Faith, Hope, and Ivy June, Page 3

  “Well!” she said, turning her head and smiling as Ivy June leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  “How you doing, Grandmommy?” Ivy June asked, sitting on the edge of the daybed.

  The old woman managed a smile but didn’t answer.

  “What’ll it be this afternoon? The Bible? The almanac?” Ivy June asked.

  In answer, Grandmommy jiggled a large white card in her lap, and Ivy June dutifully took it from her wrinkled fingers and began reading aloud from the top:

  “From the White House: Dear Mrs. Mosley, Please accept our heartfelt congratulations on the occasion of your one hundredth birthday….”

  “Just cain’t … understand … how the President knew … about my birthday,” Grandmommy interrupted, as Ivy June knew she would. Ivy June would never tell her that one of Kentucky’s senators forwarded names to the White House if anyone let him know of a Kentucky resident who had reached the century mark.

  “’Cause you’re special, and everybody around here loves you,” said Ivy June.

  The old woman moistened her lips and said something else, but Ivy June had to lean down to hear.

  “Almost all the friends I had … are gone,” said Grandmommy, her voice wavery as a loose string.

  “Well, you got us, and all of them down at the house. That’s nine right there,” said Ivy June, and continued reading:

  “How wonderful to know that you have lived to see some of the greatest scientific advancements in human history—the discovery of penicillin, man’s walk on the moon—”

  “I never did,” the old woman interrupted again.

  “Never did what?” asked Ivy June.

  “Believe that. About the moon,” said Grandmommy. “It’s like … in the Bible, you know … the Tower of Babel. Men tried it before, and … God stopped ’em short. Never meant it t’happen.”

  Ivy June had to smile. “But the Bible’s full of miracles. You believe in miracles, don’t you?”

  “Walkin’ on the moon … was no miracle,” said Grandmommy, “and no science, neither. It’s hogwash.” She raised her head defiantly. “Now go on….”

  Ivy June continued to read.

  In the evenings, if he wasn’t too tired to talk, Papaw was full of stories, and generous with his smiles. There was always a smile on his face when Ivy June came in. She was his favorite grandchild, and she knew it.

  But he also made time for the others. She remembered once when they’d all been playing up here at Papaw’s and hadn’t set out for home till after dark. Ezra, not quite seven at the time, had been afraid of the shadows and all the night sounds, and Papaw had walked them the four hundred or so yards back to the house.

  Holding little Danny’s hand on one side of him, Ezra’s on the other, Papaw had said, “Why, boy, you don’t know what dark is. Up here you got the stars, you got the fire-flies, you got the light down in your ma’s kitchen—I can see it from here. Down in the mine, you turn off your carbide lamp and it’s black as black can be. You can’t even imagine anythin’ that dark.”

  “But it don’t make scary sounds!” Ezra put in as crickets chirped around them and an old hoot owl picked that time to cut loose.

  “You kiddin’ me?” Papaw said. “You go way deep in a mountain, turn off the machines for a minute, and you can’t imagine the sounds. The mountain groans and it shifts, like a giant movin’ around in his chair. It’s a noise like a handful of marbles rubbin’ together. You’d never think a mountain would talk to you, but you go down six hundred feet, you’ll believe it.”

  Ivy June knew, from hearing this story before, that this was the time the tunnel roof had caved in and Papaw and the other miners had waited all night to be rescued. All night, sitting in the dark, listening to rock shift and moan. But when Danny and Ezra were around, Papaw never talked about danger. That was something he kept to himself.

  Then he had picked up Danny and pointed out Venus, the brightest star in the sky. “We see a light like that down in the mine,” he said, “why, it’d be like the sun to us. It’s not dark up here, Ezra. You got all the stars, all the fireflies lightin’ your way home.”

  And what Ivy June remembered most about that night was not the stars or fireflies but the thought of Papaw, six hundred feet down, in the dark.

  The mine where Papaw worked now was a drift mine. The entrance was a big yawning hole in the side of the mountain, and mine cars carried the men a mile or two straight in. But whether Papaw went two miles in or six hundred feet down, he was surrounded by rock, and that was something Ivy June could not forget.

  On this particular night, however—Ivy June’s last dinner at home—Papaw’s smile was wider than ever when he came to the table, and just as Ivy June was about to kid him that it must be because she was leaving, he said, “Four more months and I retire, Ivy June. What do you think of that?”

  “And you won’t ever have to go back in the mine again?” she asked. “Not even if they’re short of men?”

  “Not ever. Once I step off that mine car, it’s the last I’ll set foot on it again.” He took another swallow of cider and set the glass on the table, savoring the array of food spread out before him—the homegrown green beans, pickled beets with onions, corn bread and sweet butter, and of course, the chicken.

  Mammaw smiled too as she wheeled Grandmommy up to the table and tied a dish towel around her neck. “That will sure be some happy day!” she said. “Wonder how you ever made it through, Spencer. Sometimes you’d get so disgusted with life you couldn’t see what was ahead and what was behind, but it didn’t stop you.” She leaned down and planted a kiss on his weathered cheek.

  Ivy June buttered Grandmommy’s corn bread for her. “What are you going to do, Papaw, when you don’t have to get up at four and drive all the way to the mine?” she asked.

  The tall man with the crinkles about the eyes grinned as he helped himself to the chicken. “Well, for the first year, I’ll wake up at four out of habit. Take me another year to learn to walk upright, not bent over like an ape. Third year I’ll still be washin’ coal dust out of my creases, and maybe by year four, I’ll see if there’s any more fish left in the creek.”

  Mammaw laughed out loud at this, but Grandmommy smacked her toothless gums together and said, “He just … wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t … listen a’tall.”

  And everyone at the table knew she was talking about her husband, Papaw’s daddy, who had gone to work in the mine despite Grandmommy’s pleas for him to find factory work, and had gotten so much coal dust in his lungs he never lived to retire.

  “Here, Iree,” Mammaw said, mashing some beans with the back of her spoon and holding them to the old woman’s mouth.

  But Grandmommy was looking in Papaw’s direction, and Ivy June knew her great-grandma wouldn’t rest easy—none of them would—till he was out of the mine for good.

  CHAPTER SIX

  March 8

  Hard to sleep last night. When rain hits the tin roof, it sounds like acorns coming down. If the road floods while I’m gone, Papaw’s going to have to take the long way home, park up at Vulture Pass, and walk down through there.

  I’ve got a homesickness growing inside me already for Papaw and Mammaw, and even a little for Grandmommy. But the lonesomeness I’ve got for Ma and Daddy is more like for what I wish they were, and that’s hard to put down on paper. I know what their worry’s done to them, though, and I figure we all love each other down underneath where you can’t hardly see it.

  But it wasn’t the rain that kept me awake, and not excitement, either, though that’s part of it. It’s the same thing that’s upset my sleep for the past thirteen months—the memory of what I did to Luke Weller’s family.

  The closest I ever came to telling anybody was when I let Papaw know once how worried I was about him when he was in the mine. And the next night he came home, he called me out on the porch, his face all grimy with coal dust, and he says, “Got something for you.” He gives me this little piece of rock. It’s about as big a
s a walnut, smooth on one side, rough on the other.

  “This is from way back in the mine,” he tells me. “A million years old or more. You keep it somewheres, Ivy June, and whenever you get to worrying, you just take this rock and hold it in your hand. Tell yourself that your Papaw’s as strong and hard as that old rock. It can shatter, it’s true, but it would take a mighty blow, and it’s the same with me.”

  So I’ve packed that rock in my suitcase. But not even Papaw knows what I once asked God to do, and that’s a sin I’ve got to carry along with me.

  Ivy June Mosley

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  March 8

  When you don’t know someone at all, it’s hardest not to make a mistake. All I really know about Ivy June is her name and where she’s from. We’re supposed to collect all the rest of the information ourselves after our exchange student gets here-a way of getting to know her, I suppose. This is scary! So I asked Mackenzie and Hannah for their expert opinions, and they started right off with clothes.

  “It’s okay to offer her a school uniform, but forget the socks,” Hannah told me.

  “Definitely forget the socks,” said Mackenzie. “Explain to her that she’s a guest, and she can wear whatever she wants.”

  I worry a lot about offending Ivy June in some way. Mackenzie said, “Wow! Two whole weeks! You’re brave, Cat! I wouldn’t even want a cousin hanging around for two weeks.” And Rosemary doesn’t help either.

  She calls the exchange program a “disaster in the making.”

  “It’ll be fine,” said Hannah. “You’ll go down in our school’s history as the first exchange student with Thunder Creek. Just remember that whatever Ivy June is like, she could have been a tattoo artist or a snake handler or something.” There are those stereotypes again. But stereotypes always start from something don’t they?

  Right now I’m sitting in the living room writing this in my journal while Peter and Claire run to the window every time they hear a car. I hope Ivy June has a ten-year-old brother or sister, because she’s sure going to see enough of the twins while-

  She’s here! Peter and Claire are already at the door. I’m hoping that, like Mrs. Fields says, these next two weeks will be two of the most important in my life, and not–as Rosemary predicts–a waste of spring vacation, and then some.

  Catherine Combs

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ivy June climbed out the passenger side of the car, glancing up at the house uncertainly. It was not a movie-star kind of place, but a mayor could have lived there once. A governor, even. How could a house need so many windows? she wondered.

  Her shoulder bag was slung over one shoulder, and she carried the preserves in a paper bag in one hand. With the other, she opened the rear door and hauled out her yellow suitcase, her body tilting to the left after she picked it up.

  Mrs. Fields, the assistant headmistress of Buckner Academy, got out the driver’s side and hurried around the car to help, holding an umbrella above her head.

  “I can carry it okay,” Ivy June said, secretly hoping the latch wouldn’t give out and dump all her things in the driveway. She stayed close to Mrs. Fields as they moved up the walk, rain pelting one shoulder. The suitcase bumped awkwardly against Ivy June’s leg as they went up the steps and onto the wide porch.

  A small crowd was waiting for her just inside the door. The girl her own age, one size larger, perhaps, must be Catherine, Ivy June thought. Two smaller kids were wearing toothy grins.

  “Hi, Ivy June,” the girl said, smiling. “I’m Catherine. Hello, Mrs. Fields.”

  Mrs. Fields held out a welcome basket that the Academy had prepared for Ivy June. “Hello, Catherine. I’ll let you carry this in for her. Gracious, this certainly is a wet welcome, isn’t it? But it was raining even harder down in Hazard.”

  A woman appeared in the doorway behind the younger children. She was thin-faced and wore a sweater draped around her neck and shoulders.

  “Come right in!” she called, smiling. “I’m Mrs. Combs, Ivy June. We’re so glad to have you!”

  “I’ve got to run. We’re having an anniversary celebration for my parents this evening, and I’m in charge,” said Mrs. Fields. “I know the girls want time to get acquainted. It was a pleasure, Ivy June. I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

  Goodbyes were said, Mrs. Fields dashed back to her car, and Ivy June followed Catherine into the large house.

  “These are the twins, Peter and Claire,” Catherine said, motioning toward the boy and girl. “They’ve promised to be on their best behavior, but there are no guarantees.”

  Ivy June laughed then, and the twins grinned some more. She handed the paper bag to Mrs. Combs. “These are for you,” she said. “Mammaw sent them.” Then, seeing the puzzled look on the woman’s face, she added, “My grandmother. She made them.”

  “Why, thank you!” Mrs. Combs said. She walked into the dining room and set the sack on the table, then lifted out three jars, each wrapped in newspaper. When the wrapping came off, she read the labels, “Elderberry, blackberry, and wild plum. How nice of your grandmother, Ivy June!” she said. “Blackberry is my favorite!”

  “Dad’s too,” Catherine said to Ivy June. “He’s working this afternoon, but he’ll be here for dinner.” And then, when a short, dark-haired woman appeared in the kitchen doorway, Catherine said, “And that’s Flora. She’s helping out for a few days.”

  Ivy June hoped she would remember all these names. She and Flora exchanged smiles.

  Claire had her eye on the welcome basket. “Let’s see what you got!” she said.

  “Claire!” said Catherine, but Ivy June smiled and gamely took the basket from her and set it on the table. A few pieces of fruit, some candy bars, and some school mementoes—notebook, pen, paperweight, erasers—all with Buckner Academy for Girls printed on them. Ivy June gave the candy bars to the twins, and they accepted, ignoring the reprimand on their mother’s face.

  “Catherine’s going to take you to your room and help you get settled,” Mrs. Combs said. “She’ll show you around the house so you’ll know where everything is. Please tell us if you need anything.”

  “I think I’ve got everything I need right here, but thank you,” Ivy June said, gesturing toward her suitcase.

  She followed Catherine up the stairs, the twins close at their heels. A large vase of dried flowers stood on the landing beneath a small window of stained glass. Another half flight of stairs led to the floor above.

  There were four doors off the upper hallway.

  “This is mine,” said Catherine, going into a bedroom with twin beds, each covered with an eyelet spread. Everything in the room was blue and white—the beds, the desk, the lamp and chair—all fitted to one girl’s individual taste.

  “I can sleep anywhere,” Catherine said. “Which bed would you like?”

  Ivy June looked around. “The one by the window,” she said. “I like the night sounds.”

  Catherine seemed to hesitate. “Well, I think we can open the windows, but we usually keep them closed because of Peter’s allergies.”

  Ivy June looked amazed. “Even in summer?”

  “Oh, we turn on the air,” said Catherine, then added quickly, “The air-conditioning.”

  “It’s okay,” Ivy June said, and set her suitcase on the floor.

  “We’ll unpack later, but let me show you around,” said Catherine, and walked to a second door off the bedroom. Ivy June made a detour to the window to look down on the street below, then walked over to where Catherine stood.

  “Here’s our bathroom. We’ll share it with Claire—she sleeps in the room on the other side.” Then, to her brother, she said, “And remember, Peter, you’ve got to use Mom and Dad’s bathroom while Ivy June’s here.”

  “I know that! You don’t have to tell me!” Peter replied. He and Claire had dark hair like Catherine’s and the same blue eyes and pinched nose as their mother.

  Catherine turned to Ivy June again. “The only thing to remember is
to lock both doors when you use the bathroom—this one and the one leading to Claire’s room.”

  Ivy June was confused momentarily, and Peter took the opportunity to brush past her in the doorway and point out the handle of the toilet. “You just push down on this, and it’ll flush,” he said helpfully.

  Ivy June saw Catherine’s face turn a bright pink. “Peter!” Catherine said, anger in her voice.

  Ivy June held back a smile and gave the bathroom a sweeping glance. “You guys don’t have a Jacuzzi?” she asked.

  Peter stared at her in amazement, and suddenly Catherine and Ivy June broke into laughter. Peter, dumbfounded, sank back into the bedroom.

  The twins seemed more cautious of their visitor after that. Catherine pointed out her parents’ bedroom next, then Claire’s, then Peter’s—stocked with more toys and gadgets, it seemed, than a toy store. And everywhere there were books. There were photographs. Family pictures on bedside tables and on walls in the hallway.

  Down in the living room again, Ivy June studied bookcases that reached the ceilings. Books on the hearth by the fireplace, stacked under the coffee table. Photos in little leather frames placed in front of the books.

  Catherine took her back to view the kitchen, the breakfast nook, then the family room, as well as the laundry room in the basement.

  Mr. Combs arrived home just as they were coming upstairs again. He was a large man with broad shoulders and an even broader smile. He gave Ivy June’s hand a hearty shake.

  “Welcome to the family!” he said. “We hope you’ll feel very much at home here, Ivy June.”

  “Oh, I do already,” Ivy June told him, but was glad when she and Catherine could finally escape upstairs to unpack her things. The family seemed to come along with them, however, for one whole wall of Catherine’s bedroom held photos for every year of her life: Catherine learning to ride a two-wheeler, Catherine in a speedboat with her dad; Catherine on a sled with the twins; Catherine with her mom at Christmas.