Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Mr. Winder laughed. “Johnny Tabor will be too busy answerin’ to heaven, boy. Or maybe sittin’ down to dinner with the devil instead.”

  Vivianna didn’t wait. Lifting her skirts, she ran toward town, calling over her shoulder, “You boys stay here with your mama!”

  “Vivianna!” Lowell called. “I’m comin’ too!”

  Vivianna didn’t argue as the boy joined her in running toward town. She knew Nate and Willy would look after Savannah. She knew Lowell loved Johnny too much to stay behind.

  “They won’t hang him, will they, Vivi?” the boy asked.

  Vivianna angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks, shaking her head as she ran. “Not unless they hang us first, darlin’,” she sobbed.

  They were nearer to town, and Vivianna could hear the commotion. The sound of an angry mob echoed through the air.

  “I told ya I heard somethin’!” Lowell told her. “I’ve seen lynchin’s before. They just can’t lynch Mr. Johnny, Vivi!”

  “They won’t,” Vivianna promised.

  It was not difficult to determine where Johnny was. A mob of townsfolk was gathered outside the jail. Sheriff Pidwell was standing at the door, shouting at the mob. Men with ropes, axes, knives, and guns were shouting. Women were crying out in anger—screaming.

  As Vivianna drew closer, she saw Caleb standing near to the sheriff on the steps of the jail. He was armed—obviously attempting to help the sheriff calm the mob.

  “It’s Caleb!” Lowell cried. “Caleb won’t let ’em hang Mr. Johnny!”

  “No, he won’t,” Vivianna breathed. In that moment, she thanked the heavens for Caleb—for the good man he was.

  “They probably got Mr. Johnny in the jailhouse,” Lowell said. He looked to Vivianna, his eyes frightened and pleading. “What do we do, Vivi? Oh, what do we do?”

  “I’m goin’ to try and help him,” she said. “You stay here. Johnny loves you, Lowell. He wouldn’t want to see you hurt…especially on his account.”

  “He loves you too, Miss Vivianna,” Lowell sniffled.

  “I know,” she said. She kissed him on the forehead and hurried toward the jailhouse.

  Panic and fear the like she’d never known were gripping her! Even for all that had happened during the war—even when the Union had tried to occupy Florence—in all her life she’d never known such fear and panic. Yet she’d never known a love like the love she owned for Johnny Tabor either, and it drove her forward—forward into an angry mob—forward into the bowels of danger.

  Vivianna pushed and shoved—struggled to get to the front of the mob. At last she managed it, but only because the angry men of Florence were still Southern boys whose mamas had taught them to allow a lady to pass.

  “Where’s Johnny?” Vivianna screamed once she was at the front of the mob. “Caleb! Caleb! Is he all right?”

  Caleb saw her, frowned, and shook his head.

  “Caleb!” she cried as fresh tears flooded her cheeks.

  “He didn’t kill him! I didn’t say he killed him!”

  Vivianna glanced to one side. Justin was there, shouting at the mob.

  “I said he knew him! That’s all I said!” Justin shouted.

  But the mob was in a frenzy, and his confessions went unheard.

  Anger as she had never known owned Vivianna then. She pushed and shoved her way to Justin, and when he looked up—startled at seeing her—she slapped him hard across one cheek.

  Justin gasped, his eyes wide with hurt and guilt.

  “I didn’t tell ’em Johnny killed the man,” he said.

  “You as good as did, and you know it,” she said.

  “I…I’m lost, Viv,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I lost my way a long time ago. This war…it did things to a man.”

  “I know that,” Vivianna said. “It wounded them…left them with a bad leg and a limp like it did Caleb. It ate at their bodies like the lice and disease at Andersonville, Justin. But it’s no excuse. Other men came home with just as many wounds as you did, Justin Turner—many with more. But they didn’t come home to be what you’ve become.”

  “They beat him bad,” Justin said, tears in his eyes. “After all he done for me…I stood there and let them beat him.”

  Vivianna sobbed a moment—but only for a moment. There was no time for weakness. The slap she’d delivered to Justin had distracted the mob—but only for a moment.

  “But…but he’s still alive?” she asked.

  Justin nodded.

  Suddenly the mob surged forward. Vivianna was knocked to the ground. She heard a gunshot—heard the mob become more frenzied as they broke down the jailhouse door.

  Struggling to her feet, she turned to see a group of men exchanging blows with Caleb and Sheriff Pidwell.

  “Stop!” she cried. But the beating continued.

  Justin shouted, pulled a man away from his brother, and began beating him.

  There were suddenly cheers of triumph, and Vivianna gasped as two men dragged a bloodied and beaten Johnny Tabor from the jailhouse. Vivianna recognized one of the men—Mr. Sidney.

  “We need a rope!” Mr. Sidney shouted. “We’ll hang him at the gallows…where all Yankees oughta hang!”

  Vivianna brushed the tears from her cheeks as she looked to Johnny. His face was bruised and swollen, his lip bleeding. His hands were tied at his front and were cut and bleeding. She glanced around and noticed that several of the men in the mob were bleeding from their noses and lips—including the two men restraining him. Johnny Tabor was not a man to be dragged to the gallows without a mean fight. It was obvious some of the men in the mob knew it.

  She was helpless! Panicked! The lynch mob would hang Johnny if she didn’t find a way to save him.

  Frantic, she raced forward, throwing herself against Johnny.

  “Vivi!” Johnny panted. He began to struggle, trying to free himself from his captors.

  “Johnny!” she screamed.

  “I love you, Vivi,” he breathed.

  “Johnny!” Vivianna screamed once more as two men took hold of her arms, pulling her away from him. She struggled wildly—tried to escape—tried to reach for Johnny.

  He was weak, yet he fought too. Vivianna watched as Johnny struggled—butted Mr. Sidney’s head with his own, sending the leader of the mob reeling.

  The other man landed a hard fist to Johnny’s right jaw, however, and Vivianna screamed as he crumbled to his knees.

  “Hang him!” someone shouted.

  “Leave him be! Leave him be!” a child’s voice cried.

  Vivianna looked to see Lowell. He was there, a large man holding him tightly by the arms. Nate and Willy were there too, struggling to escape the clutches of the men holding them. Savannah was shouting, two women holding her back.

  “Johnny!” Vivianna cried as someone threw a noose around Johnny’s neck.

  “Hang him high!” someone shouted. “That damn Yankee killed one of ours! Stretch his neck long!”

  “No!” Vivianna cried.

  She screamed again as gunfire broke the air. She gasped as Mr. Sidney crumpled to the ground, blood soaking his shirt at one shoulder. Another shot rang out, and the second man holding Johnny reeled backward.

  The mob gasped—silenced.

  Vivianna followed everyone else’s attention as Charles Maggee made his way through the crowd toward Johnny. He leveled his Spencer carbine at Johnny’s head. Vivianna gasped—held her breath. Surely Mr. Maggee didn’t intend to kill Johnny! Hadn’t Boy and Floydie been Johnny’s friends and fellow soldiers?

  “This man didn’t do nothin’,” Mr. Maggee said.

  “He’s a damn Yankee,” Mr. Sidney growled.

  Instantly, the barrel of Mr. Maggee’s gun met with Mr. Sidney’s forehead.

  “And so were you, Matthew…when the war began,” Mr. Maggee said. “Only reason you didn’t enlist in the Alabama First with my boys is because your wife said if ya did, she wouldn’t be here waitin’ for ya if ya lived long enough to come home.
Ain’t that right?”

  Mr. Sidney’s lips pursed in an angry, defiant expression.

  “We got a dead boy on our hands! A soldier!” someone shouted.

  “This here Yankee knew him!” another man shouted.

  “Yes, he did,” Mr. Maggee said. He stepped in front of Johnny—Johnny, who spit blood out of his mouth and still remained on his knees, panting for breath. Turning, Mr. Maggee leveled his Spencer at another man at the front of the mob.

  “Fact is that’s why he’s dead,” Mr. Maggee said. “I killed him before he could murder this fine man.”

  Vivianna heard Savannah gasp, “Charles!”

  “I was out visitin’ my boys—my two good boys, buried out there in the Turners’ cemetery because I didn’t think they’d rest in peace here in town…not with the likes of you folks around,” he said. “I was out there just talkin’ with my boys, when all of a sudden, here comes this Reb. He asked me what I was doin’…and if I know’d a feller name of Johnny Tabor or one name of Justin Turner.”

  Several sets of eyes suspiciously lingered on Justin for a moment.

  “I said I did,” Mr. Maggee continued, “leastwise I knew Justin Turner. I’d seen Justin had made it home, right that afternoon on my way to visit the boys. I seen Justin Turner and his friend here walkin’ up the road goin’ home.”

  Vivianna was desperate to get to Johnny. She started to move toward him, but he raised his eyes, slightly shaking his head as a warning she should not come to him.

  “Well, that dirty Reb…turns out he was a guard at Andersonville…tried his best to beat Johnny to death and couldn’t do it. He thought I was sympathetic to the Confederacy. And I am, in a manner. We all are. I love Alabama. Anyhow, the man tells me he’s here to kill Johnny Tabor…Justin Turner too, if he can manage it. Then he looked down and seen my boys’ graves. He asked me why two Yankees were buried there. I told him they were my boys…that they died in the fightin’. That ol’ Reb, he pulled a knife from his belt and lit out after me…said he was gonna cut me open and I could lay out in the sun and rot like the two Andersonville prisoners he was aimin’ to kill. He got me quick across the belly—nearly spilled my guts out all over the ground—so I shoved him. He stumbled backward, tripped himself over a small headstone…cracked his head open on Floydie’s.”

  Johnny glanced to Vivianna, and she struggled to keep from running to him. It was Zachary Powell’s blood on Floydie’s stone!

  “I went over to check on the boy, even though he’d been tryin’ to kill me a moment before. He was dead…and I knew folks would hang it on the Turner boys if I left him there. So I drug him off into the woods. He was too heavy to take too far though. So I left him while I went home and cleaned up my wounds and fetched the wagon. I come back after a while and hauled him off over there where they’re buildin’ the new line. I figured nobody would find him…or if they did, they’d think he just died in the war, like my boys.”

  Vivianna sobbed as Sheriff Pidwell came forward and helped Johnny to his feet.

  “You killed him?” Mr. Sidney growled.

  “He was tryin’ to kill me, Matthew, and his death was an accident. The war weren’t over yet…not official. I figure he’s counted as a casualty, just like my boys were…only without any honor at all.” Mr. Maggee’s eyes narrowed. “He meant to murder two men that weren’t soldiers no more. Way I see it, that makes him deservin’ of feedin’ the buzzards.” Mr. Maggee lowered his carbine. He turned to face the mob, many of whom now wore expressions of guilt and sadness rather than fury. “I know how many of you were in favor of the Union. I’ve heard you say it…know you hoped for the war to end to find the Union strong,” Mr. Maggee said. “I won’t reveal ya, but I do expect ya to leave this boy alone…and to know I was only protectin’ myself and two men that fought for what was right, even if it don’t seem that way sometimes. Go on home. Hide your own secrets. I know ya have ’em. You’re nothin’ but a mob of hypocrites.”

  The crowd paused, each person looking to one another. Some were still angry, some humbled, some standing in utter ignorance.

  Vivianna watched as Caleb helped Sheriff Pidwell to untie Johnny’s hands.

  She gasped when Johnny growled, landing a brutal blow to Mr. Sidney’s midsection with one knee before plowing a fist into his face to send him tumbling to the ground. Johnny spit on Matthew Sidney, and no one moved to help the mob leader.

  Justin approached Johnny then. “Johnny…I…I…” Justin stammered.

  His stammering was silenced when Johnny—weakened though he was—let go a powerful fist to Justin’s jaw. Caleb stood over his brother for a moment. He shook his head as he looked at him, disgust and disappointment plain on his face. Yet in the next moment, he reached down, offering a hand and helping him to his feet.

  “You best keep outta my way for a while, Justin,” Johnny growled.

  “I’m sorry, boy,” Sheriff Pidwell said, placing one hand on Johnny’s shoulder.

  Frowning, Johnny nodded in heroic acceptance of the apology.

  “You’re just gonna let him go?” Mr. Sidney asked, struggling to his feet.

  “He whipped up on you and six other men before he went down, Matthew,” Sheriff Pidwell said. “Unless you want me to keep him here to have another go-around at you…I am lettin’ him go. The man ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” Sheriff Pidwell nodded, indicating Matthew Sidney should be on his way. He looked back to Charles Maggee then and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Let’s me and you have us a talk, Charles,” the sheriff said.

  Mr. Maggee nodded and followed Sheriff Pidwell into the jailhouse as the crowd quickly diluted.

  As Johnny stumbled toward Vivianna at last, she flew to him. He was so weak, the force of her embrace forced them both to their knees. Yet he held her tightly, stroking her hair with one bloody hand.

  “Johnny!” she breathed, kissing his cheek over and over, kissing him on the mouth, careless of straggling onlookers.

  “Vivi,” he breathed as she kissed him, “I thought…I thought they were gonna hang me…and then…then I’d never be able to tell you the truth.”

  “Mr. Johnny!” Lowell cried, throwing his arms around Johnny from behind. “Oh, Mr. Johnny! I thought they were gonna hang you for sure!”

  “Me too, Lowell,” Johnny said. “Me too.”

  Vivianna glanced up to see Savannah standing nearby. Tears were streaming down her face as she watched Johnny and Vivianna—as she held one hand on Nate’s head, the other on Willy’s, to keep them from racing forward. Nate and Willy were also crying, wiping dripping noses on their shirtsleeves.

  “Oh, Johnny!” Vivianna sobbed as he held her. “I love you! I love you!”

  “I love you, Vivi,” he breathed into her hair. “And I can’t wait one more minute to tell you the truth. All I could think of…all I could think was that I was gonna hang…and you’d never know the truth.”

  He released her, and she watched as he struggled to reach into the front pocket of his trousers.

  Withdrawing a worn, tattered piece of paper, he offered it to her and said, “This is how Justin saved my life, Vivi. Justin gave me this…one night when I thought I didn’t have a reason to live. This is what saved me, Vivi. You saved me.”

  Vivianna wept as she unfolded the piece of paper—recognized it as a page of a letter she’d written to Justin over two years before.

  “Whenever I am able, I slip away to the arbor and the honeysuckle vine,” she began. “There I imagine you are home again…that you and I are together on your father’s swing, talking of family and friends, of long summer walks and pollywogs in puddles.”

  “I’ve carried that letter ever since, except for Andersonville,” he mumbled. “I buried it in my tin box that day, just before me and Justin were captured…buried it with the other letters you’d written to Justin…the ones he gave to me…the ones I answered.” He chuckled and coughed with the pain it caused him. “It’s why it took us so long to get home once
we were released. I told Justin I’d get him home…but that we had to go back for my tin box first. It took us a whole week just to get back to where I buried it.”

  “Johnny,” Vivianna breathed, placing a loving hand to his bruised cheek.

  “I had to go back for them, ya see, Vivi,” he panted, “ ’cause you thought Justin wrote the letters to you. I knew you were in love with him…that I had to get him home to you. But I wanted your letters with me so I’d have ’em always…so I could make-believe you’d written them to me and not to Justin.”

  He coughed again. She could tell he was in pain.

  “Johnny,” she said, “we have to get you home.”

  But he shook his head. “I’m a liar, Vivianna,” he said. “I’m a sinful devil of a liar. I let you think Justin wrote those letters. All this time I let you think—”

  “It’s you I’ve always loved, Johnny Tabor,” Vivianna told him. Taking his face between her hands, she forced his eyes to look into hers and said, “Don’t you see? I did fall in love with the man who wrote those letters. I fell in love with you.”

  A tear trickled from the corner of one of Johnny’s eyes. Exhausted from both the mob beating and emotion, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment before finding her mouth with his own.

  His kiss was hot, demanding, and as passionate a kiss as ever he’d given her.

  “Best save that for lingerin’ beneath the honeysuckle vine, Mr. Johnny,” Lowell said.

  Johnny’s mouth left Vivianna’s as he chuckled. “Have you been lookin’ in on folks again when you shouldn’t, Lowell?” he asked.

  Vivianna stroked his face—smoothed the dirt and blood from his broad brow.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Johnny,” Lowell admitted.

  Vivianna brushed the tears from her cheeks and pressed one last kiss to Johnny’s lips as Caleb, Savannah, and the younger Turner boys approached.

  “You’re a hard man to bring down, Johnny Tabor,” Caleb said, helping Johnny to his feet.

  “Oh, my darlin’!” Savannah sobbed, reaching up to dab at the blood near his mouth with a lace handkerchief. “I am just so sorry! Oh, my dear boy!”