“Well, thank ya, Vivianna. Thank ya.” Mr. Maggee chuckled. “I seen ol’ Tilly Winder on the road ahead of me. Figure I better hang back a bit. I may be old, but I hear tell she ain’t too particular who she sparks with these days…and I don’t wanna find myself in trouble with her daddy.”
Vivianna giggled. She bit her lip, however, knowing she shouldn’t find mirth in such an implication.
Johnny chuckled as Mr. Maggee winked and said, “I’m only teasin’, boy.” Mr. Maggee wagged an index finger at Johnny and added, “But you stay clear of ol’ Tilly. I bet she’d give her hind teeth to get ya alone for a minute or two.”
“She ain’t the kind of girl I look once at, Mr. Maggee…let alone twice,” Johnny said.
“Good,” Mr. Maggee chuckled. “Well, I’m off to visit my boys. You two enjoy the day.”
“Thank ya, Mr. Maggee. You enjoy your visit now,” Vivianna said. “And stop in and see Miss Savannah. She’s home all alone with Nate and Willy today. She’s probably pullin’ her hair out by now.”
Mr. Maggee chuckled. “Oh, I imagine that she is. I’ll stop in on her then. Bye now. It was a real honor to meet ya, Johnny. A real honor.”
“You too, sir,” Johnny said, shaking the man’s hand once more.
Vivianna watched as Mr. Maggee continued down the road. He was whistling—whistling “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”
“That poor man,” Vivianna whispered as she watched him go.
“He had a couple of good boys,” Johnny said. “Real good boys.”
Vivianna quickly glanced to Johnny. She’d noted the change in his voice. Meeting Mr. Maggee had brought the war to the front of his mind—caused a sad melancholy to begin to overtake him. She didn’t want him to know pain or sadness. It was a beautiful day, and the war was ended. She wanted him to forget the horrors of it for a time and simply know peace of mind.
Furthermore, Vivianna didn’t want to end up meeting anyone else along the way. She was on a mission—a mission to free her mind and heart. Besides, she didn’t want to share her traveling companion. She owned an odd sense of wanting to keep Johnny’s attention all to herself. “How do ya feel about takin’ a shorter route to my parents’ home…even if it’s not so smooth as the road to town?” she asked.
Johnny looked to her and grinned. “I could do with a few less folks this mornin’,” he said.
“Then come with me,” she said. Taking his hand, she led him off the road and onto a small path winding through the trees. “This is the way Sam and Augie and I used to come when we were meetin’ up with Caleb and Justin,” she explained. “It leads to the back of our house. Folks in town won’t even know we’ve been there.”
Vivianna’s heart began to race. Home—it was just a ways more—just through the next little grove of trees and shrubbery! And then they were there. Vivianna stepped out from the tree line and into the open space behind her family home. Her heart swelled with sudden joy! The back of the Bartholomew house loomed before them. Her mother’s wisteria had nearly taken over the grand gazebo nearby, and it seemed all the grasses and shrubbery were wild and rather lonesome.
“There it is,” she breathed. “This is my home.”
“It’s awful big,” Johnny mumbled as he walked past her and stepped up into the grand gazebo.
“I suppose,” Vivianna whispered. “But isn’t it beautiful?” Oh, it was beautiful! Perhaps the folks in Florence thought as Johnny did—that the Bartholomew house was grand and glorious. But to Vivianna, it was simply home.
As Vivianna started toward the house—as she gazed up into the windows reflecting the brilliance of the morning sun—such a feeling of home and family came over her that she sighed with momentary joy. Though she knew it was not so, she imagined her mother waited inside, tending to her needlework, while her father made ready to pay a visit to one of his patients. In those brief moments, Vivianna mused that she could almost believe there’d never been a war.
War. Vivianna felt her own smile fading. Suddenly it seemed as if the happy sun dimmed, as if a great veil of melancholy had been suddenly drawn over her eyes. She tried to fight the dark and lonely feeling welling up inside her. But somehow—for some reason—the moment was no longer bright and cheerful. The memory of war was washing over her—the inward acknowledgement of such great loss.
Vivianna closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, attempted to ward off the vision of her mother’s face, of her father’s smile, of Sam and Augustus’s mirthful laughter. Yet it was too late. Suddenly awash in memory, mourning, and anguish, Vivianna opened her eyes—turned from the view that seemed so happy a moment before. It brought only misery—misery in loss and loneliness. Oh, certainly she was not alone—not with the Turners as her friends and surrogate family. Yet in that moment, Vivianna Bartholomew felt more alone than she ever had before. It was as if the war and the loss of her family—as if the pain of all that was lost—were heaped upon her in one horrid moment of true realization.
Though she could not fathom why it was her heart and mind had chosen this moment to face the certainty of life without her family—chosen that very breath to whisper to her that once she married, her family’s branch of the Bartholomew name would cease to continue—still, they had chosen this moment to speak to her, and her joy was lost. She no longer imagined her mother tending to her needlework—no longer imagined her father preparing to leave the house. They were gone! Her mother, her father, her beloved brothers! All that made this house her home was gone. She was orphaned and alone; it was all she knew in that moment.
At once her cheeks were washed in tears. So violently did she tremble, with such overwhelming fear and despair, sadness, and misery, that she found she had to gasp for breath. In those moments—as she stood gazing up at her once beloved home—she felt she might die, drop dead of the pain so thoroughgoing through her! She wanted to feel her father’s arms about her, wanted Sam to tease her about her freckles, wanted Augustus to push her into the pond, pleaded with heaven that she should open her eyes to see her mother waiting, arms flung wide, in an offering of tender embrace. But they were gone—all of them! It would be in another life that she would meet with them once more, and the knowledge wrought such a pain over her as to cause her to again gasp. She was certain she would die, or at least faint into darkness.
A dizziness began to overtake her—the dizziness that often accompanied collapse. Her knees weakened, and she forced herself to draw breath as tears streamed over her face.
“I cannot endure this!” she prayed in a whisper. “I cannot live so alone!”
Vivianna closed her eyes a moment, willing her heart to continue to beat, struggling to find reason and hope, but there came none into her mind.
Then—at last—she opened her eyes. Johnny Tabor stepped out of the gazebo, hunkered down, and ran one hand over the tall grass.
“Johnny,” Vivianna whispered.
Johnny Tabor knew pain; Johnny Tabor knew despair. Though she did not know the reason for his occasional bath of sorrow, she knew he suffered—perhaps as she was now suffering. Yet Johnny Tabor did not die; no, he lived. Even after war and loss, even after Andersonville and the long road home he yet traveled, Johnny continued—trudged onward. Vivianna knew then: it was Johnny who would know her pain, Johnny who might teach her how to survive it.
Vivianna did not know how her legs carried her, for her entire body was weak with sudden mourning and despair. Yet, somehow, she moved toward him. Somehow she took one step—then another—and with each step toward him, she did not feel further despairing but rather further desperation. She must reach him—be with him. If she could just reach Johnny—Johnny, who was only a short distance from her—if she could reach him, she might find some hope in enduring.
He heard her approach, stood, frowned, and started toward her. “Vivianna?” he asked, concern overtaking him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, setting the box of Justin’s letters in the grass and reaching out to take her by the shoulders.
/> Vivianna shook her head and stepped back from him. She held up one dainty hand and tossed an indifferent wave. “Oh, nothin’ too awful,” she lied, tears streaming down her face. “I-I was just…I know ya own pain, Johnny,” she continued. “I don’t know just what causes ya to hurt…though I know ya’ve seen enough misery to make anybody’s nights restless with bad dreams. But…but I was just wonderin’…how do ya…how do ya just keep goin’, Johnny? Whatever it is that chases your smile away sometimes…ya just seem to fight it off. How?”
“Vivi,” he began. He took another step toward her, and she took another step back.
Her mind was aching; her heart was breaking! She did not want to tell him of her pain—didn’t want to heap any more pain on him. Yet she felt compelled to do so—felt as if the only way she could overcome the sudden, miserable despair was in telling him.
“I’m…I’m all by myself, Johnny!” Vivianna cried in a whisper. She glanced about to ensure no one else was nearby. She knew no one would be near—who would possibly be near the old, empty Bartholomew house? Still, Vivianna had kept such a tight hold on her emotions. For months she’d held them still; for years she’d kept them buried. Yet they were surfacing. They’d begun to surface the moment Johnny Tabor had kissed her beneath the honeysuckle vine. He’d turned some sort of unseen key deep within her—begun to unlock her soul. Yet now—now as she stood overwhelmed by loss and despair—she was too frightened to release her imprisoned emotions. She feared that doing so might destroy her somehow, that she might cease to exist—simply vanish. Yet as Johnny reached out, carefully taking hold of her hand, the prison door swung wide, and Vivianna’s passions were freed.
“They’re gone! My family! My whole family, Johnny! I-I think I might not manage it! I’m so afraid I might simply…”
He reached for her then, his strong arms drawing her into a safe and powerful embrace. In the next moment, she was sobbing against the softness of his shirt—against the firm muscles of his chest beneath. Frantically she clung to him—clutched the cloth of the back of his shirt in her trembling fists.
“Why now?” she begged in a whisper. “Why this moment? The war is over. Everyone is so happy. It’s been so long since they were taken from me. Why can’t I…I can’t…I can’t…”
She felt him sigh as he rested his chin on the top of her head, burying a hand in her hair. She clung even more desperately to him, as if releasing him would find her in some suffocating darkness.
“You haven’t mourned them, Vivi,” he said. His voice was strong yet soothing. It was deep—rich and comforting. “I’ve watched ya all this time…wondered why ya keep from mournin’. Ya keep your pain locked away, just like a soldier keeps it locked away. The war is over, Vivi, but ya’ve been fightin’ so long, fightin’ same as any Johnny Reb or Yankee…longer than some. And today…today the fight is finally over for ya, and ya need to mourn now. You’re knowin’ your own soldier’s grief…the grief every soldier knows when the fightin’ ends, when he’s finally stretched out on his bedroll one night and realizes all he’s lost…all that’s been stolen from him. I know that grief. I know that pain. Ya haven’t let yourself think about it before. Ya haven’t let your heart admit it. You were too busy survivin’ ’til now.”
He took her face between his hands. She tried to look away, embarrassed by her weakness and knowing her face was red and tear-streaked. But he gently forced her to look at him.
“Ya need to grieve, Vivi,” he softly told her. “Ya need to admit they’re gone. Ya need to mourn them proper. Ya’ve bottled it all up for so long—all your pain and fear. I think ya put all your hopes in Justin’s letters…tried to ignore anything else…hoped that Justin would come home and somehow everything would be all right. But it won’t, Vivi. You’re realizin’ that now, and ya need to let go of all you’ve been holdin’ onto so tight.”
Vivianna shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
“They’re gone, Vivi,” he told her. “Let it hurt. If ya don’t, you’ll never be your whole self again. Ya ain’t cold and heartless like some. You’re warm and lovin’, beautiful and passionate. Know your pain, Vivi…or you’ll never know true joy again.”
Still, Vivianna shook her head. “If I let it…if I let the pain in…it’ll never leave, Johnny! It’s all I’ll ever know. If I let it take me…I’ll be lost to it.”
“No,” he said. “No. You’ll only be lost if ya don’t face it.”
“There’ll only be the pain, Johnny,” she whispered.
“No. Lettin’ go will free ya, Vivi…just like puttin’ these letters away will free ya. If ya face your losses, know the pain, and work your way through it, joy will come to you. A body can even know joy and pain together…but not if ya don’t let yourself feel one. The other can’t break through.”
“Joy and pain…together?” she gasped. She shook her head. “No.”
He forced her to look at him once more. “I promise ya, Vivi,” he said. “You can know joy even for the hurt pain brings. I know it to be true. I promise you it’s true. I’ve known it…so much pain I thought I might die. Yet at the same time, a joy that carried me through. I promise ya.”
“Not for me, Johnny,” she sobbed. “Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep. Maybe promises don’t mean much to me anymore…but I beg, please don’t make one you can’t keep.”
His eyes narrowed, and he released her face. “I can keep it,” he growled. “I can prove to you that you can know joy…even for the pain you’re feelin’ over losin’ your family.”
Vivianna shook her head. “No.”
Johnny nodded. “Oh yes, Vivianna. I promise.”
Vivianna gasped—breathless as Johnny reached out and took her face between his hands—firmly pressed his mouth to hers.
“Kiss me, Vivi,” he mumbled. “Kiss me, and I promise you that you’ll know joy even for your pain.”
Again he took her tremulous lips in a moist, lingering kiss. Their lips separated, but his mouth remained close—so close she could taste the warm scent of his breath. An airy thrill wafted through her heart for a moment—the lingering remnant of the joy his kiss had caused to spark within her.
“You promise, Johnny?” she asked in a whisper. “Do ya promise I’ll know joy too…even just for one more minute?” she cried in a whisper.
“I do,” he breathed.
Vivianna sighed as Johnny’s lips met hers again. He kissed her softly at first, rather as if he didn’t quite believe she wanted him to kiss her.
“Please, Johnny,” she breathed against his mouth.
He brushed the tears from her cheeks, cupping her face between powerful hands as his mouth descended to hers once more—his open mouth—his moist, demanding, heated mouth.
Vivianna was startled at first. His manner of kissing her was unlike anything she’d ever before experienced—heated, intimate, and drawing from her a sudden and overwhelming desire. She slid her hands to his chest, over his broad shoulders, around to the back of his neck, letting her fingers travel up to be lost in the softness of his hair. His hands dropped from her face, his arms encircling her body once more as he pulled her flush to him—his mouth conducting such a passion of moist exchange Vivianna could hardly draw breath!
Colors were alive in her mind, blissful sensations erupted through her body, and she wished his mouth would never leave hers! She sensed the freshness of the morning breeze, the scent of flowers and grass. Her skin was alive with delight at his touch, her sudden thirst for his continued kiss insatiable!
Johnny’s heart was locked in an epic battle of emotions! He owned her mouth—the very mouth he’d so long dreamt of tasting. He was drinking of its nectar! The feel of her body against his—of his arms wrapped around her—like a madman it drove him to kissing her more deeply, more demandingly! Yet she met his kiss with no resistance. In fact, she kissed him with as much desire and passion—or so it seemed. He knew she only kissed him in endeavoring to find comfort and distraction from her pain. St
ill, he wanted her. She was all he had ever wanted, it seemed, and if she wanted him for even this moment—no matter the reason—he would not deny himself the nectar of heaven.
Vivianna was a novice of passion. It had been obvious when he’d first tried to coax her into a deepening kiss beneath the honeysuckle vine. No man had ever kissed her the way he was kissing her now; he could tell as much, and he was pleased. Johnny was glad it was he who had first tasted her sweet mouth, he who had silently tutored her in the ways of impassioned kissing. No matter who won her for wife—Justin or Caleb—the imp on Johnny Tabor’s shoulder affirmed to him that he had known Vivianna’s mouth first. At least he would have that to carry with him back to Texas.
His innards began to tremble with too much withheld desire—too much pent-up emotion. Yet he continued to kiss her. He would not give her up—not until Vivianna was finished with him. He didn’t care if she were using him to mask her pain. He didn’t care if he died in trying to breathe hope and life into her with a kiss, didn’t care if his very soul expired or passed from his body into hers—not if it meant he could soothe her with a measure of comfort, if it meant he could taste her for one moment more.
Tears streamed over Vivianna’s cheeks. Tears of pain, yes, but also tears of splendorous joy! Johnny had kept his promise. Vivianna’s heart was breaking for the sudden accepted loss of her family, yet she was captivated by the ecstasy of knowing Johnny’s kiss. One moment her heart would cry out in agony, thoughts of her brothers and her parents causing so much pain to grip her she was certain she might die. Yet in the next moment, Johnny’s mouth would return to hers—hot and demanding, weaving such a tapestry of passion and desire as to cause her heart to leap with resplendent elation! His arms about her caused her body to prickle with goose pimples. The heated flavor of his mouth caused her to wonder if she could ever cease in kissing him!
Her parents and her brothers were gone. Yet Johnny was there, in her arms, making love to her as she’d never imagined! His mouth left hers a moment, placing firm, moist kisses on her throat.
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine Page 21