Harnessed Passions

  Harnessed Passions

  DT Jones

  Copyright © 2013 D T Jones

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. The novels contained in this omnibus were each published separately in the United States

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Image

  Copyright © 2013 D T Jones

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DEDICATED

  As always, this book is dedicated to my husband Jim and my wonderful and encouraging family.

  You’re the best!

  To Michael Butterfield and Katie Jones;

  Thank you for the use of your bodies

  DEDICATED

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  EPILOG

  Chapter One

  August 1876

  The door opened cautiously as the head of a young teenage girl poked around the wooden barrier; her emerald eyes carefully scanning the quiet kitchen. The coast was clear; it was now or never, she thought. Taking the only chance offered to her, she slipped out the back door and ran as fast as her shaking legs could carry her to the stables. She saddled her mare in record time; her fingers trembling as they grasped the reigns. Anticipation of being caught made her heart race; her palms began to sweat, as her slender frame climbed up to the animal’s back. She was thankful nobody was near that would prevent her from leaving. Everyone was busy trying to break the new pair of colts they’d bought a week ago at auction.

  As quietly as possible, Julia pulled on the leather reigns and nudged her mare out of the stable doors, heading her slowly toward the main road. Once the chance of being seen had passed, she kicked the large brown horse in the ribs with her heels urging it to break into a run. Her long dark hair blew wildly behind her as the animal ran toward freedom. The heat of the summer sun blazed above her while the breeze dried her face and neck. The real fear of retribution kept her senses alert and her chest heaving in anticipation. Her creamy complexion flushed with her building anxieties, as the old swimming hole came into sight.

  Three hours late, she groaned silently. Heather was going to kill her, but she couldn’t have avoided it; her father had insisted she stay home today. He objected to the amount of time she had been spending away from her family and chores since summer vacation began. This had been a daily argument between father and daughter as the weeks turned into months and now there were only ten days left until class started again. She would soon find herself wrapped up in schoolwork, tests and exams, which also meant little time left over for having fun with her best friend.

  Determined that their only daughter become a young lady of breading, Julia’s parents had spent the past year discussing the idea of sending her to finishing school in Boston for her senior year. It was the sort of place that would train her to be a proper wife and teach her how to take her place in the world of high society, as the heir of Kentucky’s wealthiest horse breeder; neither of which Julia was interested in.

  Pulling her horse to a halt near the edge of the brush-covered surroundings, she jumped unladylike from her mare’s back and quickly tethered the reins around an old tree stump. She pushed through the tall trees, easing the branches out of her path as she called for Heather; but the only sound heard was the call of the birds in the dense tree tops. The muffled rustle of rodents in the thick underbrush echoed in the still warm air, scurrying out of the line of sight as she continued to push her way through the overgrowth. Surely Heather wouldn’t have left so soon, she thought. She began to consider the late hour and frowned her aggravation. It was past Heather’s piano lessons, so the chance of her still being here was slim at best.

  Julia edged closer to the large swimming hole her great-grandfather had made for his children, fifty years before and looked quickly around the shadows for her friend, but saw nothing. With a resigned sigh she sat on her favorite log near the edge, where she and Heather had spent many summer hours daydreaming about boys and discussing their plans for the future.

  The air was unseasonably warm, even for late August, causing her neck to become moist beneath the heavy collar of her blouse, her hair stuck to her forehead, her breasts becoming sweaty under the layers of clothes binding them. Silently she removed her riding boots and knit stockings, then pulled her skirt and petticoats up above her knees. She slipped her bare legs into the cool water, swinging them back and forth in front of her. The movement of her wiggling caused waves to ripple from one side of the swimming hole to the other, while the small retreating tides tickled the flesh around her calves. She began tossing rocks that lay nearby into the water, bringing several water soaked twigs up from their imprisonment of the muddy bottom.

  Softly, she sighed, shaking her head sadly to the silent trees. She had broken her promise to Heather…again. She said she’d be here at eleven o’clock and she hadn’t shown up. Heather had practically pleaded with her to come today, but she just couldn’t sneak out of the house any earlier. Julia had tried beseeching her father to let her leave, but it was useless; even the staff was against her, watching her every move. She couldn’t blame them though; once Victor Turner made up his mind, nobody was able to persuade him to change it. As a father he was stern but loving, as an employer and former slave owner, he was known to be ruthless and callous. She couldn’t even manage to get a message to Heather to explain why she couldn’t make it as promised. Everyone was busy with those stupid colts.

  Julia thought about Heather Farnsworth, her dearest friend in the entire world. They had shared so much over the years; dreams and hopes; ideas and fantasies, even clothes and books. But somehow, things had begun to change between them as the summer months progressed. Heather seemed so distant lately, almost a recluse; it all started just before school ended. She would sneak off without word to anyone and reappear hours later, smiling and blushing when asked where she had been.

  Her parents were too busy trying to keep her sister, Sharon, out of trouble to notice the change in Heather; not that they would have care. The Farnsworths’ relationship had been the talk of Mayfield for years. The scuttlebutt was they were together only for their daughters sakes. Both had nocturnal habits that didn’t involve family or marriage. This in itself had made Heather withdrawn since she was twelve, but that was a different sort of withdrawn than the one she had now. At least back then, Julia would be able to get her to talk.

  Fo
r the past several weeks, Heather rarely spoke to her even when they were alone. She would just sit quietly staring off into space with a strange, almost mystical smile etched on her delicate young face. When asked about her odd moods, Heather would only giggle and say it was nothing important. Her attitude had been the main reason Julia desperately wanted to meet up with her today. She was going to force her to tell her what was going on.

  Frustration edged its way deeper into her mind and Julia roughly tossed another stone in the water, this one nearly the size of her fist. Ripples raced across the water’s surface, crashing against the bank on the other side. Several more twigs rose from their muddy prison at the bottom of the pond, to float freely among the leaves and branches already adorning the cool water. She heard a rustling in the bushes behind her and turned with a start, straining to see through the thick foliage.

  She couldn’t make out anything in the shadows beyond a bird or two lurking near the edge of the embankment, arguing over who would get the frightened grasshopper for supper. She turned back to the water, tossing more stones forcefully into the pond’s depth, as debris of all sort floated around her legs. It didn’t really help with her frustrations, but it did make her feel better to have something to punch; even if it was water.

  Branches of all shapes and sizes drifted past her feet, entwined with discarded leaves from the tall trees. She watched as six colorful bird feathers floated across the pond’s surface like lost ships, searching for a home or a safe port in which to anchor. She sat transfixed on the sights and serenity of the swimming hole for several long minutes, wondering what she was still doing there and how she would ever explain her tardiness to her friend, not to mention what would happen if her father caught her sneaking back into the house.

  Reluctantly, Julia surrendered to the moment and began to pull her legs out of the water ready to take her leave from the tranquility that surrounded her when something caught her attention in the brush on the other side of the pond. She narrowed her emerald eyes, unconsciously brushing the loose strands of dark hair from her face. It looked like a piece of faded blue cloth, entangled with the overgrowth that circled the water’s edge. She eyed the object from her perch on the log before standing up and wading up to her waist in the muddy water; curiosity taking over her movements. She reached it in just a few heavy steps, her feet struggling to free her from the thick muddy depth of the water’s bottom, her feet twisting on the soggy branches buried in the muck. Julia reached for the fabric and tugged the corner of the material, trying to free it from the limbs it was caught on.

  The harder she pulled, the larger the material seemed to become. It was heavy and hard to lift in the dense water. She tugged again, grunting and stumbling backwards; fighting against the mud imprisoning her bare feet. She continued to strain in her effort to free the material, stepping backward with each new pull of the fabric. She edged slowly back to the edge of the pond, her dress twisting around her calves as she slowly brought the reluctant material out of its prison. She stumbled backward when the cloth at last broke free and began to drift away from the entanglement of twigs and limbs.

  Julia recognized the material as it continued to grow in dimension and size and her frown deepened; it was much more than a mere rag or water-filled sack. It was the dress she had given to Heather just last week, but what was it doing here? Had her friend been so angry with her for not coming as promised that she had thrown it into the pond? That would mean she had walked three miles to her home in her petticoat; not likely she was sure.

  Grasping the material’s hem, Julia pulled on it again, trailing it behind her as she made her way back toward the log she had been sitting on, causing large waves to slosh around her. The dress was heavier than it looked under the brush. If felt as if it was dragging a submerged limb along with it. She pulled harder still as she climbed out of the water and up the embankment, losing her footing and falling to her soggy in the gooey mud. She cursed unladylike, smacking her hand in the sticky mud and splattering it across her bare arms and neck. She looked up at the dress that now floated freely in front of her.

  She sat studying the dark, muddy cloth with interest. It was strange in appearance, both the way it floated and the way it seemed to mold to something much larger than a tree limb, as she at first had assumed. Anticipation and curiosity bound within her, as she considered the reason behind why her friend would discard the very expensive, blue paisley dress in the muddy swimming hole. The lace collar had been torn partway off the neckline and was tangled in thin muddy strings; the sleeves ripped and weighed down by something bluish-yellow in color, the cuffs pulled down beneath the surface of the water’s depths.

  Julia sat in the disgusting mud, her bottom wet and soggy, her feet buried in the dense ooze, a frown creased her brow deeply as she watched a shadowed object slowly float up from beneath the dress, bringing the sleeve up out of the water. It looked at first as though it was a dead animal; a beaver or a duck perhaps had managed to get entwined around the material, but as she continued to watch it, the object took on an oddly familiar shape.

  It was twisted and bloated and discolored, but there was no denying what it was; a small hand poked out of the torn sleeve of the dress as it bobbed up from the bottom. With a sickening realization, Julia began to recognize the object in front of her; her eyes wide with disbelief. What she first assumed were muddy strings tangled in the dress collar were instead a mass of dark hair. She blinked repeatedly; trying to force her eyes to tell her what she was seeing wasn’t real.

  The weight of the arm bobbed gently in the water, causing the torn dress to shift slightly as it floated closer to the edge where Julia sat watching it. The hem of the dress had caught on the limbs of a beaver’s abandoned dam, causing the heavy object to twist. The tiny toes of two black boots popped up from beneath the water’s surface, making Julia’s breath catch in her throat.

  As if moving by an unknown force, she reached for an old branch in the mud beside her, poking sharply at the branches until the dress broke free, twisting freely in the rocking waves. Her pulse began to race and her breathing sharp and raspy. A great splash sounded as the heavy object hit the bank and Julia found herself staring into the lifeless face of…oh my God…Heather!

  A scream echoed around her like thunder in the clear afternoon skies and with a harsh start she realized the sound had come from her own throat. She tried to stand, but fell back in the slippery mud still holding her ankles prisoner in a death grip. Pain ripped her insides and she sank further back into the wet earth, her feet struggling for freedom from the ooze. Julia’s disbelief barely registered the dark purple gash slanting across her friend’s grotesquely bloated forehead. She twisted around, turning from the horror that floated within inches of her, her clothes tangling about her legs as she tried to move away from the water’s edge, driving her down into the mud, her lip and chin struck a stone buried beneath the slimy surface. She continued to try and get away; ignorant of the blood seeping through the mud caked on her face.

  Her eyes closed tightly and she screamed again, much louder than before, hoping someone would hear her. She pleaded with the surrounding brushes for help as birds squawked angrily above her, flying from their nests. Her soul began to sob violently as she prayed this was all just a cruel and thoughtless trick. Tears streamed down her muddy cheeks and neck, her throat becoming horse with the force of her voice, her heart ached with a pain that seared it in two.

  A dark shadow remained hidden behind the bushes, scrutinizing the scene with silent anger, mindful of the girl's hysteria. It would be simple to dispose of her right now, she was helpless to fight and nobody knew she was there; if struck from behind; she would fall easily in the mud. One quick move and she could join her friend in the unforgiving afterworld, one shove and they would drift together in a watery grave for eternity.

  But grief gripped with the misery and a mournful soul silently screamed out in denial. The pain was greater than the need for retribution. Instead, the shad
ow moved quietly away from the swimming hole, careful to stay out of sight as the sounds of voices shouted, calling out to her. The girl’s screaming hid the noise of departing feet as they disappeared among the brush.

  That girl...Julia Turner...she did this, she was responsible for all of this and she would pay for what had happened. It was her fault; it was a dreadful, horrible mistake and if there were even an ounce of justice left in this world, everyone’s little sweetheart would soon be encased in her own grave.

  It should have been her, not sweet innocent Heather Farnsworth. A soft vow echoed through the shadowy soul, as tears of grief and sorrow streaked down a dirty face; she would pay for this and pay dearly. Heather’s death would be avenged; Julia Turner would suffer the atonement for what had happened here today.

  September 1873

  Two men sat at the small round table near the front of the saloon, laughing and talking cheerfully with each other. Stories and tales were exchanged from many years gone by, as the brown fluid from the whiskey bottle slowly began to diminish. Harold raised his glass again as the handsome, blondish-brown haired man next to him followed suit.

  "Here's to Margie Webster, soon to be Margie Leonard," the man chirped, gleefully. "She is the only woman with whom I find myself in love with. I am the luckiest man out of all the blokes in Kentucky, all of America; hell, the whole universe." The glasses clinked with their salute, spattering the dark liquid across the rims and onto the table in front of them. They drank down the liquor in a large gulp, feeling the burn of its effects as it struck their throats.

  A soft grunt of disapproval echoed from the dirty, unshaven man sitting alone in the corner of the room. His dark eyes shadowed from sight, hiding his penetrating gaze from the two men who glanced silently toward him. Two empty bottles of whiskey, as well as a partially full third one adorned the table in front of him. Wet puddles from many drunken attempts to fill his small glass lay across the wooden surface, running down the edge to settle on the floor. The man had made several comments since Harold and his new partner had entered the saloon, but so far they had been successfully ignored.