Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine Read Online Free Page B

Confederates. Thus, Vivianna ’ s parents, Victor and Mary Bartholomew, were laid to rest in the Turner family cemetery where none could defile their graves for the sake of their two sons , who had been lost defending the Union .
    Oddly, the short walk to the old cemetery helped Vivianna to surface from the melancholy heartache she ’ d been lingering in within the arbor. The dogwoods were beginning to bloom , and the wildflowers and grass were mellow and sweet in their perfumed offerings. The birds were plentiful in the trees , chirping songs of happiness , of carefree springs to come and nests filled with tiny eggs of hope in further generations—generations that would not know the scent and sight of battle and bloodshed.
    As she walked , as she meandered toward the meadow and gravestones nestled midst the dogwoods , Vivianna pulled the pins from her long sable hair , allowing it to hang freely down her back. Combing it with her fingers, she wished she could always wear her hair free. She fancied it calmed her—made her feel not quite so worried and tired. Slowly she wove it into a soft, loose braid , securing it with a strand of itself and letting the braid rest over her right shoulder.
    Stepping into the small clearing, Vivianna was immediately struck with the sense of warm sunshine—of peacefulness and rest. In truth, she had never feared cemeteries the way others seemed to. In fact, as a child, it was often she would wander to the Turner cemetery and sit in contemplation at the etchings on the gravestones. She liked to think that all those spirits who had left their bodies to sleep in the soft earth were watching from heaven , happy to see that a little child cared enough to read what was written over their graves. She imagined they all smiled as she wove dandelion chains or gathered nosegays of fresh violets to place by each stone. In truth, she ’ d learned every epitaph , every name of every person buried there , and often tried to imagine who they had been and what they had loved. Had they gathered flowers as children? Had they laughed and played , sung with the birds? Had they sat at the edge of the pond, sinking their toes into the mud as pollywogs tickled their ankles? As a child, Vivianna was certain each and every one of them had done just these things , and she had adored knowing it. Yet since the war, she ’ d begun to wonder how many of those who rested a mid the dogwoods had known pain as well. Surely all , for pain was certainly as much a part of life as were muddy toes.
    Still, as she passed the large granite monument marking Mr. Turner ’ s mother ’ s grave, she whispered, “ Good afternoon, Mr. Turner ’ s mother. Isn ’ t this sunshine just lovely today? ”
    Thus, Vivianna wandered among the stones marking lives once lived. Oddly, it brought her more comfort than melancholy or heartache. She thought of all those who were waiting to meet Sam and Augie as they arrived at heaven ’ s gate—wondered if Sam and Augie were there to meet her mother and father or if her mother and father stood smiling in greeting Sam and Augie. Even Mr. Turner must ’ ve been filled with joy at seeing his own parents—his earthly remains—no matter how painful a death he met , resting at last as he drifted into the arms of the Lord. She thought then that Justin too would ’ ve been met with family and friends—though she would not linger on those thoughts. Simply she wandered , tugged a few unruly weeds from places they should not be , even gathered a handful of violets to lay on the grave of the tiny baby girl Savannah Turner lost before either Caleb or Justin were born. Last, she visited the graves of the two local boys from Florence . Boy and Floydie Maggee had fought with the Alabama First Cavalry—side by side with Caleb and Justin. Yet both were wounded in the same battle and returned home , Floydie having lost both legs to amputation and Boy with a terrible injury to his head that found him unable