Faith, Hope, and Ivy June

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Howard took the two smaller bags Catherine was carrying and swaggered as he crossed the swinging bridge to show he didn’t even have to hold on. Catherine followed hesitantly as the bridge swayed and jiggled with each step. Gripping the cable that served as a handrail, she managed to get across and said, laughing, “Guess I’ll get used to that, too, after a bit!”

  On the other side, Ezra and Danny each grabbed for one of Howard’s bags, and Howard politely took the large suitcase from the teacher.

  “Well, is there anything else I can do to help you get settled?” Miss Dixon asked the girls.

  “I don’t think so, ma’am,” Ivy June said. “The boys’ll walk her bags on up the hill, but we’re going to stop at Ma’s house first.”

  “Okay, then,” said her teacher. “I’ll see you at school on Monday. We’re really looking forward to having you with us, Catherine.”

  “I’m excited too!” said Catherine. “Thanks a lot for the ride.”

  As Miss Dixon’s car went back up the winding road on the other side of the creek, Catherine said, “Wow! This is pretty country. Would you believe I’ve never been south of Lexington? Not really.”

  “Then I hope you like mountains, because that’s about all we’ve got,” said Ivy June, her brothers hanging close to listen in.

  “And snakes!” said Howard mischievously, holding the large suitcase in front of him with both hands, so that it banged against his shins.

  “And bears!” said Ezra, puffing his way up the bank. “I seen a black bear once!”

  “Me too!” piped up Danny.

  “Well, I’ll be careful of snakes and bears, then,” said Catherine, and grinned at Ivy June.

  Russell Mosley came around the house, hammer in hand, and stopped when he saw Catherine. “Reckon this is the new girl,” he said, and gave his shy smile. “Stayin’ two weeks, huh? Place should pretty up some while you’re here.”

  “Catherine, this is my dad,” said Ivy June.

  “I think it’s pretty already,” Catherine told him. “I saw some of those big yellow flowers that grow in ditches … what are they called?”

  “There’s a name for ‘em, but I just call ’em swamp flowers. Saw some myself yestiddy when I was down that-away.” He nodded toward the porch. “Your ma and Jessie is waiting to meet her too,” he said to Ivy June.

  The boys set the bags and the suitcase on the porch and followed the girls inside.

  Ma came in from the kitchen and smiled at Catherine.

  “You just come on in,” she said. “You thirsty, Catherine? Want some apple juice?”

  “This is my mom,” said Ivy June.

  “Thank you, but Miss Dixon gave me some Sprite in the car. I’m fine, really,” Catherine said, and shook Ma’s hand.

  “Well, this here is Jessie,” said Ma, stepping aside so that Catherine could get a look at the young woman on the couch. Jessie, a magazine on her lap, was still blowing on one set of nails.

  “Hello,” said Catherine.

  “This is my sister,” said Ivy June.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Jessie. “Long drive down?”

  “Not so long. Once we got to Hazard, it was only an hour more,” Catherine answered.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem fair that Ivy June got one week of school up in Lexington and one week of vacation, but you’ve got to do two weeks of school,” Jessie said.

  “I know,” Catherine said, laughing. “Something to do with when the schools take spring break, I guess.”

  “Makes it seem like one week of school in Lexington is all Thunder Creek kids can take,” Jessie added, and Ivy June’s face flushed with embarrassment.

  But Catherine said, “No, it depends where Easter falls, for one thing, and when testing begins.”

  Fortunately, Ruth Mosley interrupted. “Our Jessie works at the sweatshirt factory down near Harlan. Does the trim. Just got promoted to day shift.”

  “Congratulations!” said Catherine.

  “Well, Mammaw and Papaw are waiting for us, so I guess we’d better get on up the hill,” Ivy June said quickly.

  “We’ll see you around, then,” said Jessie, and the girls went back out, the boys skittering on ahead of them, grabbing at the suitcase and the bags they would each carry.

  Ivy June’s grandparents were both sitting on the porch when Howard and Ezra, perspiring now, hoisted their bags up onto the steps. Danny came trailing behind with the smallest bag.

  “You made it!” Catherine said, smiling at him. “You are really strong, you know it?”

  It took Danny two tries to get the bag up onto the step, and then he sat down and grinned.

  Papaw stood up and shook Catherine’s hand, enveloping it in his two large palms, which covered her hand completely.

  “Welcome,” he said. “Ivy June’s hardly stopped talkin’ ’bout you since she was up your way.”

  “And this is Mammaw,” said Ivy June as Mammaw leaned her thin body forward and clasped Catherine’s other hand. She was all smiles.

  “I got lemonade and shortbread cookies, you want a snack before dinner,” she offered.

  “I want some!” said Ezra.

  “Me too!” chimed in Danny.

  “Well now, you all just come in here and let’s see what I can find,” Mammaw said, easing herself up out of the rocker. “Only two apiece, boys, ’cause I baked these special for Catherine.”

  The three boys eagerly pulled chairs up to the table, and Ivy June let Catherine have the fourth chair. Howard, surprisingly, got up then and let Ivy June sit down, and she smiled at this sudden gallantry in front of Catherine.

  “Heeeellllllp!” came a shaky voice from the other room. “H-help!”

  Catherine started and looked around anxiously.

  “It’s only Grandmommy, feeling left out,” Ivy June explained, getting up and heading toward the room that was now her great-grandmother’s. “I’ll wheel her in.”

  “She’s a hundred years old!” said Danny soberly, nodding for emphasis, and held up all the fingers on both hands, studying them thoughtfully.

  “It’s ten times your fingers, Danny,” Howard told him, laughing.

  “Amazing!” said Catherine, and smiled as the wheelchair was pushed into the room. “I’ve never met anyone who was a hundred years old.”

  And Grandmommy, looking about for the source of the new voice, responded, “I never did neither, and … I can’t… even see myself.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  March 30

  I’m here at Thunder Creek and we just got back from church. Jessie came up and watched Grandmommy while the four of us rode to the Buck Run Baptist Church in Grandfather Mosley’s old car. People here sure do like to sing. Makes our congregation in Lexington seem pitiful. But here they slide their voices from one note to the next–almost make a ritual of it. That will take some getting used to.

  On the drive to Thunder Creek yesterday, it was like we were going into another land almost. Seen from a distance, the mountains are knobby at the top, not pointed or rolling. If you look low out of the car window when you’re actually in them, you’d think a storm was coming up, it’s so dark. And then you realize it’s mountainside you’re looking at, and you have to raise your eyes to see the sky.

  When we drive around Lexington, we see signs reading FINE ARABIAN HORSES or WILLOW BROOK FARMS. Down here the signs read BLACK DIAMOND COAL and FIREWOOD–CHEAP, and SOUP BEANS AND CORN BREAD. I’m surprised how many of the small houses have a creek between them and the road, with some kind of footbridge to cross over. Here at Thunder Creek, it’s a narrow swinging bridge that jiggles and sways with each step.

  Ivy June and I were too tired last night to write in our journals, so we’re doing it now while Grandma Mosley fries the chicken. Ivy June says they always have fried chicken for Sunday dinner. They eat their big meal when they get home from church, just like we do at home.

  There was a little welcoming committee there at the bridge when Miss Dixon drove up: Ivy June and her three b
rothers. The boys carried my bags all the way up the hill to where Ivy June’s living with her grandparents, a quarter mile, maybe.

  It’s surprising how comfortable Ivy June and her family are, living with less. Her grandparents, anyway. I’ve lived primitively at summer camp, but I don’t know how well I’ll do sharing this small house with four people. I’m glad I’m not staying down at the other house with all those brothers.

  I like Ivy June even though she did cause a quarrel between Mackenzie and me. I like her grandparents, too, and even the great-grandmother’s a hoot. Full of stories about growing up here in the mountains. Said she didn’t have any toys as a child except for a couple of corncob dolls. Told me that she and her sisters swung from one hill to another on grapevines, and made dresses for themselves out of leaves. She even asked if my parents were divorced. Said she heard everybody in the city got divorced at one time or another. When I told her my parents were still together, she said, “That’s good, then. Hiram and me, we never even studied about a divorce.”

  Ivy June’s letting me sleep in her bed while she takes the cot. Right now she’s sitting on the floor, using the cot for a desk while she writes in her journal. Her brothers hung around at dinnertime, and Mammaw–as Ivy June calls her grandmother–told them they could stay. Actually, what she said was, “Well, boys, find you some chairs and I’ll put on more plates.” They started dragging in every chair they could find, and a step stool, too. And she told Howard to “run down and tell your ma you’re eating up here.”

  That’s another thing–no phone. Deep in the hollows, whenever the people in one house want to talk to the other, somebody has to be the messenger. They pray before meals like we do. The grandfather, Papaw, folds his hands in front of him and bows his head. He prayed for the Lord to bless me, their guest, and I think that’s about the most welcome I ever felt anywhere.

  Ivy June adores him, I can tell. He doesn’t say a lot, but when he does, it’s worth listening to. He’s sort of a philosopher. Sees things from a different perspective.

  I wish I had grandparents I loved that much. Instead, I’m stuck with Rosemary and Gramps. It’s not a kind thing to say, I know, but we’re supposed to express our honest thoughts in our journals, and I can’t be more honest than that.

  Catherine Combs

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  March 30

  I’d sure like to know what Catherine’s writing about me. About here. About us. Now that she’s seen how we live, though, I don’t feel as worried as I did before.

  She didn’t bat an eye when I showed her the outhouse, back in the trees. Was surprised we have toilet seats over the holes, and that they’re clean, too. What she did blink her eyes at was the chamber pot—the slop jar under my bed—like all of us have.

  “What’s that for?” she asks, lifting the lid and looking inside. When I told her it was to use as a toilet in the middle of the night, she looked shocked. “I couldn’t!” she said.

  “Yes, you could, if you had to go bad enough,” I told her. “Just put the lid on again after, and we’ll empty it in the morning.” Then we laughed. If I know Catherine, though, she’ll hold it in till morning.

  I can tell she “dressed down” to come here. Brought her oldest jeans. Left her North Face jacket at home. No shoes with the fancy heel. No panty hose. She probably doesn’t want anyone at school thinking she’s trying to show us up. But … so what? I dressed up to go to Lexington, didn’t I? We both want to fit in.

  I think she got along okay with Ma, but I was embarrassed to death when Ma told about Jessie getting the day shift, like she’d just been made manager at Walmart or something.

  Mammaw and Papaw like Catherine, I can tell. She brought them a photography book. Kentucky, it says on the cover, and it’s mostly photographs to show just how many different things make up our state—mountains and horse farms and rivers and parks.

  “Why, look at this!” Mammaw says, pointing to Cumberland Falls. And I know I’m going to have to describe every one of those pictures to Grandmommy by and by.

  Anyway, I’m breathing easier because Catherine’s been nice. If she’s still mad at me about that boyfriend, she doesn’t show it. I notice she brought her cell phone, though. She probably didn’t believe me when I told her we’re in a no-service area. No “boyfriend calls” up here in the hollow.

  Ivy June Mosley

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  An hour after Sunday dinner, as Ivy June and Catherine were washing the frying pan and stacking the chipped white plates on the oilcloth-covered shelves in the kitchen, they heard Mammaw call to Papaw to come look at Grandmommy’s toe.

  “Don’t you tetch it!” Grandmommy cried. “Don’t you go tetchin’ that toe!”

  Papaw put down the almanac he was reading and walked from the parlor into what used to be the dining room, where the one-hundred-year-old woman sat on the daybed, one foot propped up on a stool.

  “Mama, your foot’s swelled up again,” the girls heard him tell her. “You know what Dr. Grace said about tellin’ her ‘fore those red streaks start travelin’ up your leg.”

  “Jus’ bring me some salt water … and soak it,” Grandmommy pleaded.

  The girls could hear Ivy June’s grandparents talking in low voices. “Last time Mama got to hurtin’, she said she was sufferin’ so bad she’d have to get better before she could die!” Papaw said. “I’m going for Dr. Grace.”

  He came striding through the kitchen and reached for his old hat with the stained sweatband, then took his key off the hook, went out, and started down the hill.

  “The doctor comes all the way out here?” Catherine whispered.

  “Has to. Grandmommy broke her hip once and it never healed right. We can’t get her into the car,” Ivy June explained.

  “How far away is the doctor?” asked Catherine.

  “About thirty miles, if she’s in. If she’s out making rounds, he’ll just have to find someone who’s seen where she’s headed and try to catch up with her.”

  “But what if it was an emergency?” Catherine exclaimed.

  Ivy June had no answer for that. “We do the best we can. It’s just the way we live.”

  Mammaw came out to the kitchen and filled a pan with water from the teakettle, then poured a little salt in it and stirred. “I surely did not need this trouble today,” she murmured. “Got me a headache the size of my fist, and I’ve been wanting to get to the garden and see if that asparagus came up again this year.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Catherine asked.

  “You might check and see if her socks are dry. I washed ’em out last night and hung ’em on the porch. Ivy June, that foot look swollen yestiddy when you was tryin’ to put those slippers on her feet?”

  “No, ma’am. Not a lot, anyway. Not that you could notice.”

  “Well, it’s pink as watermelon now, and there’s a sore between her toes. I’ll put on some of my tallow salve when we’ve finished the soaking and see if that’ll hold her till Dr. Grace gets here.”

  The girls went out onto the porch and took down the white stockings flapping in the breeze.

  “What’s tallow salve?” asked Catherine.

  “You don’t want to know,” said Ivy June.

  “Of course I do!”

  “You’d have to get all the ingredients from Mammaw, but I know it has beef fat, turpentine, camphor, and whiskey in it,” Ivy June said.

  “Yum!” said Catherine.

  Ivy June poked her. “You don’t drink it!” she said, and the girls laughed.

  It was an hour and a half later when Papaw came back with Dr. Grace. She had driven her own car as far as the footbridge, then followed him up the long hill with her worn black bag in hand. Catherine seemed astonished that the doctor was much older than Papaw. Definitely in her eighties. She stopped a few times on her way up the hill to catch her breath, then plodded on, her legs taking long strides.

  “Hello there, Emma,” she said to Mammaw as sh
e came in the door. She placed her bag on the table and took off her coat. “Nice warm wind we got out there today. Crocuses are up down next to the clinic.”

  “That’s good to hear, Dr. Grace,” Mammaw said. “This here is Catherine Combs from up in Lexington. She’s on the exchange program.”

  “Hello, Catherine,” the doctor said. “And how you doing, Ivy June?”

  “Doing okay,” said Ivy June.

  The doctor was a small woman, even thinner than Mammaw. She got right down to business, and her gnarled fingers worked efficiently at the clasp on her bag.

  “Can I give you a cup of sassafras tea?” asked Mammaw.

  “Wait till I see the patient,” the doctor said, rolling up her sleeves and walking over to the pump at the sink. She worked the handle up and down a few times. “Find me some of that lye soap, would you?” she asked, and Mammaw slid the soap dish toward her and produced a clean towel from the cupboard.

  “It’s that toe again,” Mammaw told her. “I got it salved up some.”

  “Best you let me look at it plain next time,” Dr. Grace said. “You want to go ahead and rinse it off for me, and I’ll come see what’s what.”

  Papaw put one hand on Ivy June’s shoulder, the other on Catherine’s, and guided them toward the front door. Behind them they could hear Dr. Grace’s voice as she entered Grandmommy’s room: “How you doing, Iree? It’s Dr. Grace, here to look at that foot of yours.”

  “Don’t tetch it!” Grandmommy began.

  Out on the porch, Papaw sat down on the swing. “Good idea for us to just sit this one out,” he said. Ivy June sat down beside him, and Catherine took the rocker.

  When Grandmommy hollered—and she always hollered a lot when Dr. Grace came by—Ivy June could only imagine what was happening to her. Catherine looked alarmed.

  “Not nearly as bad as it sounds,” Papaw said. “Older she gets, the younger she sounds. Figure one of these days she’ll have the cry of a newborn baby. It’s strange, you know, to feel like a daddy to your very own mama.”