Faith, Hope, and Ivy June (5 page)

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.

Ivy June tried to remember if there were any photos at all on the walls back at Mammaw’s. She could recall only a yellowed photo in a black frame, of Mammaw and Papaw holding the first two of their six children. After that, she imagined, both time to take pictures and money to develop them had grown more scarce. But it must be nice to look up and see a picture of yourself on the wall. To know that somebody liked it enough to put a frame around it and hang it there. Must be nice….

CHAPTER NINE

March 8

My first day in the Combses house. I’m writing this from a room that looks more like a vanilla ice cream cone than a bedroom. Catherine’s in the next bed over, writing in her journal, and I’d give my best pair of shoes to know what she’s saying about me. But we promised each other we wouldn’t peek.

There’s too much I could write—would fill up ten pages. When we got to the library at Hazard, it seemed like Papaw didn’t want to hand me over. Like once I left, I’d never come back. Then I gave him a big hug, and I guess that’s what he needed.

Now I’m in this huge house—not a palace or anything, no swimming pool or tennis court. But the laundry room is bigger than the parlor at Mammaw’s. You could even put two beds in the hallway at the top of the stairs. I counted four toilets in the house—two on the top floor, one in a “powder room” off the kitchen (no powder in sight), and a toilet in the basement. If five members of the family have to go at the same time, there’s only one of them has to wait.

Everyone’s friendly enough. Peter reminds me a lot of Howard—says the first thing that comes into his head—and Claire’s a funny little thing. Keeps popping up like a jack-in-the-box. So far Catherine’s nice as can be. Her ma’s getting over the pneumonia, Catherine told me, and has a woman here helping out. Catherine’s daddy’s big as a bear. Don’t know what religion they are, but he did the praying at the table tonight. “Bless it to nourish our good,” he says. I just kept my head down and raised it up when everyone else did.

Food was okay, but too rich for my taste. Papaw always says if he can’t tell what it is just by looking, he won’t like it. Meat in some kind of sauce poured over noodles. And asparagus. That’s embarrassing, because it always makes my pee smell funny. But there was pecan pie for dessert, as good as any Mammaw makes.

I’m too sleepy to write more. Having people around all the time, watching me, is a lot more tiring than I expected. Hope I remember to lock both doors when I’m in the bathroom. If I know Claire, she’s got one eye at the keyhole anyhow.

Ivy June Mosley

CHAPTER TEN