning, he leans over the Widow’s lap, setting his hands on the bed, and slowly, very carefully, lets his body rest across her legs. She scoots him forward as he goes, and he ends up in a quite vulnerable position.
The chair is a bit taller than the bed, tilting his hips in a way that arches his back slightly. His toes still touch the floor, but only just. Huck feels very foolish and very exposed.
The Widow lays a soft hand on his back and Huck startles. She makes a comforting sound and pats him briskly.
“Now now. Let me give you a few rules before we start. You will answer any questions I have promptly and respectfully. You will not cuss, no matter how much you may want to. You will not reach back and try to block me. Do you think you can mind these three rules?”
“Yes’m,” says Huck, voice much weaker than he’d hoped for.
“Very well. I’ll start with my hand, but you will be getting most of this spanking with the hairbrush. You are an older boy, after all,” she adds, sounding like she might be trying to convince herself.
Huck shifts a bit. He wishes she would just get on with it. Being over her lap is not uncomfortable per se, but he is feeling more embarrassed and self-aware by the second.
“Right,” says the Widow, and she presses down on Huck’s back, and slaps her other hand down on the seat of his new cotton underwear.
And Huck relaxes slightly. Tom was right. This doesn’t hurt at all.
After about a dozen smacks of her hand, Huck shifts and reconsiders: it does pack a slight sting, and it’s definitely getting his bottom warm. Maybe Sid has a point trying to avoid lickings at all costs. But still, it’s nothing to cry about.
The Widow pauses, and Huck feels a much harder surface tap his bottom.
“You’ll be getting the hairbrush now, Huck,” warns the Widow.
Huck almost shrugs, but nods instead.
“Remember, no reaching back, or I’ll have to pin your hands.”
“Yes’m,” he manages in what he hopes is a neutral tone.
A breath later, a loud crack rings out in the room. It only takes a second for Huck to understand that it was the hairbrush smacking down on his bottom, and another second for his eyes to widen and his mouth to form an unvoiced “oh.”
No. Spankings don’t hurt. This stinging, aching sensation has to be a fluke.
Crack! The hairbrush falls once again, on his other cheek, and Huck hisses, and grits his teeth. As the sting spreads, his mind starts speeding. This is impossible. Spankings don’t hurt. Spankings don’t hurt, spankings aren’t supposed to hurt!
But the Widow’s brush keeps falling, and Huck is forced to realize he has, once again, joined the growing ranks of those who’ve been fooled by Tom Sawyer’s silver tongue. Spankings do hurt. Not like a beating does, not shocking and sudden and violent. It hurts in a slow radiation of growing heat, it hurts like a persistent sting. It’s a new kind of pain Huck hasn’t felt before - despite feeling plenty.
“Shit,” he gasps, and bites his lip.
“No cussing, Huckleberry Finn,” scolds the Widow.
“M’sorry ma’am, ow!” he yips, his feet kicking out of their own accord.
“I certainly hope so, young man. This is only the beginning, so you’d better watch yourself.”
“Yes’m, I will!” he yelps, grabbing fistfuls of his bed coverlet.
“Hm. Tell me why you are getting this spanking,” she prompts, not slowing down her slaps at all.
Huck groans.
“Oh… I, ow! Ah, Widow Douglas, please! I was, I went, ah! I went out at night and I didn’t let Miss Watson punish me and I was disobedient and I’m sorry!” he garbles, trying to speak between swats.
“Very good,” says the Widow. “I think that sums it up nicely. No more sneaking out at night, and no more defying Miss Watson. Is that understood?”
The brush keeps falling throughout the Widow’s scolding, and Huck twists desperately, left and right, only managing to offer each cheek up for punishment in turn.
“Ye-hess ma’am!”
“Good. Last few, brace yourself,” she warns, and Huck heeds her this time, gripping the coverlet and hunching his shoulders.
Of course, this does nothing to protect his upturned bottom, and the stinging onslaught the Widow releases upon his sorry behind has Huck squirming and yelping like nothing else.
The Widow thoroughly dusts his seat, till the boy’s ows and ouches start sounding damp, and she feels she’s made a sufficient impression.
“There,” she concludes, and sets the brush down on the bed. “You’ve had the spanking Miss Watson intended, and you are forgiven for your mischief.”
She rubs his back for a while, as Huck tries to gather himself, sniffing pitifully. And when he pushes off the bed to right himself, she helps support his weight, and stands up with him. He’s quick to pull his pants up, and fastens his belt as deftly as he can. When he’s done, he stands there, eyes lowered and puffy, cheeks damp and red with embarrassment.
“Is there anything you’d like to say to me?” prompts the Widow, gentle once more.
The boy blinks, and squirms in front of her, hands fluttering by his side.
“Erm, I’m sorry for the bother, and I’ll do my best to not earn another one of those ma’am. You have my word,” he sniffs, swiping at his nose.
“Very well said. Come here.”
Huck glances up to see the Widow holding her arms open. He frowns, confused, and takes a hesitant step forward. The Widow walks the rest of the way and envelops him in a warm, heartfelt hug.
Huck blinks quickly, disoriented. After a beating, Pap would usually ignore him for a couple hours, if he wasn’t passed out drunk. Being held gently is… new.
“You’re not angry?” he asks, hesitantly.
“No Huck. I meant what I said. You are forgiven. This is how discipline works in this household. Once you’re taken to task for something, the slate is wiped clean.”
The words do something to Huck, make him let go of a restraint he didn’t even know he was holding. His emotions overwhelm him, and he hugs the Widow back, burying his face in her shoulder, sobbing. He still isn’t sure why he’s crying this much. Sure, the spanking hurt, and his behind is still very hot and sore, but it’s the way the Widow seems to care that is really getting to him.
She treats him like he matters.
Once Huck has gone through two of the Widow’s handkerchiefs and has calmed down enough to be coherent again, the Widow has him wash his face, and leads him to Miss Watson’s room so he can apologize.
Squirming and still sniffly, Huckleberry Finn gives what might be the most sincere and heartfelt apology any ward has given to their guardian in St. Petersburg, Missouri. And Miss Watson is happy to hold out an arm, inviting him closer, and only scolds him very little as she gives him a stiff hug.
“I can tell when a boy has been properly punished,” she concludes. “You’ve done right by him Tilly. Which is a good thing, since I don’t know when or if I’ll be in a fit enough state to discipline him myself. You might have to take over that part of his upbringing.”
Huck glances at the Widow Douglas with wide eyes.
“I’m sure Huck will be on his very best behavior knowing you’ve handed his discipline over to me,” says the Widow with a smile.
“I recon that brush hurts more than the ruler ever could!” Huck blurts out, nodding earnestly.
Miss Watson lets him go and scowls and the Widow Douglas turns away, prone to a sudden coughing fit.
“Well! Just you hope you never have to find out!” huffs Miss Watson, swatting at Huck’s arm. “Now go! Both of you! I have to rest.”
The Widow ushers Huck outside the door, chuckling silently, and has him rest in his room for a while before she lets him go out and play with his friends, with the stern expectation he’ll be back on time to wash up before supper.
His bottom still smarting slightly as he runs off, Huck knows he will obey… this time.
The End