Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  She thought then of Nate and Willy. For all they knew, there was simply the horror of a dead man lying out in the woods. They knew nothing of what further horrors could come of it.

  “Well, we’re sittin’—all five of us—we’re sittin’ here until we agree on somethin’,” Savannah said. “I won’t see my boys hanged…and…and I do think it would be wrong not to tell someone. I’d want to know where he was if it was my son. So we’ll sit here ’til we know what we’re doin’.”

  Vivianna nearly stood up—nearly walked away. After all, of what value was her opinion? Savannah was Justin and Caleb’s mother. Even Mr. Tabor had more reason to contribute, being that he was most likely the reason the dead man had come to Florence in the first place. But for Vivianna, it was one of the rare moments when she was brutally reminded that she wasn’t truly a Turner—at least, not yet. Furthermore, if the people of Florence did find out about the dead Confederate near the old cemetery, she might never be.

  Thus, an hour passed—an hour during which it was again considered that the dead Reb simply be buried out in the Turner family cemetery. An hour during which it was again suggested the truth simply be told. An hour during which it was again thought that perhaps Sheriff Pidwell could be trusted to help keep the Turner boys and Johnny Tabor safe from a mob lynching.

  Johnny Tabor even suggested he report the body to the sheriff so the suspicion would settle only on him. Oddly, this offer of martyrdom somehow caused Vivianna to shudder with her own suspicions. No man was truly so self-sacrificing for his friends as this. She wondered if Johnny Tabor knew something they did not. Was he far more ill than he appeared? He’d been so willing to die the night before—seemed so willing to hang for the death of an enemy. She thought of the night before, when Johnny had ridden out on Caleb’s horse to retrieve his pack. Was guilt eating at him? Did he know more about the death of the Confederate man in the woods than he was telling them? Had Zachary Powell come upon Johnny while he was retrieving his and Justin’s possessions? Yet Vivianna shook her head. Johnny Tabor could hardly walk, let alone have the strength to kill another man.

  By the time the hour had gone, everyone’s temperament was strained. Always the only choice seemed to be to tell the sheriff—to have faith in a man who had lost three sons in battle against the Union that Caleb, Justin, and Johnny had fought to preserve. There seemed no other honest venue, no other road that did not include a deceit that would haunt all of them for the rest of their lives.

  “Let me go,” Caleb said, rising to his feet. “I’ve been home so long…people trust me again.” He pointed to Justin and then Johnny. “You two only just returned. It looks bad enough…so let me go.”

  At that moment, Nate and Willy burst into the room—burst into the room by way of the front door, not by way of their bedroom.

  “You don’t have to worry no more!” Willy shouted, beaming with relieved joy. “Mama! You don’t have to worry about Justin or Caleb or Johnny Tabor! Everything is all worked out!”

  “What are you goin’ on about, Willy?” Savannah asked as everyone stood from their chairs.

  It was Nate who explained.

  “Me and Willy…we heard y’all talkin’,” he began, “but don’t get mad at us, Mama…’cause we had to listen! We knew somethin’ was wrong…somethin’ other than just that dead man out in the woods.”

  “Nate Turner!” Savannah scolded.

  But Nate did not pause. “So me and Willy…we decided we’d go out and bury that ol’ dead Confederate who come lookin’ for Johnny. We figured if we buried him and never told anybody, everything would be fine!”

  “Nate!” Savannah began again.

  “But, Mama! When we snuck out the window of the bedroom, after we got a shovel from the barn, when we got to where we first found that dead Johnny Reb…he’s gone, Mama! He ain’t there no more! I coulda sworn he was dead, one arm almost gnawed clean off by somethin’. But he must notta been dead! He’s gone. He musta just up and walked away or somethin’!”

  “Walked away?” Savannah asked, bewildered. “Dead men—especially ones that animals have been chewin’ on—do not just get up and walk away, Nate Turner!” Savannah shook her head. “What am I doin’? I’m sittin’ here talkin’ about a dead man like it’s the most everyday thing in the world!”

  “What do ya mean he’s gone, Nate?” Caleb asked. “You mean…you mean you boys went out there, and there ain’t no body?”

  Willy and Nate both nodded, tears of joyous relief in their eyes.

  “Not anymore. He’s gone, Caleb,” Willy said. “And me and Nate…we didn’t do nothin’. He’s just gone. We figure nothin’ coulda ate him all up, and all of us…well, all of us were here, so none of us drug him off. He’s gone. He’s just…gone.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Vivianna pressed the clothes peg onto the line to hold one of Caleb’s shirts. She sighed, glad that all the men’s freshly washed shirts were hung out to dry. It would take them all day to dry, no doubt, for already the air was thick and balmy. She set the basket of remaining clothes pegs on the ground near one clothesline pole and started back toward the house.

  It was a glorious Alabama morning. A large yellow and black butterfly flitted close, and Vivianna paused to watch it gracefully alight on a large purple clematis bloom nearby. The striking yellow of the butterfly against the deep purple of the flower caused Vivianna to smile with a sense of serene joy. Beauty was returning to the world, and Vivianna was thankful for it.

  Over the past month, it seemed as if everything had at last begun to settle—settle into a resemblance of what life had once been. Oh, certainly there were still anger, sadness, and fatigue; certainly there was still hardship. Yet the knowledge that men were no longer fighting and dying by the thousands helped life to seem hopeful once more.

  Money was a worry, yes, but the garden was thriving, and the Turners had food enough. Certainly there was plenty of work to keep Savannah and Vivianna busy. Caring for a house and five men was enough to keep five women busy, and they were only two. Yet Vivianna was glad for the work—glad to know she was a help to Savannah.

  Many were the times since Justin’s return that Vivianna had considered moving back into town—back into her parents’ lonely, abandoned home. This had first been a consideration when Caleb had returned, for the mere fact the townsfolk might think it inappropriate for an unmarried young woman to reside in the same house as an unmarried young man who was not kin. However, the war allotted broader boundaries, and little was said in town about Vivianna Bartholomew dwelling in the same house as Caleb Turner. Yet now—now with two other unmarried men living within the same walls—Vivianna had begun to worry more seriously. Many people in Florence were still angry with the Turner boys for fighting for the Union. Though little was said, there was gossip, and all the Turners knew there were those who disliked them for it. Vivianna had begun to wonder if the fact she was still living with Savannah and her sons might provoke even more anger or dislike. She certainly did not want to be the cause of any further unkindness to the Turners. Yet she knew Savannah needed her help—needed her company. Furthermore, she owed Savannah Turner a great debt! The woman had, without hesitation, taken Vivianna in when her parents had been killed. She’d provided food, shelter, and clothing for her—treated her like a daughter. How could she leave Savannah when she owed such a debt to her? Thus, she’d lingered in the Turner home, even after Justin had returned, even for the fact that Johnny Tabor still resided with them.

  Vivianna sighed and shook her head, attempting to dispel all thoughts of worry and concern. The butterfly was beautiful, the flowers were lovely, and the sky was blue. Caleb had work, Justin was getting stronger with each passing day, and even Johnny Tabor was helping life to look more hopeful. Oddly, Johnny had recovered far more quickly than Justin, who had yet to regain his full strength. Johnny’s health had returned at an astonishing rate, and now he was attempting to repay the Turners for their kindnesses to him. Johnny Tabor worked f
rom the moment the sun broke the horizon in the morning until Savannah called him in for supper in the evening. Already he’d gathered and split enough wood to keep the oven cooking for months. He’d repaired the barn, managed the weeds in the garden, and shod half the horses in town. He’d whitewashed the fences, constructed a new chicken coop and pen, and hauled water whenever Savannah or anyone else asked him to.

  Secretly, Vivianna was grateful Johnny had stayed on. His help allowed Justin to heal—to rest with a clear mind. With Johnny there to help, Justin need not worry about the physical tasks too burdensome or difficult for Savannah and Vivianna to do while Caleb was in town working. Rather, Justin knew all would be taken care of; thus he could concentrate on regaining his strength. Vivianna often thought she should offer her thanks to Johnny, for without him she was not at all certain Justin would be recovering so well. Still, something about the man—something about Justin’s friend caused her to pause in thanking him, even to pause in lingering in his company. Often she wondered if it were merely the fact that, as Johnny Tabor’s strength had returned, his appearance and demeanor had become even more intimidating. Like Justin’s, Johnny’s hair had grown in—brown and straight in contrast to Justin’s dark, wavy locks. As Justin’s blue eyes were bright and welcoming, Johnny’s eyes were dark and brooding. Though Justin still lingered in gaining his full strength, the weakness and weariness had vanished from Johnny. Justin still struggled with lifting heavy things, his endurance still not what it would soon be. However, Johnny’s musculature was now well defined and rather bulking, all for the sake of good food and hard labor. Thus, though he deserved her thanks, Vivianna could not find the words—or the courage—to thank Johnny for his service to the Turner family and herself. Rather, she simply tried to ignore his daunting presence.

  Vivianna sighed as she thought of Justin—thought of his ever-strengthening health, thought of his dazzling smile and inviting gaze. As yet, he had not spoken of marriage to her, though he often implied it through teasing or in speaking of the future—often spoke of being old together and sitting on the porch in the evenings, watching the sunset. Most every day after Justin had his breakfast, Vivianna would walk with him either to the big pond, where they would sit on a fallen tree and converse, or to the arbor and honeysuckle vine. There they would linger on the swing, lazily swaying back and forth, talking of the past and discussing all that once was. At first, Vivianna had known a fair amount of frustration in this light courting manner. The things she and Justin had written in their letters to one another during the war had seemed the stuff of deep emotion—of promise and love. Yet she’d begun to understand that Justin had endured the horrors of Andersonville since those letters—that it had weakened, frightened, and damaged him. Not only did Justin’s body need rest and recovery, but likewise his mind and heart required the same. Vivianna had begun to understand this—begun to know that Justin still loved her. He simply did not feel worthy of owning her love in return. Still, she was not too often discouraged, for she knew he would heal—mind, heart, and body. She knew he had loved her before Andersonville, for she yet held his letters as cherished treasure. Furthermore, she knew he loved her still, that he would heal and eventually fulfill every promise he’d made to her—every promise of their knowing a wonderful life together. Therefore, she was reconciled to be patient, glad in his company, delighted by each soft kiss he begged of her whenever they were alone. He would soon ask her to marry him, and then all her waiting would be rewarded, and she would know the war was truly behind them.

  The yellow butterfly left its perch on the dark violet clematis, flitting off in the direction of the meadow. Vivianna frowned as her momentary respite was tainted by thoughts of the cemetery—of the woods beyond—of a Confederate soldier named Zachary Powell. Vivianna closed her eyes and forced herself to do as Caleb had suggested—tried not to think of the day Nate and Willy had first found Zachary Powell’s body, the day they had later returned to find his body missing. There was nothing that could be done. Caleb, Justin, and Johnny had eventually agreed that, without a body to prove the man was dead, they could not tell Sheriff Pidwell (or anyone else) about the man’s death. After all, what were they to say? Caleb had explained they simply could not wander into town and announce they’d found a dead Confederate soldier but that his body had disappeared. The situation would have been even worse than if they’d been able to lead the sheriff to Zachary Powell’s body. Thus, it had been agreed upon that they would say nothing—that there was nothing to say. Yet they were all haunted—haunted by the knowledge that a man was dead, that his family would never know what had become of him. Johnny Tabor had seemed especially haunted. It was often Vivianna would awaken late in the dark hours of night to fetch a glass of water only to find Johnny sitting on the front porch whittling away on a piece of wood with the knife he kept in his boot. She suspected Johnny’s guilt over the missing body of Zachary Powell was far greater than was anyone else’s—even Justin’s. For Johnny had hated Zachary Powell, and guilt was the constant companion of hate.

  Vivianna shook her head and again determined not to think of the incident—not the finding of the body and its disappearance and not the argument she’d overheard between Justin and Johnny a few days later. Yet her thoughts had wandered there, and now she could not help but let them linger a moment.

  It had been only three days following Nate and Willy’s finding the dead man in the woods that Vivianna had been out searching for wild strawberries—and overheard a conversation. She’d knelt to pick a ripened bunch, and as she did, she’d heard voices. She’d remained quietly in the hidden shade of a tree as Justin and Johnny paused during their walk through the meadow—to the cemetery. They’d been arguing, and naturally, this intrigued Vivianna. Yet what she overheard had begun to haunt her nearly as much, or possibly more, than the knowledge of Zachary Powell’s dead and missing body did.

  Vivianna held perfectly still as Justin and Johnny stopped to argue just where she’d been picking berries that day. She fancied, in that moment, she didn’t know what it was that caused her to keep still and silent—out of sight. But something did, and she’d listened.

  “Don’t you push me, Johnny!” Justin had snapped. “You’re the one who did this…so you have no right to tell me how to deal it out now.”

  “Me? I did it?” Johnny growled. “It was you who—”

  “None but you, Johnny Tabor…and ya know it!” Justin had interrupted. “If it weren’t for you, Johnny—”

  “If it weren’t for me…you’d be dead, Justin,” Johnny growled even more angrily. “Stone dead, Justin! Ya never woulda made it home. Ya woulda died, just like Zachary Powell died, only in more misery and discomfort…and they woulda drug ya out to a hole and shoveled the Georgia dirt over you at Andersonville. Ya never woulda made it home without me, and ya sure enough wouldn’t be here all wrapped up in the arms of your pretty girl, now would ya?”

  There was silence, and then Johnny spoke again. “That’s right. You were the one who done this, Justin. In the very least you caused me to do it. One way or the other, it was you as much as it was me. So just do what ya have to do to make it right for your family…for everybody.”

  Vivianna had been terrified by what she’d heard! What could Justin and Johnny possibly have been arguing about—accusing each other of doing? She did not know, but her imagination began to concoct terrible possibilities—the worst being that it had been Johnny who had killed Zachary Powell! She thought once more of his lone trip to retrieve his pack the night before the young Turner boys found the dead Confederate in the woods. Still, she could not make sense of Justin’s allowing a murderer to live with his family. Therefore, her mind devised a far less yet still terrifying concept. Perhaps it had been Johnny and Justin who had taken Zachary Powell’s body! Perhaps, to avoid any danger to themselves or the family, they’d moved the body while Willy and Vivianna had lingered with Savannah while Nate had been fetching Caleb to the house. Perhaps it had been Johnny and
Justin who had caused the disappearance of the corpse in the woods. Perhaps the entire hour that the adults in the Turner home had sat at the kitchen table discussing whether to tell the sheriff about the dead man, it had all been a ruse. Perhaps they’d known all along that the body had been moved.

  Shaking her head—determined not to think on it any longer—Vivianna again started toward the house. Justin was not a liar, she was sure of it. She was not so sure about Johnny Tabor, but she knew Justin, and he would not lie over the whereabouts of a dead man. Thus, again resolved to a conclusion that all was not as it seemed—that the war was over and everything warlike had died (or disappeared) with it—Vivianna hurried into the house. Justin would be up by now and perhaps finished with his breakfast. The thought brought a renewed smile to her face and dashed away all other dismal thoughts. Though Caleb had left for work in town and Nate and Willy had had their morning meal with Johnny long ago, Justin did indeed now sit at the table enjoying a hearty breakfast.

  Vivianna smiled at him, and he winked at her in response.

  “He’s got the appetite of a starved hog this mornin’, Viv,” Savannah chimed as Vivianna entered the kitchen. “He’s had four eggs and two pieces of bread and butter!”

  “Oh, wonderful!” Vivianna giggled.

  Her smile broadened. Justin was nearly whole once more; she could sense it.

  Sitting down at the table across from him, she smiled as he winked at her. Oh, he was handsome! His dark, wavy hair was mussed, his blue eyes bright as the sky, giving him a rather boyish appearance. Vivianna thought she’d never seen such a perfectly straight nose on a man—or such a dazzling smile! Part of her knew it was her love for Justin that caused her eyes to look upon him as flawless. The fact was, were he standing side by side with Caleb, it was indeed Caleb who might be chosen as the more handsome brother—by a woman who was not in love with Justin. Caleb was taller, his eyes a deep sapphire. Yet Vivianna saw only Justin’s uncommonly attractive features within and without—saw the beauty in his heart as well as the comeliness of his face. She thought of his letters, of the beautiful words he’d written to her—words of love, of hope, of promise. Caleb had never written her many letters at all, let alone any filled with the deepest feelings of his soul. A piece of Vivianna’s heart would always belong to Caleb, for she had loved him once. Yet Justin owned the whole of it now—and, oh, how she loved him!