Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine (37 page)

“
One of Justin
’
s?
”
he asked, handing the moist pages back to her.

“
Yes.
It
’
s…it
’
s special…one of my favorites.
”

Johnny
’
s frown intensified into a scowl.
“
Then ya better get it back to the house and put a warm iron to it,
”
he grumbled.

He stood, offering her his hand.
His flirtatious manner had disappeared.
And though Vivianna was disappointed in this, she knew she should expect no different.

“
You run on back
to
the house.
I
’
ll clean up with the rain barrel out by the barn,
”
he said.
His teasing disposition was gone—his playfulness.

“
All right,
”
Vivianna said.
She started to walk away from him but paused.

“
Truly…thank you, Johnny,
”
she said.
“
I know savin
’
those silly pollywogs and frogs meant everything to Nate and Willy.
”

Vivianna gasped as he reached out
,
slipped a muddy hand to the back of her neck
,
and pulled her against him.

“
You
’
re welcome,
”
he growled a moment before his mouth crushed to hers.

Johnny
’
s mouth was hot and moist.
It was a teasingly short kiss
,
but it caused Vivianna
’
s knees to buckle slightly all the same.

He held her neck as he studied her face a moment
,
and Vivianna nearly threw her arms around him—nearly begged him to kiss her once more.

Instead, she said,
“
I swear, Johnny Tabor…I swear I think you could lead me astray if I had a mind to let ya.
”

He released her then—and grinned.

“
If I had a mind to lead ya astray, Vivi…
your
mind couldn
’
t stop me,
”
he said.

He turned then
,
striding in the direction of the barn.

CHAPTER TEN

Vivianna turned the small flame wheel of the lantern.
The flame heightened, the darkness lessened, and she sighed.
Reading
by star
light and low lamplight had caused her eyes to grow weary
,
yet she wanted to finish reading Justin
’
s letters.
Carefully she drew the last letter from the box—the last letter she
’
d received from Justin before he
’
d ceased in writing to her
,
before he and Johnny had been captured and taken to
Andersonville
.

As she withdrew the letter from its tattered envelope, she felt a tear trickle over one cheek.
This would be the last time she would read Justin
’
s beloved letters.
Vivianna had determined that Justin was right
. H
e had changed since he
’
d written the letters
,
and so had she.
If she w
ere
to love him, she must fall in love with the man he had become
,
not the man he had been.
Still, thick anxiety rose in her as a vision of Johnny Tabor entered her mind—as a thrill traveled through her at the memory of what he
’
d said to her before leaving her by the pond.

If I had a mind to lead y
a
astray, Vivi
, he
’
d said
,
your
mind couldn
’
t stop me.

Vivianna shook her head
,
tried to scatter her thoughts of Johnny
, and
returned her attention to Justin
’
s letters.
The conversation she
’
d shared with Justin that day—his explanation that he needed more time to heal and that she needed time too—had liberated her in many ways.
Yet until she could put aside Justin
’
s letters—until she could let go of the man he had been before
Andersonville
—she would never be entirely free.
Thus, she lingered on the arbor swing beneath the starlit sky and honeysuckle vine, reading Justin
’
s letters by lantern shine.

She
’
d read each one—bathed in the beauty of their words and promises one last time.
Even she
’
d read the now ironed and newly folded favorite she
’
d kept in her pocket for more than a year.
There had been no need to read it, in truth
,
for she knew every word by heart.
Still, she
’
d read it aloud
,
determined to read them all.
Finally, the letter now in her hand was the last.
She would read it as well—relish it as she had the others—
and
then she would take the box and place it somewhere other than her wardrobe.
She would remove the letters from her wardrobe—from her room—from the house.
She was not yet sure where she would put them
,
for she was not ready to give them up wholly and burn them
,
but she would put them away from her own easy reach.
As she unfolded the pages of Justin
’
s final letter
,
a contemplation entered her mind.
She would take the small box containing Justin
’
s letters to her family home in
Florence
.
Yes!
She would take the letters there
and
place them in one of the trunks in the attic.
There they would be safe.
There they could rest until Vivianna could read them again without knowing pain and heartache for the change in the man who
’
d written them.

She nodded.
It was a good plan.
She would carry it out on the morrow.
In the morning, she would walk to
Florence
,
visit her once joyous, now empty family home
,
and bury Justin
’
s letters in the warm, safe belly of an attic trunk.

Brushing another tear from her cheek, she began to read Justin
’
s last letter.

“
My darling Vivi
,
”
she whispered aloud.

Can it be true?
Do you really love me?
At this moment, I am sitting and listening to the warm
Georgia
rain beat against the tent
,
knowing the rain will make the battle tomorrow more miserable
. A
nd yet all I can think of…all I can do is wonder at the miracle of owning your love
and admit I know doubt.
How can you love me?
Me…a man so thoroughly undeserving of your love?
Still, I read your letters
—
again and again I read them
—
and I
’
m comforted.
Your written words to me speak such soothing to my soul.
The letter I received from you this evening renewed my certainty in owning your heart.
“
It is your letters that have won my heart,
”
you wrote to me, Vivi.
“
For it is through them that I have come to justly know your true mind and heart…to see into your soul.
It is for the sake of your letters that you own me, Justin
,
and I ponder that it seems I never truly knew you before…for your letters have revealed you completely
—
your mind, heart and spirit
—
and I love you for them all.
”
Thus, your words comfort me, Vivi
,
and I know it is truly me you love…and not another.
Perhaps you do not yet love me as deeply, as desperately as I love you
,
but you do love me
,
and it is enough for now.

The fighting is brutal.
True that it has always been brutal.
But this march with
Savannah
as our goal
,
it is so thoroughly destructive to the people of
Georgia
, to her cities
,
her very landscape.
At times, it seems as if death and fire and destruction are all I will ever know.
But then I dream of you
,
and in those dreams you promise me that the war will end. In my dreams, you place your pretty mouth to mine
,
kiss me
,
and whisper that all will be well.
That war is not forever
but that the love you and I have come to know is forever.
Our hearts are entwined…and that is forever.
In my dreams you promise you will always belong to me
,
that only I own your heart.
In my dreams I can hold you, kiss you, and feel your hand in mine.
It is I wonder if, perhaps, you would rather I write more of our success in battle
,
of the goings
-
on in camp.
Yet
as I sit here writing to you
,
I find I do not wish to tell of such things.
I wish only to think on you
—
of the life we will have together when at last I can march to Florence instead of Savannah.
When I come to you
,
and General Sherman
’
s
c
ampaign will surely hurry the war to an end, that I may come to you and lay my claim, Vivi…then no one will have you but I!

I should not go on so
. Y
ou will think madness has taken me if I do not write of something besides my love for you.
Thus, I will tell you of
Lowell
.
Lowell
is a boy we are caring for here.
I found him last week.
The battle had ended for the day
,
and we
—
victorious yet overweary
—
were riding back to camp.
I felt something hit me in the head and for an instant thought I had been wounded.
I placed a hand to the place where my head was aching to find there was no injury there…no blood.
I turned to look behind me
,
and that is when I saw him
—
Lowell
.
He is aged eight years, with flaming red hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen.
He
’
d been orphaned days before after his mother had taken ill and died.
It seems his father fought and died for the Union
,
and he was afraid to return to town
,
afraid the townsfolk who knew his father had not fought to defend
Georgia
’
s soil would harm him.
Thus, he
had been wandering the country
side alone and frightened for several days.
All this I discovered when I dismounted and asked him if he were lost.
I could not leave him there, so I picked him up, sat him astride my horse
,
and took him back to camp with me.
He has been with us ever since, for we have not yet found a family to leave him off with.

I do not know why I have written of
Lowell
.
His is not a happy story at present.
Perhaps it is because I know you will own greater empathy for him than anyone else
,
for your losses in this war have been far more akin to his than anyone else
’
s.
I worry in constant for him.
He should not be with us, for he is not safe in the company of soldiers who are daily in battle.
Yet he seems to find a measure of joy in our company.
I think he feels safe with us
,
which of course is not at all an accuracy.
Lingering with soldiers fighting for the
Union
on
S
outhern soil is certainly not the safest place for a boy.
Still, we protect him as best we can and in constant hope we may find him a safer place to linger soon.
I have made certain that
Lowell
has put to memory instructions on how to find you and my family if something should happen and we are separated.
I know a boy aged eight could not find his way safely all the way from
Georgia
to you, but it gives me a small measure of comfort.
So, Vivi
,
if one day you are out lingering near the road and a small boy with hair as orange as a pumpkin arrives
,
please do look after him.
He has captured my heart
,
and I worry for him now.
I have told
Lowell
of you, Vivi.
I have spent perhaps hours in telling this small boy of your goodness.
He knows you would care for him if he and I were separated.
And though I know it is impossible, I imagine he could find his way to you.
Writing of
Lowell
may seem a strange thing to you.
Still, I cannot spend all these pages in simply professing my love
. T
hus, I have told you of
Lowell
.

I will close, Vivi.
I will close in knowing this letter is not the best I have written.
The day was long
,
and my eyes are weary.
I hope you will forgive me for such a lacking letter.
No doubt the condition of my penmanship
,
weary as I am
,
will attest to the condition of my mind and body.
Yet know that if my heart were the instrument by which I penned my letters to you
,
you would find no end to the pages I would send.
I love you, Vivi.
Oh, how I love you!
Wait for me to come to you
,
for I will come to you.
And when I do come to you
—
when I am able, at last, to hold you in my arms
—
I promise you these things:
I will kiss you
,
and you will not be able to put me from your mind for one moment beyond our kisses
.
I will marry you, even if I must bind your arms and legs and carry you to the church in making it so
. A
nd I will own such a life of love, children
,
and happiness with you as to rival anything heaven itself could endeavor to arrange.