Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine by McClure Marcia Lynn

Author:McClure, Marcia Lynn [McClure, Marcia Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Distractions Ink
Published: 2012-11-16T05:00:00+00:00

As she thought of Justin—of the letters he’d written that had given her hope and strength during the war and carried her through the loss of her family—her heart ached. Still, an unexpected sense of lightness of soul and mind breathed over her. She understood then—understood that Justin was right. He had been battered by war, and she had been cast into darkness. Until his soul was healed—until hers could find the light—they could not hope to serve each other with perfect love.

Vivianna was surprised at the lack of pain in her heart—at the sense of liberation in her heart. Still, she felt it was merely for the fact she and Justin had come to a meeting of truth and certainty.

“We do,” she said.

Justin sighed, a sigh of being relieved of some heaviness. “I do love you, Viv,” he told her. “I will have you…and you will be my wife. But only after we choose it now…not because we dreamed of it in letters of the past.”

Vivianna nodded. She was in agreement with him. Yet a certain and frightening doubt was in her mind—a strange sense that all was not as it seemed. Still, she felt lighter of heart—hopeful. All would be well.

She nodded, and he kissed her tenderly on one cheek.

“Do you want to go in?” he asked.

Vivianna shook her head. “No. I’ll just meander awhile longer.”

“All right,” Justin said. He kissed her cheek once more, and Vivianna fancied this kiss was more affecting to her senses than any kiss he’d ever before given her. This kiss spoke of hope—of reward borne of patience.

She watched him stride away. In that moment, Vivianna knew less heartache than she had a moment before—a day before—a month—even a year.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath and relished the feel of the heavy, fragrant air as it veiled her. The sweet perfume of gardenia was everywhere. Savannah’s gardenias had once been the talk of Florence. Folks often said Savannah Turner had a fairy’s touch when it came to growing the tender and rare flowers—and for good reason. It seemed no other body in all of Florence and the surrounding area could nurture gardenias to such brilliance and perfume.

Yet as Vivianna slowly inhaled once more, it was the honeysuckle she sensed—the sweet scent of honeysuckle that breathed its breath into her lungs. Slipping her hand into her skirt pocket, she let her fingers caress the pages of Justin’s letter there. She must return it to its envelope—place it in the box with the others. Justin was right. They each must heal, and Vivianna realized that clinging so desperately to the letter would not help either she or Justin to cast away the ghosts haunting them.

Sighing, she wandered to the arbor. It was, after all, her place of retreat—of privacy. Yet she was somewhat disconcerted when she stepped beneath the honeysuckle vine to find Johnny sitting in the arbor swing. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, and she felt her hands begin to tremble.

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