Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine Read Online Free

up to the vine overhead. Already heavy with honeysuckle blossoms , the vine covered every space of the arbor. Even as a child , Vivianna had loved the Turners ’ honeysuckle vine , often spending hours upon hours beneath its shady shelter. Frequently she had imagined the vine-covered arbor was a house , a house made of honeysuckle. Certainly the arbor was as large as a small dwelling. Every year the Turners would prune back the vine at each end of the arbor ; otherwise the tangle of vines, leaves , and blossoms would swallow up even the open space within it. The vine had grown unruly during the war , branching out even to the nearby trees , engulfing an old wagon abandoned nearby as well. Still, Vivianna loved it! The arbor with honeysuckle was her space of serenity—and love—for now and then she liked to imagine Justin ’ s spirit lingered there , as if he too w ere finding haven in the arms of the fragrant vine.
    Vivianna reached into her skirt pocket, drawing out the letter she ever carried there—the letter she had silently vowed she would always carry.
    The paper upon which the letter was written was becoming fragile , weakened with so much handling and rereading. Yet carefully she unfolded the pages of Justin ’ s cherished letter , pressing them to her face in a vain attempt to catch a lingering trace of the scent of the fallen man she so loved.
    She studied the first page—traced Justin ’ s rather disheveled script with her fingertips. She thought that all the while he had been writing it , all the while he had been thinking of her. A vision of the dead soldiers she ’ d seen in Florence when the Yankees had attacked entered her mind. Their faces had been dirt-streaked, pale , and often their cold, dead eyes had stared blindly at passersby or into the raining sky. A horrified shiver ran through her , yet she would not think of Justin lying dead in an open field. She would not imagine him propped up against a tree trunk, bleeding out onto the soft Georgia grass as General Sherman rode on—the Alabama First Calvary accompanying along his Savannah Campaign. No! She would only think of Justin Turner as he ’ d appeared the last time she ’ d seen him : handsome, strong , vibrant , and hopeful .
    “ My Darling Vivianna , ” she began to read aloud. New tears stung her violet eyes , as ever they did when she read Justin ’ s letters—especially this one , for it was her most cherished.
     
    I beg you; do not be angry with me for so intimate a beginning to this letter. B y now you must know my mind addresses you as my darling…for you are so dear and darling to me. It is true you have always been dear to me , yet now you are even so deeply more dear , more dear than you may ever know. You have saved me, sweet Vivianna. It is many the time I have been in despair, injured, hurt, hungry, cold , or alone that your sweet letters comfort me. There is one particular I carry with me . I am hoping you will remember it if I make reference to it here. It was the letter of last June   16 th , 1863 , in which you enclosed a photograph of yourself — of your beautiful self , a photograph I gaze upon each night before I take my sleep, that I might rest with the vision of your loving face in my mind. Do you remember this letter, sweet Vivianna? I will write a piece here that you might remember: “ T he honeysuckle is heavy on your grandfather ’ s old arbor. At times, I sit beneath it in wondering at the old arbor being strong enough to support it yet. I have gone there every day this spring and summer to think and to wish you were home…to wish you were here with me. It seems there are more blossoms than ever I remember seeing before , and they are soft yellow and bright pink, and their nectar more sweet than any other year, I think. Whenever I am able, I slip away to the arbor and the vine. There I imagine you are home again…that you and I are together on your father ’ s swing , talking of family and friends ,