Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine (28 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Florence
,
Alabama
,
had been damaged by the war.
Its people had been damaged
. I
ts buildings, bridges, railroad—it seemed everything needed repair.
Vivianna could see the good in this—in folks looking to the future
,
in seeing
Florence
renewed.
She mused that as people watched the buildings, bridges
,
and streets being mended
,
it might well help in mend
ing
the damaged souls of those who had lived through the battle and lost so much.

Furthermore, Vivianna knew it was good for Justin to be working with Caleb in town.
Over the past two weeks, she
’
d begun to wonder if Justin
’
s need for a long recovery had more to do with his mind struggling to leave the war behind than his body needing to mend itself.
Johnny Tabor had been looking for tasks that might afford him a wage as well
,
but he was not a local boy
and was
therefore viewed harshly for having fought for the
Union
,
even
more
than Caleb and Justin were.
At least folks seemed to tolerate Caleb and Justin.
Oh, there was animosity enough—threats enough—but many in
Florence
had been in support of the
Union
.
Perhaps many had not fought for it
,
but in their thinking they had known it was right.
Therefore, Caleb and Justin found wages
,
whereas Johnny Tabor was not so easily forgiven for his part in the war.
Still, the railroad was expanding
,
and the word was men would be hired on to help build it.
Thus, Johnny lingered in fixing things at the Turner place that needed fixing, hauling water that needed hauling
,
splitting wood, repairing the barn, and maintaining the garden.

At first, Vivianna was somewhat unsettled that Johnny should be the only man near to
Savannah
, Nate, Willy
,
and herself during the day.
He so thoroughly rattled her
,
and she could not quite tell herself why.
She wondered if it w
ere
merely his often brooding demeanor
or perhaps the fact that her thoughts still traveled to the missing body of the
Andersonville
guard and the conversation she
’
d overhea
r
d between him
and Justin.
There seemed so much mystery about him
,
as if a sort of imperceptible mist surrounded him
,
whispering to her that there was more to Johnny Tabor than any of them knew—even Justin.
Still, the most frightening thoughts she experienced in regard to Johnny came upon her unexpectedly—on increasingly more frequent occasions when she would become conscious of an odd excitement rising in her whenever he was near.
This frightened her not only because she had never experienced such sensations but also because she had begun to realize these sensations were not new to her where Johnny was concerned.

Vivianna was slowly realizing that Johnny Tabor frightened her for the mere fact that he was dangerous to her peace of mind
,
to her plans to find comfortable contentment in the life she
’
d come to know—in her life with Justin.
She found she was more often than not quite distracted in Justin
’
s presence—that her mind wandered to thoughts of Johnny
,
of wondering why he was so brooding
,
of what could be done to make him less so.

The anxious thoughts of Johnny heaped on Vivianna only grew whenever
Savannah
would speak to her of Justin—of her delight in one day being able to truly have Vivianna as her own daughter.
Justin had not proposed marriage to Vivianna.
In fact, Vivianna had begun to wonder
if he ever
would
,
for even though he doted on her as much as Justin Turner could dote on anyone
,
she feared he felt no passion for her—no great love the like of which he
’
d written of before Andersonville.
She feared the horrors of war and
Andersonville
had broken his heart
,
that it would not mend
,
even for the sake of her love.

Each night, Vivianna would read Justin
’
s letters.
Each night
,
she would see his words
and
know that he
’
d written them
,
that once he had loved her as desperately as any man ever loved a wom
a
n.
Yet where was the passion of his words now?
Worse—where was Vivianna
’
s passion?

It seemed everyone somehow fell into an uncomplicated routine.
Each morning
,
Nate and Willy would rise and dash out to adventure, Caleb and Justin would rise and leave for town
,
Johnny Tabor would rise and plunge into hard labor
, and
Vivianna would rise and assist
Savannah
with the responsibilities of running the house.
Yet it seemed there was nothing else—no excitement, no passion.
How could they have all so quickly gone from the misery of war to such seeming utter complacency?

The wondering taxed Vivianna
’
s mind.
She was confused as to why
. W
hen she herself had been so emotional, so passionate before and during the war
,
why was she not more distraught over her disappointment in what was (or was not) between her and Justin?
Had her heart simply been used up
,
emptied by longing and the nightmares of war?
Or was there something else—something her mind was not allowing her to see?
These thoughts weighed heavy on Vivianna—so heavy that she often chose not to think of them at all.
It seemed much easier to settle into the complacency that seemed to make everyone else happy.

Even her walks to the small cemetery offered little or no emotional sensitivity.
She went more out of habit and a remembered sense of duty than for any other reason.
Still, she went
;
every few days she went—wandered to the cemetery where she would place violets on the grave of Mrs. Turner
’
s lost baby girl
,
where she would not sit near her parents
’
graves
or think too long on those of the Maggee boys.



It was late afternoon.
Caleb and Justin would be returning from town in an hour or two.
Savannah
would
be asking Vivianna to help her
start their evening meal soon.
Yet Vivianna felt unsettled
,
as if the day w
ere
yet wanting
,
even for all she had worked over.

Slowly she ambled along the path leading to the meadow.
The gardenia bushes were blooming
,
and the scent washed over her like an enchanting ambrosia.
She could hear the bees in the apple trees—feel moisture in the air.

Vivianna paused as she stepped out of the bushes and undergrowth and into the meadow.
There, near the tombstone of Mr. Turner
’
s mother, sat Willy and Nate.
Johnny Tabor was with them
,
lounging on his side in the grass.
As usual
,
he wore only his trousers and boots
,
having explained to
Savannah
weeks before that the heavy, moist air of
Alabama
caused him too much discomfort to always wear a shirt while he was working.

“
And what
’
s them scars from?
”
Willy asked.
Vivianna watched as Willy pointed to an area on Johnny
’
s arm
just below his shoulder.
Her curiosity was p
iqu
ed
,
and she walked to where Johnny and the boys lingered in the grass.

“
Hey there, Viv!
”
Nate greeted.
“
Johnny
’
s tellin
’
us about his scars!
He sure does have a mess of
’
em!
Wanna see?
”

Vivianna shrugged.
“
I suppose so,
”
she replied.

“
Look here, Viv,
”
W
illy said, pointing to the scar
s on Johnny
’
s arm.

Vivianna almost smiled
,
for it was obvious Johnny Tabor was not as comfortable as he had been a moment before.
She figured that telling two little boys stories of how scars came to be was a heap more impressive than telling a woman.

“
See them?
He ain
’
t told us about these yet,
”
Willy explained.

Vivianna knelt in the grass next to Johnny
,
studying the place on his arm where Willy was indicating.
A cluster of small marks—perhaps fifty or more—formed a band of scars traveling from just below the back of his shoulder, forward over his arm, and around to the underneath of it.

“
Well,
”
Johnny rather grumbled
,
“
t
hese are from the lice.
”

“
Lice?
”
Vivianna exclaimed
,
horrified.
The hairs of her head stood on end as a sickening sense of being eaten by vermin filled her mind.

“
What kind of lice leave scars?
”
Nate asked, wrinkling his nose.

Vivianna watched as Willy unconsciously scratched his head. The thought had made her skin crawl as well.

“
Lice?
”
she whispered again.
Without thinking, she reached out, running her fingers over the cluster of small scars.

“
Well…to be honest…I ain
’
t sure whether it was the lice or the fire that left
’
em,
”
Johnny explained.
He smiled, chuckled
,
and shook his head.
“
I guess in the end…neither one caused
’
em
. I
t was me.
”

“
You?
”
Nate asked.
He frowned with frustration.
“
Who scarred your arm up, Johnny?
The lice or somethin
’
else?
”

“
We called
’
em graybacks at the prison camp,
”
Johnny said, running his own hand over the small scars.
“
The lice at
Andersonville
,
they
’
d get near as big and as plump as a wheat kernel…and they were miserable.
One day, I was sittin
’
there pickin
’
’
em off me
. W
e all did it
;
there wasn
’
t nothin
’
else to do
. A
nd they were miserable
. S
o we figured…why not pick at
’
em
?
”

Nate and Willy both nodded
,
as if Johnny
’
s reasoning w
ere
as sound as the earth.
Vivianna, however, frowned.
She wasn
’
t at all certain she wanted to hear stories about lice big enough to leave scars when they bit.
Images of soldiers living in filth—tortured by vermin, the elements, and their
captors—
began to creep into her thoughts.
Yet she fought the images
,
pushed the true horror of it all to the back of her mind.
She would not think too deeply on it
;
she could not.