Harnessed Passions (5 page)

"I'll see ta yer unpackin’ Miss Julia," he
said quickly. His southern drawl echoed in his deep tone, as he
hurried up the stairs. The two women watched the man ascend the
winding staircase, disappearing like a dark shadow around the
corner and down the hallway. Years of trust and service assured
them they were safe to continue speaking; he would not be eaves
dropping just out of sight.

"Okay mother, now tell me; what's wrong with
father?" Julia's urgency for knowledge was wearing thin on her
tired nerves and weary emotions as she confronted her mother. Her
sharp tone was the result of too many long hours on a smoldering
hot locomotive and the need for a long, luxurious bath; maybe even
a glass of bourbon.

"Let's get you something to eat dear," the
older woman hesitated in the details as she edged closer to the
kitchen. "I'm famished, aren't you? The train must have been just
dreadful. Why on Earth, can't they make those things less trying;
it’s beyond me. Why I remember when your father and I went to New
York, in seventy two...."

"Mother, stop it!" Julia snapped, grabbing
the woman's arm and putting a halt to the irritating chatter as she
turned her around. "I'm not a child. I have a right to know what's
wrong with him." Louise stopped just inside the kitchen door and
lowered her head.

"He's dying," she whispered; her voice was
weak and her tone shook with the threat of unshed sobs.

"What do you mean, dying? What's wrong with
him?" Julia held onto her arm mother’s arm and stared at her
lowered head. She wasn’t sure whether her mother was exaggerating
or telling the truth; it just all seemed so unreal. When Louise did
look up, tears brimmed her eyes and sorrow gripped her mouth,
pulling the corners down.

"He has emphysema," she told her daughter
painfully. "He was told about it several years ago, but chose not
to listen to the warnings. I suppose he thought himself immortal.
He just kept working as though nothing was wrong. He never slowed
down, he didn't even tell me until it was too late. We could have
spent these last years together instead of pretending everything
was fine." Louise was near hysterics when she finished, causing
Julia to pull her into a reassuring embrace, offering her all the
strength she possessed.

“
He’s very weak,” she
continued with a few sniffs to fight the tears back. “You won’t
recognize him; he spends so much time sleeping. I know he’s
depressed and scared, but he won’t show it; instead he sits around
talking about the future as though there was one.”

They walked together to the small worktable
in the center of the kitchen and sat down. Julia tried to
concentrate on what her mother had said, but thinking of her father
in the terms presented before her wasn't easy. It was as though her
mother spoke of a stranger; the man she knew and loved was far
stronger and more determined than anyone she had ever before met.
With the way her mother described him, he appeared to be barely
more than a forbidding stranger

"What does the doctor say?" Julia found her
own voice thick and strangled in her throat as she confronted the
situation with both determination and disbelief.

"He's out lived what was originally
predicted," Louise informed her, accepting the tea, Mrs. Lester,
the family cook poured for them. She wiped her nose and eyes on the
embroidered handkerchief she always kept tucked inside the sleeve
of her dress, before taking a sip of the hot liquid. They waited to
speak further until the woman had left the room, to protect
Victor’s privacy.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Julia felt
numb; her heartbeat was thrumming between her ears, her hands
slightly sweaty.

"It's too late. I don't think praying would
even help at this point. If only he had told us earlier, perhaps we
could have done something to prolong his time."

"Mother, please, you can't dwell on the
past, it won't help. What dad has done or hasn't done isn't the
issue. We have to face the future and for whatever its worth." The
words were spoken, even though the pain and shock inside her began
to demand revenge. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, to
plead for miracles; but as logic threw its voice into the cloud of
confusion, she knew there was nothing left to do but prepare for
the inevitable.

"I don't think I can do this Julia," Louise
whispered, unrestrained tears streaking down her pale cheeks. "I
don't know how your father expects me to just say good-bye after
twenty-seven years of marriage."

"Don't do this mother," Julia whispered
softly. The shock had yet to wear off and the pain was still
throbbing wildly within her chest. "I think I need a drink," she
announced, standing to walk back to her father's den, where she
knew a supply of liquor was kept.

"I'll send a brandy up to you," Louise told
her, wiping her eyes and nose on the lace hanky again before
continuing. "Why don't you go up and get settled in; I'll have
Bridget fill you a warm bath? We can talk more after you’ve had a
chance to rest. Your father will be up from his nap soon and no
doubt he'll be anxious to see you."

Julia thought this over for a brief minute,
and decided against arguing. A warm bath and a few minutes alone to
digest what her mother had told her, was too overwhelming to pass
up.

“
Honey,” her mother said,
halting her departure. Julia turned and glanced across her
shoulder, a frown pulling her brows together above her green
eyes.

“
I’m sorry this wasn’t the
type of trip you were expecting, but I needed you by my side. I
can’t do this alone.”

“
I promise I'll be here for
you,” she heard herself saying as she wrapped her arms around her
mother again. Julia wasn’t exactly certain why she promised such a
heavy vow; she wanted to leave Kentucky as soon as possible, but
she had a very strong feeling Boston was slowly slipping through
her fingers.

That evening, after the three Turners had
finished their supper, they retired to the sitting room for coffee
and dessert; an old tradition that apparently had not gone out of
style with her parents. Julia sat quietly beside the open doors to
the veranda, watching her father with scrutinizing eyes. Once a
very strong, virile specimen of the male gender, Victor Turner now
sat weak and withered to a form she barely recognized. Only his
bright emerald eyes remained familiar to her. Even the dark, thick
mass of hair she used to watch blow in the breeze as he rode toward
the open fields, was gone; replaced with silver threads of age. He
sat in a wheelchair, struggling to suck air into his lungs, yet
acting as if nothing was wrong. As he sat determined to face his
own death with pride and honor; the man proved to be stubborn and
relentless, commanding the situation to the final moment.

Her mother had informed her earlier that
afternoon, that her father spent his mornings the same as usual;
conducting business until he became too weak to continue and was
forced to rest. He consulted with several of the more trustworthy
members from the stables, made repeated trips to Mayfield on
business and often rode in the Dearborn pulled by his favorite
stallion Mercury. It would never replace the long rides on the
range he would have in his younger years, but it was a suitable
substitute.

Fatigue was the man’s worst enemy these
days. He would tire easily and was forced to sit back in his
wheelchair to wait for the end to catch him, or the hour in which
he would go to bed and pray for a quick and painless release. It
just didn't seem possible for this man who sat in front of her, to
be her father.

"Your mother should not have worried you
so," Victor told his daughter, as he eyed the older woman who sat
next to him in her wingback chair. His expression was stern and for
an instant the old Victor was back. Julia looked up, to find
emerald eyes sparkling brilliantly at her and forced a reluctant
smile to her lips. "I am very glad you've come home, though. I need
to speak with you before it's too late."

"Father you're tired," Julia argued, aware
he would no sooner listen to her warnings then he had his own
doctor. "Why don't we talk in the morning, after you've had a good
night's sleep?"

"I'm not that tired and I must speak with
you, before I die. I have to explain what has happened." The man's
anxieties made his breathing quicken and his hands shake. Julia
stood and walked to the chair beside him, laying a gentle hand on
his arm in an attempt to calm him down.

"I've left you co-ownership of the Stables,"
he continued with a deep breath. "You must assume my role at the
annual sales this fall. I know it's not much time for you to
prepare, but I'll help all I can before I go. I've briefed my
attorney, Daniel Browning and he's promised to help you when the
time comes. I trust Daniel; listen to him and take his advice. He's
a smart man, Julia, and he knows what he's doing. If you have any
questions or problems, he's the one to turn to." Victor looked very
pale as he struggled for air; his lungs rattled in his chest as he
struggled to speak, making his voice sound barely above a
whisper.

"You must promise me this," his breath
sounded strangled in his throat as he continued on. "Don't give up
the ranch; it's all we have, it's what we are," he gasped several
times before he slowly regained his composure. Julia's brows pulled
together in a deep frown as she watched the old man's attempt to
keep the air flowing within his weak lungs.

After several long, agonizing minutes, he
spoke to her again; this time in soft whispered tones. "This ranch,
it's your heritage Julia, and Jeremy's. Please don't let me down."
His lungs began to rattle again and Julia's frown deepened.
"Promise me Julia. I have to know you'll be there for me. I must
know you'll keep the family's future going. Promise me!"

Julia couldn't bear to see her father like
this, but she didn't want his legacy to fall on her shoulders
either. She had her own designs for life and they had nothing to do
with Kentucky or the family horses. Looking at the desperation in
his eyes she knew she couldn’t deny him this one last request;
could she?

"I'll do what I can father, you know that,
but I don't know anything about breeding horses. I barely know the
difference, between a filly and a gelding."

"You'll learn," he gasped softly. Louise’s
slender brows furrowed with concern for her husband’s weakening
state as she placed her small hand across his larger one. "I had to
learn, just as my father did and his father before him. You can do
it, honey. You have to try, I need you." Realizing how weak her
father had become over the last few minutes, Julia felt she had no
choice but to surrender to his demands; which she did,
reluctantly.

"I promise," she vowed, knowing she sounded
less than enthusiastic, or convincing.

"There's more," he told her, through gasps
of forced air. "In the past four months, we've lost two good studs
to snake bites and another two had to be shot after they broke out
of the stalls. We found them both with broken legs, up on the
ridge. Now I've got three mares and a colt down with colic from
moldy feed. It's not unusual for things to happen, but it's rare
considering the staff I have to watch the place. What's worse, I
think I know who's doing it."

"Who?" Julia’s frown deepened; if he knew
who was causing all the events, why didn’t he tell the sheriff?

"I don't want you to worry about it. I'll
take care of it before I die; but I thought you'd better be aware
of it."

“
You’ve spoken enough for
one night,” Louise insisted.

"You need to rest father," Julia added
firmly as she stood and walked behind the man, pulling his
wheelchair around the settee while she pushed him toward the
doorway. "Thompson will take you to your room and I'll talk with
you more tomorrow." She kissed his shallow cheek gently and nodded
for the black man, who was waiting just outside the door. Julia
watched Thompson disappear down the hall with her father, listening
to the door to his room close.

It was bad enough she had to promise her
father to assume his role in four months’ time, but then to be
informed there was someone deliberately trying to sabotage the
stables just seemed like icing on the cake. Not exactly what she
was anticipating, when she returned from Boston.

When she turned back to the quiet family
room, she found her mother still occupying the area. Her silver and
black hair had been pulled back into a formal bun, just like she
always wore at meal times to avoid getting the long tresses in her
food. Her delicate frame was draped in a tailor made dress of
burgundy taffeta, that covered her from wrist to toe. Only the
white lace around the cuffs and high neck allowed contrast in the
deep rich color. Her tiny feet were void of shoes, much as Julia's
were and she reclined on the settee near the fireplace, a small
glass of sherry in her hand.

"I wish you hadn't let him go on so," Louise
offered sternly. "He grows weaker each day."

"I didn't exactly have a choice in the
matter, mother.” Julia walked to the liquor cabinet and poured a
glass of sherry before returning to the seat by the open door of
the veranda. “He just kept on talking, even when I tried to get him
to stop. He's just a stubborn old bastard."

"Don't talk about your father that way," the
older woman snapped. "He deserves more respect than that."

"No, he doesn't," Julia growled, her voice
rising slightly as her temper increased. "Did you hear what he just
did to me? He's always tried to control my life and now he's done
it. I left Kentucky to avoid him doing exactly this. The next thing
you know, he'll have me married with twelve kids, just so he can
rest in his grave and gloat."