Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Vivianna smiled—shrugged as she watched Justin sit down, lean back against the large willow, and stretch his legs out in front of him in the grass.

  “I suppose…there isn’t much I could tell you that would compare to what you endured, Justin,” she said.

  “Tell me anyway,” he prodded. “I want to hear everything. Tell me about Florence, the family. Was your family home destroyed when your parents were killed?”

  A sharp twinge of pain rippled through Vivianna’s body. She preferred not to talk about her parents—about their death. Still, this was Justin, and though it was difficult to speak of the excruciating loss of her family, she was comforted in knowing he cared.

  “The house is still there,” she began. “The Yankees didn’t harm our home at all. Not one bit. They destroyed other buildings…other homes…but not ours. It’s there, and everything is just the same as it was the mornin’ Mama and Daddy were killed. Everything passed to me, of course…but I don’t go to the house often.” Vivianna sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to one day…have to pack things, sell things, sell the house. But for now…it’s just there.”

  “I forget. Were they killed in the spring raid?” he asked.

  Vivianna shook her head. “No…in December. So much was destroyed that previous spring when the Yankees came—the cotton mills, the town hall, so many homes. But ours was preserved. Mama and Daddy were fine, and General Roddy’s men beat the Union troops back that May. But in December they came again. Daddy ran out to help a wounded soldier, and Mama ran out after him. I…I don’t even really know how or why they were killed. I was here, helpin’ your mama with Nate and Willy ’cause they were ailin’. Mr. Maggee came to the door and told me Daddy and Mama had been killed…had been shot.” Again she shook her head—choked back her tears—determined to remain in control of her emotions.

  “Them damn Yankees,” Justin growled.

  Vivianna looked to him and smiled, even for the pain in her heart. “You’re a Yankee, Justin Turner,” she teased.

  He chuckled. “I know…but I never killed nobody that wasn’t a soldier. Never.”

  “I like to think it wasn’t intentional,” Vivianna began, “that it was an accident. There was so much fightin’ in the street…and I’m sure they were just in the way.” She paused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Mr. Maggee…he thought maybe they were killed by Confederate soldiers…or someone in Florence who knew Sam and Augie were fightin’ for the Union,” she confessed. “I don’t like to think that’s true though. I don’t like to think that at all. Besides, I don’t know of anybody other than your family and the Maggees who knew Sam and Augie were with the Alabama First. Even when Caleb came home, we didn’t tell anyone he’d been wounded fightin’ against the Confederacy. It’s why the Maggee boys are buried in your family’s cemetery. Mr. Maggee was afraid the townsfolk wouldn’t take kindly to two Yankees being buried out at Soldier’s Rest. There are a few Yankees buried there, but they weren’t local boys like Boy and Floydie. Mr. Maggee wanted their gravestones to read that they died fightin’ with the Alabama First Cavalry…and he didn’t want the folks in Florence readin’ their stones and gettin’ all riled up about it. So your mama let them be buried out there in the meadow.”

  “It’s a pity,” Justin mumbled. He looked to Vivianna then, and she was warmed by the compassion in his eyes. “Boy and Floydie and your parents…I can’t hardly imagine they’re all gone.”

  “I know,” Vivianna said. “Sometimes I wake up in the mornin’ and half expect Mama will walk right through the door, smilin’ and singin’ the little song she used to sing to me to wake me up.” She paused and lovingly gazed at Justin. “I used to imagine you’d walk through the door one day too.”

  “And I did,” Justin said, smiling.

  “Yes. You did.”

  He winked at her, yet his smile faded. “So…folks in Florence…they still don’t know Caleb and me were fightin’ for the Union?”

  “They do now,” Vivianna explained. “Caleb had a terrible time tryin’ to find work after he started tellin’ folks the truth. I guess it was Georgie Jones he first told. He and Georgie even went around awhile. Caleb came home all bloody and bruised. But in the end, Georgie understood, I think. Folks have accepted it…not that some aren’t still angry about it. I suppose it was surprisin’ to people, especially since your daddy fought for the Confederacy.”

  “Daddy couldn’t raise his hand against Alabama,” Justin mumbled, “even though he thought things needed changin’.”

  “I know,” Vivianna said.

  “Me and Caleb…Sam and Augie…we grew up with the Maggee boys,” he said. “It seems strange that me and Caleb should make it through…while two other sets of brothers didn’t.”

  His countenance was changing. Talk of the war was despairing, and Vivianna did not want Justin to despair—not one more day.

  “Caleb has talked about movin’ west,” Vivianna began, smiling. “He’s read about Texas and California. He thinks it might be a good thing—a new start…a different life where the war isn’t so fresh in our minds every day. Folks don’t care so much who a man fought for…especially in California.”

  Justin nodded thoughtfully. “I can see how that might be somethin’ to think after. Folks hold grudges a long time after something like this war. Generations will hold grudges.” He looked at her and nodded again. “Johnny, he’s from Texas, and he says there’re a lot of folks there who didn’t want the state to join the Confederacy. He says it’s beautiful there…wide-open space where a body can see for miles and miles. And the sky…he says there ain’t nothin’ like the sky over Texas.” Justin chuckled. “I swear, I thought that boy was gonna melt out there in Georgia. Johnny says he prefers to be dry ’stead of always feelin’ like he’s been bathin’ in somebody else’s sweat.”

  Vivianna wrinkled her nose at the comparison, and Justin laughed.

  “I guess I need to learn how to talk to a lady again,” he said. “Seems the war has rusted me over a bit.” Then, to Vivianna’s delight, he reached out and took hold of her hand, pulling her into his arms. “I hope you can be patient with me, Viv,” he whispered into her hair. “I ain’t quite myself yet.”

  Vivianna snuggled against him—sighed at the warm, safe bliss of being in his arms.

  “You’re fine, Justin,” she told him. “You’re fine…and everything will only get better and better now. You’re home, home here with me…and that’s all I need to know.”

  Justin sighed, closed his eyes, and inhaled the sweet scent of Vivianna’s soft, dark hair. Through the horrors of war and Andersonville, he’d nearly forgotten how pretty she was—how sweet. Andersonville seemed an age ago in that moment. As he sat comfortable and at peace beneath the tree, a beautiful woman in his arms, he thought he could almost forget the past—the war.

  The breeze was soft, fragrant with the mellow perfume of Alabama grass. Justin could sense honeysuckle, wisteria, and violets—ambrosia to his nostrils. He listened. Gone were the sounds of battle—of misery—of men moaning in the grip of death. Now lingered the happy trilling of birds, the distant sound of Nate and Willy laughing as they worked on their fort nearby. He smiled at the thought of the two young boys, so busily collecting their gruesome bones. He remembered those days—days when he and Caleb had often gone adventuring. The memory was both sweet and painful.

  It was suddenly strange to Justin Turner that he was not hungry. Yet he remembered with contentment that his mother’s biscuits were in his belly—and eggs, eggs that had been flavored with the tiniest, delicious grains of salt. He could still see the salt tumbling from his mother’s fingers as she’d sifted it over his plate. His mouth watered at the thought of more salt to come. A full belly—it was a wonderful awareness!

  Justin squeezed Vivianna’s soft form—embraced her more tightly. What a blissful sensation it was, holding her. For a moment, he briefly wondered if perhaps he had not truly returned home but rather died and these were the visions
granted him of heaven. The thought frightened him, and he opened his eyes to see the green of the leafy willow wands hanging all about him. He was not dead, nor was he dreaming. He was home, and he had God to thank for it—and Johnny Tabor.

  “I thought Johnny might be dead when I woke up this mornin’,” Justin mumbled.

  Vivianna sighed. “I was afraid too,” she said. “And I didn’t want you to lose your friend.”

  “I owe him my life. I wouldn’t want to bury him…especially so soon,” he said.

  “But Johnny said he owed you his life,” she said. “Will ya tell me one day…will ya tell me how you saved his life?”

  Justin felt his own smile fade. Knowledge—the pure knowledge of all Johnny Tabor really was, of all he had done—that knowledge caused a chill to travel through Justin. Yet there was no need for Vivianna to bear that weight—no need for her to know who the man she’d enjoyed such a hearty laugh with out by the chicken pen that morning truly was.

  Therefore, he simply answered, “Maybe one day.”

  “Justin! Justin Turner!” Nate exclaimed as he and Willy dashed beneath the willow tree. Breathless with agitation, Nate scolded, “Quit slobberin’ all over Viv and come see! Come see what me and Willy found off in the woods! You won’t believe what we found!”

  Vivianna sat up, her cheeks pink with blushing at being caught so willingly in Justin’s arms.

  “What is it?” Justin asked as he struggled to his feet. “You two look like ya seen a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost, Justin,” Nate panted. “Though I think I might rather have seen a ghost than what we found.”

  Justin frowned, and Vivianna felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

  “What is it?” Justin repeated. Vivianna knew Justin’s mind was sensing unpleasantries as well.

  “A man, Justin! A dead man!” Nate whispered. “Or…or at least what’s left of him.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Awash with horrified trepidation, Vivianna followed Justin as Nate and Willy led them to a place in the woods beyond the meadow and the Turner family cemetery. Surely the young Turner boys had been mistaken in what they’d seen. Surely they had! Yet as they neared the woods—as Willy’s face remained void of color—she knew they had not been mistaken. She wondered what she was doing accompanying them. She’d seen enough dead men to give her nightmares for the rest of her life! Yet Justin had taken her hand—led her along with them—and she didn’t know what else to do but follow him.

  “See there, Justin?” Nate asked as they passed the boys’ fort and made their way through the woods. “Just yonder…near that big oak.”

  “I’ll stay just here,” Vivianna said, stopping short in her tracks. She couldn’t—she couldn’t look on another dead man. The war was ending! There shouldn’t be any more death!

  “Come on, Viv,” Justin said, looking back to her and tugging on her hand he still held.

  But Vivianna shook her head and pulled her hand from his grasp. “I don’t need to see another dead man,” she told him. “And neither do the boys.” Vivianna reached out, placing a hand on Willy’s shoulder. Instantly, Willy wrapped his arms around her waist, clinging to her for comfort. Vivianna smoothed his hair and pulled him tight against her. “You stay here too, Nate,” she said. “Your mama wouldn’t want ya over there if ya don’t need to be…and ya don’t. You’ve pointed Justin in the right direction. Now come over here with me.”

  “Aw, Viv!” Nate argued.

  But even as Justin’s eyes narrowed, even as he frowned, he seemed to realize the seriousness of the situation—seemed to realize it was not in his little brothers’ best interest to let them continue to linger so near to death.

  “Nate…Viv’s right,” he said. “You stay here with her and Willy.” He nodded, still frowning. “You’re right, Viv. You’re right.”

  He’d encouraged her—let her know he knew she and the boys shouldn’t continue with him. Yet she sensed an overwhelming dread in him—and why not? Justin had returned home only a day before—returned home thinking the war was behind him, that he was finished with fighting and death, suffering and misery. And yet here was death, fresh upon his doorstep.

  Justin nodded to Vivianna as Nate joined her and Willy. Inhaling a deep breath of courage and resolve, Justin turned and headed toward the big oak Nate had indicated. Vivianna waited—silent, horrified, and breathless with anxiety. She watched as Justin reached the big oak and hunkered down. After several long moments, he stood and quickly strode back to where she and the boys were waiting.

  “Nate,” he said—and she could see him trembling. “You and Willy run on. Stop at the house, and have Willy stay with Mama ’til we get there. Then run on into town and fetch Caleb. Tell him to meet us at the house. Viv…you run back and get Johnny. Fetch him here as fast as you can.”

  “All right, Justin,” Nate said, taking his younger brother’s hand. Willy rather unwillingly let go of Vivianna. “We’ll hurry.”

  As Nate and Willy turned to go, Justin called, “Boys!” Nate and Willy stopped, turned, and looked at him. “Don’t say a word about this to anybody you see on the way. Don’t even tell Caleb why we need him home until you’re well away from anybody in town. Do ya hear me?”

  Nate frowned, confused. “Well, yeah…but—”

  “I mean it, Nate,” Justin growled. He looked to Willy. “Willy? I mean it now. Don’t you boys say one word to anybody! I don’t care if someone tries to beat it out of ya. Don’t say a word! Do ya understand?”

  “All right, Justin,” Nate said, still frowning with bewilderment. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so,” Justin said. “Now go on and fetch Caleb home.”

  Nate nodded, and the boys ran off.

  Justin turned to Vivianna. A quiet gasp escaped her as she saw the fear in his eyes. “Viv, you’ve gotta fetch Johnny quick.”

  Vivianna glanced behind her. Nate and Willy were well on their way—well out of hearing range. “What’s the matter, Justin?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we just fetch the sheriff…or Doctor Kindersley?”

  But Justin shook his head emphatically. “No! No. We can’t…not yet.”

  “But why not?” she asked.

  The fear in Justin’s eyes increased, and Vivianna saw something else in them too: fury!

  “Because it’s a Reb soldier lyin’ over there dead…not more than a day dead. And me and Johnny know him.”

  “What?” Vivianna gasped.

  Justin nodded. “He was a guard…a guard at Andersonville.” Justin shook his head, his hands still trembling as he ran them over his bristly hair. “His name is Powell, Zachary Powell, and he hated me and Johnny somethin’ fierce—especially Johnny. I can’t figure for the life of me what he’s doin’ here…not unless he came lookin’ for a fight with the two of us.”

  “But, Justin, we can’t just leave him out here. We can’t just—”

  Vivianna gasped as Justin reached out, taking hold of her shoulders.

  “I need you to fetch Johnny for me, Viv! Don’t ya see? Me and Johnny…Caleb too…we’re Yankees! A dead Confederate in the woods? Folks in town…they’ll blame us quick as anythin’! They’ll string us up without another word. I need you to bring Johnny to me, and then we’ll talk with Caleb…figure out what to do. All right?”

  “B-but, Justin—” Vivianna stammered.

  “Please, Viv,” he interrupted. “Just fetch Johnny. Fetch Johnny, and then stay with Mama and wait for the others. Please.”

  Justin was frightened. His eyes told her; his trembling hands told her. Suddenly, Vivianna was far more frightened of what Justin had implied—that he might be blamed for a dead Confederate in the woods—than she was for the fact that a dead man lay just beyond where they stood.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll go…but will you be all right?”

  Justin nodded. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I just need Johnny.”

  “All right.” Vivianna quickly kissed Justin on one cheek and then turned a
nd ran.

  Panic nipped at her heels as she ran through the cemetery; fear breathed down her neck! A dead soldier was bad enough, but she did understand the true danger for Justin, Caleb, and Johnny Tabor. The people of Florence were fairly kind to Savannah Turner. Mr. Turner had fought for the Confederacy, so even though it was now known that Caleb fought for the Union, the townsfolk were tolerant. Yet if a dead Confederate soldier were found on Turner property, Vivianna knew how quickly the tide of tolerance could change. The war was over—or nearly over. Yet the Confederacy—the South—had been whipped, and Alabama was the South. Vivianna knew that even to those in town who had been in silent support of the Union, a dead Southerner in the woods would spur anger—and perhaps violent vigilantism.

  She did not smell the sweet scents of spring as she ran—oblivious to the lazy feeling of the day. Rather, panic and fear drove Vivianna onward, and soon she could see the honeysuckled arbor a short distance away. Frantically she tried to think where she might search for Justin’s friend. Perhaps Willy had already found him, when Nate had left him with Savannah. Perhaps Johnny was already on his way to Justin. Yet he would need to be led there, wouldn’t he? Justin had said to send him, yet Johnny had never been to the meadow or the cemetery or Nate and Willy’s fort. Yes, she would have to lead him back. She would have to…

  Vivianna screamed as Johnny Tabor suddenly stepped into her path. He startled her so severely, tears burst from her eyes to moisten her cheeks. “You frightened me!” she scolded as tears continued to stream down her face.

  “What’s the matter?” he growled, his bony hands taking hold of her shoulders. “What’s happened?”

  Vivianna shook her head, angrily brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. “Justin needs you,” she said. Lowering her voice, she told him, “Nate and Willy found a dead man in the woods beyond the cemetery…a Reb soldier. Justin says you know him…a guard from the prison camp…a man named Powell.”