Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine (62 page)

“
Baby sister,
”
Augie chuckled.
“
We thought you were dead, darlin
’
!
We thought you were dead!
”

“
Where have you been?
”
Vivianna cried with
simultaneous
joy and pain.
“
Where have you boys been?
”

She drew away from Augie
and
brushed the tears from her cheeks as more followed.
She looked
from
one to the other—from her brother Samuel to her brother Augustus.
She wasn
’
t sure it was real!
Could they really be ther
e with her—with her and Johnny?

“
We heard the family had been killed,
”
Sam explained, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes.
“
We thought you
’
d been killed to
o
.
We didn
’
t write, because we thought there was no reason to…thought nobody was there to receive the letters.
”

“
Vivianna,
”
Augie said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek.
“
We thought you were dead!
It wasn
’
t
’
til we decided to go back and see what had been done with the house…to visit y
’
all
’
s restin
’
places that we found out the truth!
Thank the Lord we stopped in at the Turner place, Viv.
Thank the Lord!
”

Vivianna sobbed—buried her face in her hands and sobbed with overpowering joy and relief!
Her arms and legs felt weak
,
and she was grateful to suddenly find herself sobbing in Johnny
’
s arms—held close and protected against his strong body.

“
I
’
m Johnny,
”
she heard Johnny say.

She felt him shake hands with each of her brothers.

“
We heard a lot about you, Johnny Tabor,
”
Sam said.
“
It seems you
’
re a man to be reckoned with.
”

Somewhat recomposed, Vivianna turned to face her brothers again.
Sam and Augie!
She could not believe they stood before her.

“
From what Miss Savannah told us, you
’
re right worthy of our baby sister,
”
Augie added.

“
Well, I don
’
t know about worthy,
”
Johnny began,
“
b
ut I couldn
’
t live without her.
”

“
Oh, Viv!
”
Sam said, chuckling and drawing Vivianna from Johnny
’
s arms and into his own once more.
“
Viv!
I
’
m sorry we caused you so much pain!
We didn
’
t know you were alive.
We were ignorant not to make certain you
’
d been lost with Daddy and Mama before now.
I
’
m so sorry.
”

Vivianna wept—wept with whole and complete joy as Augie took her in his arms again then.

“
I
’
m so sorry, Viv,
”
he said
,
his voice breaking with emotion.
“
I
’
m so sorry.
”

“
It doesn
’
t matter,
”
she whispered.
“
You
’
re here
. Y
ou
’
r
e
alive
,
and you
’
re here.
That
’
s all that matters now.
”

Augie released
,
her and Vivianna smiled at him.

“
Heard you did your worst of it at Andersonville, Johnny,
”
Sam said.

Johnny nodded.
“
I did.
I sure did.
And you boys?
”

Augie chuckled.
“
Well, we
’
re hopin
’
there
’
s somethin
’
’
round
Gainesville
for two men lookin
’
for work to do.
I figure we
’
ll all need a lifetime to tell the stories between us.
”

Johnny nodded.
“
Well, if you boys don
’
t mind cattle…me and my daddy can keep ya busy for the rest of your lives.
”

Both Sam and Augie nodded.

Sam reached out and caressed Vivianna
’
s cheek with the back of his hand.
“
I wouldn
’
t mind anything that kept me near my baby sister,
”
he said.

“
Well, y
’
all unload your gear in the barn.
We
’
ll give your horses somethin
’
and then head for the house,
”
Johnny said.
“
We all got a lot of talkin
’
to do.
”

“
Thank ya, Johnny,
”
Augie said.

Sam nodded
,
brushed another tear from his temple
,
and kissed Vivianna
’
s cheek.
“
Baby sister,
”
he said, shaking his head.
“
Oh!
I almost forgot,
”
he exclaimed suddenly.
Moving to his saddlebags, he opened one, removing a book.

Vivianna frowned with curiosity as he handed it to her.

“
It
’
s from that little red-haired feller Miss Savannah took in,
”
he said.
“
He says the book ain
’
t the gift
. I
t
’
s what
’
s inside.
He said he wanted to make certain you and Johnny had a little piece of somethin
’
.
”

“
Head on over to the barn, boys,
”
Johnny said, nodding toward the barn.
“
I
’
ll be right behind ya.
”

“
All right.
Thank ya, Johnny,
”
Sam said.

Augie nodded and said,
“
Thank ya.
”

As her brothers started toward the barn, Vivianna frowned as she opened the book
.
She gasped—more tears moistening her cheeks as she saw the sprigs of honeysuckle vine and blossoms perfectly pressed between the pages of several sections of the book.

A small piece of paper slipped from the book, floating gently toward the ground.
Johnny caught it
,
however
,
and read,
“
To Mister Johnny and Miss Vivianna.
I went out to your special sparking place and picked a few vine parts for you.
I don
’
t know if there are any pretty honeysuckle vines in Texas…so I thought I would send these.
From Lowell
.
”

Johnny smiled as he looked at the pressed flowers and leaves between the pages of the book.
“
That boy has more sense of things than anybody I ever knew,
”
he said.

“
Yes, he does,
”
Vivianna said.
She glanced to Sam and Augie
,
smiling as she watched Sam point to several cattle grazing nearby and nudge Augie with his elbow.
“
It
’
s a miracle, Johnny.
I still can
’
t believe it,
”
she whispered.

Johnny shook his head in mutual disbelief.
“
It is a miracle…them comin
’ here…
bein
’
alive.
”

Vivianna looked to Johnny—placed a tender palm to his rugged cheek.
“
Yes
.
Sam and Augie are a miracle too,
”
she said.
“
But I mean you.
The miracle heaven sent for me…was you.
”

“
I love you, Vivi,
”
Johnny whispered as he gathered her into his arms.

“
I love you, Johnny,
”
Vivianna breathed.

“
Now, my own little honeysuckle blossom,
”
he mumbled,
“
g
ive me that nectar you keep in your mouth.
”

Vivianna smiled as Johnny kissed her—held tight to the book between whose pages a young boy had pressed the sprigs of a wild honeysuckle vine.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I was in
fifth
grade the year I read
Gone with the Wind
.
Not only was Margaret Mitchell’s Civil War (and beyond)
epic the first real novel I read,
but
it
also
still stands as the thickest, longest, highest
page count novel I ever read!
In fact, I believe that it was because of that reading experience that I’d always look at the page count of book after that, and if it was longer than
four hundred
pages, I wouldn’t even crack the spine.
But I digress
.

Reading
Gone with the Wind
was incredible, inspiring,
and
eye-opening
,
and I have to say, I think it impacted me so greatly that it actually helped mold who I became.
Oddly enough, I don’t like sad endings (as you well know by now).
There’s enough going on in reality incorporating sad endings that I never have any desire to experience one in fiction.
Thus, it seems strange to me that I did love
Gone with the Wind
so much.
But as you know (if you’ve been lost in that book), it’s a historically fascinating journey—and I love history!

Shortly after I read the book, the movie version of
Gone with the Wind
experienced a limited rerelease, and I was able to go to the old Hiland theater house in Albuquerque (when the plush seats and other original d
e
cor still existed) and watch the enormous, crushed red velvet, gold-tasseled curtains part just before the movie started.
Then there was the sound of the movie reel beginning (something I’m sad that children today will never experience), the lights on the screen
,
and voil
à—
Gone with the Wind
as no one has ever seen it since!
The movie affected me just as deeply as the book had.
I thought (and still think) that Vivien Leigh is one of the most beautiful women ever
,
and the sheer scope and lavishness of the cinematography dazzled and inspired me like no other movie I had ever seen.

You might be wondering why I’m spending so much time babbling on about my
Gone with the Wind
experience.
Well, it was
Gone with the Wind
that planted my passion for Civil War history deep into the very core of my heart.
Once I’d read the book and seen the movie, I was ravenous for Civil War history knowledge—especially Southern history.
The
S
outh intrigued me—not simply because I couldn’t understand the whole ignorant thought process around slavery and how it could have ever existed
but because of the customs, the fashions, the architecture, the easy, relaxed manner of culture, the Spanish moss and
c
ypress trees, Reconstruction,
i
ndustrialization, and so much more.
Thus, it was my passion for Civil War history and the people that lived through that terrible conflict that led me to writing not only
The Fragrance of Her Name
but
also
this book—
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
.

Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
is a soul-written book for me—meaning it incorporates feelings, opinions, and emotions that my very soul has experienced over and over through the years.
Though all my books were birthed in my heart, some of them go deeper than that, and
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
is one of those.

Ironically, where readers are concerned, it’s not my most popular book.
It seems readers either love it and list it in their top favorites or they list it at the very bottom of their list.
In conversation with people who own different opinions of the story, I’ve come to this conclusion
:
those who love this book, whose hearts it touches so deeply, love it for its historical value and nostalgic sense of a time we could never empathize with.
They recognize the sort of love born
e
through heart-felt letters and not just visual or physical attraction.
It’s an old-school concept
,
lost to time and technology.
The other side of the coin (
for
those who don’t list this book as a favorite) is that
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
begins with a sense of sadness, struggling and wounded bodies and souls.
Furthermore, in regard to the love letters between Johnny and Vivianna, as one reviewer on one of the social networks said, “I felt they needed a better reason to fall in love.”
(Yep!
I can be inspired by negative things just as well as positive things—sometimes!)
I’m not offended that some readers do not like this book as well, because if anyone understands wanting everything to be pretty and happy, it’s me!
And I know that the human interest in history isn’t as prolific as it was, or should be.
Therefore,
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
certainly appeals more to some readers than to others.

Now the other big part of this story that is very significant in my own life history is the letter
writing between Johnny and Vivianna.
To the reader who thought they needed
“
a better reason to fall in love
”
(and I
really
loved writing that book
,
by the way
,
so I thank you, whoever you are, for that line that inspired me!), what she didn’t know was that part of the plot was based on my own falling
-
in
-
love story.

My husband (Kevin from Heaven) and I did meet in person, but shortly thereafter, I left to attend college out of state.
(Some of you already know this story, so sorry for the repeat.)
Back in the olden days of 1983
–
1984, card and letters were still the main technique of correspondence, other than landline telephones (which would often cost $1
per
minute long distance).
Thus, Kevin and I began exchanging letters.
For nearly ten months, during which I was in a different state, we wrote back and forth, discussing everything from what we’d had for lunch to information about our families.
Almost immediately
,
however, our letters took on a very romantic tone.
We were writing what might be called “serious but with a teasing delivery”—the first part of the letter being an attempt to write romance to one another, with the second part of the letter being about everyday thoughts, experiences
,
and feelings.

Being that people will often say things in letters that they would be too afraid to confess or say face
-
to
-
face, Kevin and I were able to get to know each other in a way that most people don’t.
Although we were definitely attracted to each other the instant we met (wildly so, I might add), we found that through our letters, there was an even deeper connection that we might not have experienced as early as we did otherwise.
To this day, our letters to each other are one of my most treasured earthly possessions.
Fraught with scandalous flirting, humor,
and
drama, those letters tell the story of our falling in love—and they are a profound insight and inspiration.

Interestingly enough, my daughter and her husband had a similar experience.
Having met at college
,
they found themselves in different states during the summer break.
Texting was their letters, and then they talked on the phone every Sunday for
,
like
,
eight
hours (and that’s not an exaggeration)!
Therefore, similar to
the
story
of Kevin and me
, Sandy and her heroic Soren were already in love by the time they returned to college.
But where Kevin and I waited an entire two weeks after we were finally together in body as well as spirit,
Sandy
and Soren waited almost a whole month!
Ha ha!

My son Mitch and his wife
,
Mallory
,
also had the beginnings of their romance through letters via e-mail during their separation.
Actually, their story is even more incredible—for they’d never even met in person when they began e-mailing!
But once they met (and I’ll never forget the look on my son’s face the first time he sat in the same room with Mallory)—well
,
the rest is history!
They met in person for the first time the very end of March and were engaged by the very beginning of April
.

And so, my own experience is where I found the inspiration for the letter writing between Vivianna and Johnny—their means of falling in love.
It was a common way to fall in love all through history—
if
you were given the choice to fall in love, that is.

It breaks my heart to know that letters and cards (correspondence via tangible mail)
are
vanishing thing
s
.
People do not realize what is being lost, I’m afraid.
Just the other day, I heard a statistic that in ten years children will have no idea what receiving a birthday card in the mail is like.
That makes me so sad!
Especially when I remember receiving that unexpected birthday card—a handwritten note from my grandma or grandpa inside and the ever-impressive two
-
dollar bill enclosed.
It was wonderful!
I still love receiving mail
,
though letters and cards are very few and very far between.
We will live to regret the day personally written letters are lost forever.
It takes time and thought to sit down and handwrite a card or letter.
E-mails are not the same.

There’s a quote I love.
It was included on the cover of a little folio of Victorian notecards a friend gave me some years ago.
I’m actually going to have it framed for display in my home very soon.
But it says so much—expresses such a deep and meaningful truth—a truth that will be lost to technology and time.
It’s an excerpt from
t
he Royal Gallery, 1897
,
and reads thus:

Never burn kindly written letters; it is so pleasant to read them over when the ink is brown, the paper yellow with age, and the hands that traced the friendly words are folded over the heart that prompted them.
Keep all loving letters. Burn only the harsh ones, and in burning, forgive and forget them.

The line, “It is so pleasant to read them over when the ink is brown, the paper yellow with age, and the hands that traced the friendly words are folded over the heart that prompted them,” is so affecting to me.
I think of my sweet grandmother (Opal Switzler States)—her mortal remains now resting in a quiet, beautiful space in Canyon City, Colorado
,
her once warm and gentle hands still folded over the place where her heart used to beat—and whenever I read one of her letters I can envision her sweet smile and her still warm and gentle hands waving to me from the peace and happiness of heaven.
Without the letters she’d written that I now have, that helped me to see into her thoughts and heart, I wouldn’t know her as well as I do
,
and I wouldn’t have a tangible something written in her very own pretty little script, explaining feelings, memories
,
and the prices of shortening and eggs in 1936.
The world is losing something profound in giving up letters to e-mails and texting.
It haunts me to my very core
,
and I feel sad for she who thought Johnny and Vivianna needed “a better reason to fall in love”—because she’ll never know that manner of expressing emotion
:
the love letter.

Another thing that I did choose to include in this book is a little more gruesomeness—and I chose to include it for the mere fact that we, in this country and in this day and age, are spoiled rotten when it comes to physical hardships the like endured by men and women during the Civil War.
Believe me, Johnny’s descriptions of his time in
Andersonville
do not begin to convey the true horrors of it all!
And as much as I believe we all need escape through fluff and romance and things that don’t tax our already overtaxed minds
,
I do believe that once in a while, we need to remember what our ancestors endured and be more consciously respectful and grateful f
or
it, and f
or
them.
I won’t hop up on my political soapbox, but I will say that Americans have forgotten what it is to suffer for the freedoms we enjoy.
Most of us didn’t even have to experience a war on the scale of W
orld
W
ar
II.
Furthermore, the men and women who fight to protect our freedoms and the freedoms of other—the media skirts them, disrespects them
,
and would have us forget what they’re enduring.
Therefore, once in a while, I feel the need to remind and remember.