Faith, Hope, and Ivy June by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Page B

“You may hate me when it’s over.” And then she added, “Don’t forget to pack your pajamas.” That made them both laugh.

    The following day, Ivy June said goodbye to Peter and Claire and Mr. and Mrs. Combs and Catherine. Everyone hugged her, and Flora took pictures of them together on the wide front porch. Then Mrs. Fields came by in her green car, with Buckner Academy for Girls in silver on the driver’s door, and Ivy June climbed inside.

    It was Daddy who met her at the library in Hazard, not Papaw. He was parked outside the building, and walked over to get her suitcase.
    “Mrs. Fields, this is my daddy,” Ivy June said, having learned from Catherine that you always introduce the woman first, unless the man is somebody very old or very famous.
    “How do,” her father said, and shook the hand of the tall woman, who had removed her sunglasses and was smiling at him.
    “We so enjoyed having your daughter with us at Buckner,” Mrs. Fields said.
    “I ’spect she enjoyed herself some too,” Mr. Mosley answered.
    “Oh, I did,” said Ivy June. “And Catherine’s really nice.”
    “You’ll see her again in a week,” Mrs. Fields said. “Goodbye, dear. I hope Catherine’s visit with you will go as well as yours with us. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Mosley.”
    “Same here.”
    Ivy June’s father carried the old yellow suitcase to the pickup truck and heaved it over the side. Ivy June climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed.
    Mr. Mosley started the engine.
    They rode almost a block before any more words were spoken. Ivy June wanted so much to ask why Papaw hadn’t come to pick her up, and cast sideways glances at her daddy to see if there was worry on his face. There didn’t appear to be, however, and she knew if she asked about Papaw, it would show her disappointment that it had been Daddy waiting for her instead of him.
    She also wanted to see if her daddy would start the conversation, wondering if it was always going to be she who said the first words, consciously comparing him now to Catherine’s father. What would Catherine think of this quiet man who had never worn a suit in his life? Who had never praised her that she could remember, and who got so little praise himself? Who thought so little of himself, probably, for having to depend on his father to support the family.
    Ivy June wondered how it could be that she and her daddy had so few things to say to each other. Was it because she was living at Papaw’s now, or had it always been like this?
    He did, after a while, speak first. “So …”
    Ivy June waited, her eyes straight ahead.
    They drove another few blocks. When they came to a stoplight, her father mused, with a smile, “Don’t look any different.”
    “Didn’t expect me to, did you?” she asked.
    “Wasn’t sure,” he answered.
    “Well, I saw different things … learned different stuff. Saw a horse farm, for one thing.”
    He smiled wryly this time. “Got to go all the way to Lexington to see a horse? Never saw Sam Feeley’s?”
    “Had to go all the way to ride one. Mr. Feeley never offered me a ride,” Ivy June said.
    “Didn’t know you wanted one,” her daddy said.
    “Guess you never asked,” she replied.
    Still more silence. She was being unfair, she knew. Why should he have to guess at what she might feel or need? Did he have to do all the asking? When could his asking stop and her telling begin?
    “Went to the opera house one night,” she told him finally. “It’s got a thousand seats, all of them red velvet. It was a musical, Oklahoma! You’ve probably heard some of the songs.”
    “Don’t know,” said her daddy.
    “Never heard ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’’?”
    “Why don’t you sing it for me?”
    Ivy June blinked. She could never remember a time in her life that her daddy had asked her to sing for him. She wasn’t even sure that this wasn’t the first time she’d ever been alone with him in a car, not even