8. Ivy
IVY
Ispent the morning with Mama in the garden, pulling weeds and picking the last of her squash and tomatoes, chatting while we worked. Mama and I never ran out of things to say to each other. By eleven, hot and sweaty, we made our way inside to the cool house, arms loaded with our bounty.
I’d assumed we would spend the afternoon canning.
Jack had been invited to breakfast in town with my brothers.
God only knew what they were putting him through.
He’d been tight-lipped about his conversation with my daddy.
Regardless, they’d come in after their talk looking more like friends than foes, so I figured it went fine.
“You best get cleaned up before Jack gets back,” Mama said.
“Don’t you want me to help you can?”
“Not today. Jack has plans to take you down to the creek. It’s supposed to be hot this afternoon, so wear your swimsuit.”
Swimsuit. That’s how this whole thing had started. I bit back a smile.
I wanted to argue and insist I stay to help, but the thought of diving into the deep pool of Juniper Creek at Sycamore Bend was too tempting.
So that was how, an hour later, I found myself walking with Jack across the lower pasture, carrying a blanket while he carried a wicker basket Mama had packed while I was upstairs changing.
The September afternoon was warm, but not vicious-sticky the way summer had been.
A breeze moved through the grass and lifted the ends of my hair off my neck.
Overhead, the sky was that impossible Tennessee blue that reminded me I was home.
“This way,” I said, leading him toward the tree line.
The pasture sloped gently down behind the barn, past the last stretch of black fencing and a patch of goldenrod buzzing with bees. Our horses, Betty and Boop, lifted their heads as we passed but didn’t find anything interesting and went back to grazing.
I had my bathing suit on under a pair of jean shorts and a loose tee. Jack wore his swim trunks and a tee from the merch we’d sold at my recent concert tour.
At the edge of the woods, we heard a soft, steady rush of water over rock.
“It’s just through there.” I pointed at the narrow path worn down by four generations of James’ feet.
Daddy kept it cleared, but roots still crossed the dirt in places, and wild muscadine vines curled through the underbrush.
Sycamores leaned over the water, their pale trunks patchy and smooth, broad leaves stirring in the breeze.
The trees opened and there was Sycamore Bend. My favorite place in the whole world.
Juniper Creek curved in a wide, green bend beneath two old sycamores whose branches reached over the water.
In most places, the creek ran shallow and clear over flat limestone and smooth brown stones, the kind of water children could wade through with rolled-up jeans and shriek every time a crawdad moved.
But here, where the bank dipped and the current had carved itself deeper over time, the water made the perfect swimming hole.
A rope swing hung from the strongest sycamore limb, the knot at the bottom worn smooth from decades of hands.
Flat rocks lined one side of the bank, warm in the sun, and a little patch of grass opened beneath the trees where Mama used to spread her quilt when we were little so she could keep watch over us.
“This is it,” I said.
Jack came to stand beside me. “No wonder you love it here.”
I showed him every detail. The flat rock where a person could sit with just their feet in the water.
“I used to come down here with my guitar, put my feet in the water and write songs and daydream about becoming a singer. But the most fun was when all of us were here together—swinging on that rope. Diving to the bottom to look for a crawdad.”
“Did you ever find one?” Jack asked.
“Yeah. One time one clamped itself onto Beau’s finger. He came up screaming and spitting out water. We laughed for days.”
“Poor Beau.”
“Things like that were always happening to him. He’s the most adventurous of us, obviously.”
We spread the blanket in the shade of a tree. Mama had packed fried chicken, biscuits, peaches, little jars of pickles, pimento cheese, deviled eggs, a tomato salad still warm from the vines, and a bottle of sparkling wine to wash it all down with.
“Mama packed wine,” I said. “That’s kind of weird. Usually she disapproves of day-drinking.”
Jack sat beside me, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out. “Maybe she figured it was a celebration. You bringing me to your favorite place.”
“Maybe. She was acting odd all morning.” I pointed to the low bank on the far side. “Beau jumped from there when he was nine and broke his arm. He told Mama he fell out of a tree because he was afraid Daddy would cut down the rope swing if he knew the truth.”
“Did she believe him?”
“Not for one second. I don’t think she believed half of what the boys told her, but she knew how to pick her battles.”
Jack laughed.
I took off my sandals and stripped down to just my bikini, then walked to the edge of the creek, stepping onto the flat limestone shelf. The stone was warm under my bare feet, the water cool when I dipped my toes in. Behind me, Jack discarded his shoes and shirt before he joined me.
We waded in, the water clear enough that I could see every stone beneath my feet. It was cold at first, then perfect. Jack reached for my hand when I slipped on a rock, and I let him keep it, even after I found my footing.
We crossed to the deeper side, where the rope swing hung over the green water.
“Did you jump from this?” he asked.
“Of course. That’s a James family rite of passage. I never felt more alive than the moment just before I hit the water.”
The rope dangled there, tempting me. I reached for it, tugging the rope free. I stepped back to the bank, and looked at him over my shoulder. “You game?”
“Can we go in together?” Jack asked.
“Heck, yeah. You hold on first and I’ll climb onto your lap.”
He seemed to hesitate for a split second, then tapped his shorts pocket as if to see if something was still there. Whatever he felt seemed to satisfy him. He grabbed the rope with both hands. I climbed on top, facing him, my legs wrapped around his waist, then placed both hands above his head.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Yes, but don’t jump. Just swing.”
“Okay, but it’s not scary to jump.”
“I know. But I might want to talk while we’re out there. I mean, there’s something I want to say.”
Before I could ask any questions, he pushed off with his strong legs.
The bank dropped away beneath us, the green water flashing below my feet, Jack’s arms strong around the rope and my legs locked around his waist. I laughed as the September air rushed over my skin, the sycamore leaves blurring above us.
I was twelve years old and thirty-three all at once, wild and happy and home.
But instead of letting go the way we always had as kids, Jack held tight. The rope carried us out over the deepest part of the swimming hole, then slowed at the far end of its arc. We hung there above the water, suspended between the creek and the sky.
I looked at him, laughing. “Um, this might just be a James family thing, but we usually let go at this point.”
His eyes held mine. “I don’t ever want to let you go.”
The sincere expression on his face made my laughter catch.
“Ivy James,” he said.
“Yes?” I asked, slightly breathless.
Jack’s arms flexed around me, keeping us steady, his chest warm against mine.
“I love you. I love the way you light up every room you ever walk into. I love to make you laugh, and God knows you kill me every day. I love your messy purse and your lost keys and that you’re always running at least five minutes late because you’re thinking deep thoughts or song lyrics instead of paying attention to the time.
I love your talent and your drive. You’re pretty without trying.
And I love your heart, which is about ten sizes too big for your body.
I’ve been looking for you my whole life. You’re my home.”
My arms were starting to ache, but I couldn’t have let go if someone paid me.
“Will you marry me, Ivy James?”
My heart kicked so hard I almost slipped.
Jack tightened one arm around my waist. “Careful.”
The rope swung slightly, the two of us dangling over the deep green water.
“Yes, Jack. You’re the one thing I can’t live without, you know that?”
“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
“Yeah.”
He kissed me right in the middle of my favorite spot on earth, and I swear I heard angels singing.
When he pulled back, his eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh, I forgot the ring.”
“Where is it?”
“In my pocket.”
“What? You put my engagement ring in your swim trunks?”
“I’d planned to do it under the tree there, but, when I saw the rope, I knew this was it. Reach into my pocket.”
I looked down between us, then back up at him. “Okay, but I can wait until we get back to shore.”
“No, I want it to be here.”
I let go with one hand and slid it carefully down his side, feeling for the pocket of his swim trunks. The rope shifted. Jack’s grip tightened. My fingers found the pocket opening, then the little velvet pouch tucked inside.
“I feel it,” I whispered.
The pouch was wedged deeper than expected. I tugged once, then again. It came free all at once, slick from the damp fabric, and, for one glorious half second, I had it.
Then it slipped.
The little velvet pouch bounced off my wrist, hit Jack’s thigh, and dropped straight down between us.
We both watched it fall.
It hit the surface with the tiniest plop imaginable and disappeared into the green water.
Silence.
Then I screamed. “Oh my God!”
He stared at the creek below us. “Okay, we don’t need to panic. This water’s very clear.”
“I dropped my engagement ring in Juniper Creek.”
The rope began drifting back toward the bank.
“No, no, no.” I kicked my feet as if that would somehow reverse the laws of motion. “We have to get it.”
“We will.”
The second we were close enough to the bank, Jack let go with one hand and grabbed the rope lower, bringing us in. My feet scraped the shallow shelf, but I didn’t wait for balance. I untangled myself from him and splashed toward the deeper water.
“Where did it fall?” I asked.
“Right below us, a little toward the center.”
“The center is deep.”
“I know.”
“You can’t see anything from up here.”
“I saw it go down,” Jack said, remarkably calm.
“You saw the pouch go down. What if the ring came out? What if it’s gone forever?”
“Then I’ll get you another one. But let’s try and find this one first.” He took my hand as we went further into the water. Sunlight trembled over the surface, ironically, like diamonds.
Jack dove first.
I stood there, heart pounding, arms wrapped around myself, watching his body disappear beneath the water. Seconds stretched. The creek bubbled and shifted.
He came up empty.
My stomach sank. “No?”
“I’m going back in.” He drew a breath and dove again.
This time I went with him.
Cold and green and full of dappled light, the creek swallowed me whole. I kicked down to the bottom, opening my eyes to the blur of stones beneath us. I saw smooth brown rocks and pale limestone. Water weeds waved gently in the current. Tiny fish darted out of the way.
My lungs burned. I kicked back up, breaking the surface with a gasp.
Jack surfaced beside me, pushing hair out of his eyes.
“Anything?” I asked.
“No.”
Panic rose sharp in my throat.
Then he went still.
“What?” I asked.
His gaze had fixed on the water just beyond my shoulder. “I see something.”
My hands flew to my mouth and stayed there.
He took one breath and dove again, cutting through the water cleanly. I leaned forward, trying to see through the ripples. My heart beat so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Beneath the surface, Jack reached toward a cluster of flat stones near the base of the bank. A moment later, he came up with one hand closed in a fist.
He opened his fingers. There it was. Not the pouch. Just the ring. The sparkling, gorgeous ring. That was about to go on my finger.
“Oh my Lord,” I whispered. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Big diamond with the halo like Madeleine said you’d want,” Jack said. “Madeleine warned me not to get anything too showy, but for once I didn’t listen to her because I wanted it to sparkle just right on your pretty hand. That was before I decided to propose over Juniper Creek.”
I burst out laughing and sobbing at the same time.
He swam to me, careful to keep the ring pinched between his fingers. “I think we should put it on you before Juniper Creek tries to claim it permanently.”
“Yes. Please.”
We made our way to the flat limestone shelf, both of us dripping, shivering, and laughing like fools. Jack climbed out first, then helped me up. Water streamed from his hair down his face. His knee was scraped somehow. And his lips were slightly blue. He didn’t seem to notice.
He held the ring up between us.
“Can I try this again?” he asked.
“I already said yes.”
“On land this time?”
He took my left hand. “Ivy James,” he said, softer now, “will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Still yes. Always yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly.
The ring sparkled in the September sun, creek water running over my hand, Jack’s fingers wrapped around mine. Sycamore leaves clapping softly overhead. The rope swing drifted lazily behind us, innocent as could be, as if it had not just tried to ruin our engagement story.
I looked at the ring, then at Jack.
“It’s beautiful.”
“So are you.”
“This is going to be a heck of a story to tell our kids.” I laughed, and he pulled me into him, wet chest to wet chest, standing on the warm rock with creek water dripping from our bodies.
Then he kissed me and I lost all sense of time or place.