Harnessed Passions Read online

  It must be around lunch time which meant Margie was setting his meal on the table for him just about now. He sure didn’t relish the idea of going home drunk and hoped the walk would help sober him up enough to feign illness and go to bed for a few hours. As much as he hated lying to her, he hated the situation Turner had placed him in more.

  The only good thing about this day was Daniel's absence. He had gone to Graves County on business and fortunately, he wouldn't return until the day after tomorrow. No doubt, he'd be back out at the old man’s stables come Saturday morning as always, but Harold knew Turner wouldn't say anything about his plans. He was determined to keep his transaction a secret until his death. Good God! If Daniel knew, or even suspected what the old man had done, he would be furious beyond words! The whole idea was insane, even if it was legal. If only Daniel hadn't turned the man over to him, Harold growled again, staggering in the direction of home.

  Walking was very difficult since he could barely feel the street beneath his feet, but he managed to move forward without stumbling and falling even once. Harold prayed he could walk off enough of the alcohol’s effects to appear semi normal, before he confronted Margie. If he thought being locked in a room with the mighty Turners all morning was rough, just wait until his wife, now six months pregnant, got a whiff of the whiskey on his breath. Hell had no fury, like the wife of a drunken lawyer.

  The air was warm, and the wind blew gently across the tall wild grass of the open meadows. Daniel sat on the back of his steed, Roustabout, looking out over the land and watching nearly a hundred horses as they grazed the thick green fields.

  He loved this place and had always felt content here, ever since he first set foot on this property. It was as though he were one with the vast contentment of the land. Daniel untied the ribbon restraining his hair back from his face, allowing the longer-than-style strands to blow freely in the breeze. He unbuttoned his frock coat and slipped it off his shoulders, laying it across his horse’s hind quarters. He knew he shouldn't have worn such a heavy garment, but the mornings were cooler this week, than last. At least the afternoon held the warmth he had always longed for.

  Daniel smiled at the peaceful contentment that surrounded him, unaware of what the future held in store. He knew only a portion of what Victor Turner had planned, yet it was far more than he felt he deserved, and regardless of his constant arguing with the old man, he just wouldn't listen to reason. Daniel knew Victor's children would be furious when they learned their father had left him half the stables. He was certain there would be a fight on his hands, but it had been Victor’s wishes and he would never go against a dying man’s last request.

  Sighing deeply, he leaned back in the saddle and tipped his face toward the sun. He loved the dry warmer climate of Kentucky compared to his home country of England. Though it rained, it was never as wet or cold as London. It was an inviting land and he had spent five years building a strong relationship with the property owner. He thought of him more as a father than a friend or client; a thought even Louise felt content with. Though he knew the will had already drawn up, he couldn’t seem to get his mind off the heirs to the fortune or what their reactions would be when they learned they would be sharing the stables with a complete stranger.

  Victor often spoke of his two children, Julia and Jeremy. Julia, he said, was pampered beyond the point of reason, yet she would always be his angel. He described her briefly as being ornery and hot headed saying she had a bite as deadly as a scorpion and a tongue as sharp as a whip. There was a definite gentleness about the way he spoke of his daughter; a sparkle in his eye when his thoughts drifted over the years of happy memories.

  He said she moved to Boston to be nanny to his sister-in-law's three children, but he never really went beyond that. He mentioned once a tragedy that had driven Julia from Kentucky, making her swear never to return. Daniel assumed it must have had something to do with an undesirable man; an unsuitable or unfortunate love affair, perhaps.

  Daniel snickered to himself, remembering the many young debutants he knew back in London, who fell into the same category; innocent by day and hotter than hades by night. No matter how much Victor pleaded or plotted, Julia refused to return home. The sorrow in the man's weak voice made Daniel suspect, being part owner of Turner Stables really wouldn't matter much to her. Her intentions - according to Victor - was to live the life she made for herself; which meant she would want to return to Boston as soon as he was dead and buried.

  Jeremy wasn't described in quite as loving a way as his older sister. Victor stated that his only son had been reckless and somewhat of a playboy, in his earlier days. He hated everything his father offered to him, even to the point of using an inheritance from his grandmother to put him through school rather than the money his parents offered him. Victor said he was just as stubborn as sister and never agreed with anyone about anything, least of all his own father. The only good thing he said about his youngest child was how much he loved and respected his mother.

  Of Julia, Victor's tone always seemed to be more admiring than the one he used when speaking of Jeremy. He spoke often of a little girl growing up, who would ride with her daddy when he would go to round up the horses. He said if it wasn't for her bull-headed attitude, she would have had no faults whatsoever and blaimed his wife's Italian blood for her determination.

  Louise Turner on the other hand spoke lovingly of both her children, as Daniel knew only a mother could. Good or bad, her children were her pride and soul. She agreed that both were stubborn and independent and even admitted that they were somewhat spoiled, yet there was nothing unfavorable that she could - or perhaps would - mention of either one of them.

  She bragged her son Jeremy up, mentioning time and again how he would soon be graduating college and how she wished he would move back to Kentucky when he did. She loved her youngest child, and even went so far as to mention several prospective and desirable young girls whom she felt would make a proper wife for him. Daniel would never tell the woman that he knew most of the young ladies she mentioned. He would never admit to her that they were less than respectable, or tell her how many had shared his own bed, along with half the men in Mayfield.

  Louise spoke often of Julia, as well. She told him how beautiful her daughter was and how she would make a wonderful wife and mother to some lucky, deserving young man - as if he had never heard that line before. She admitted she really couldn't describe her daughter in perfect detail for him, since she had seen her only twice in the past five years. A tragedy involving her best friend had torn Julia’s life a part; driving her from her home and family. Daniel began to wonder if the event Victor had mentioned was more of a love triangle, then an unwanted or unreturned liaison.

  The woman went on to say she had asked her younger sister if she might take Julia in for a while. She had intended for Julia to remain in Boston long enough to finish out her senior year of school and then return home. But much to her mother’s disappointment, Julia refused to come back to Kentucky. She accepted a position her Aunt Lena offered her and became the family's nanny.

  Apart from the few differences, both Victor and Louise described the same traits in their children; it sounded as though Daniel would soon be meeting a set of Siamese twins. He didn't know whether they would be receptive, or resentful toward him. He wasn't even sure what they looked like, although he could imagine both had dark hair, a trait shared between their parents. He imagined both were stubborn, conceited, arrogant and vain due to their lavish upbringing and money. He only hoped they didn't remain in Kentucky long enough to cause trouble.

  The noise of hooves brought Daniel out of his stupor in time to witness Rally Overton - the stable's foreman - hurrying his stallion in his direction. Daniel estimated the man to be at least twenty years his senior, making him close to fifty years old, if not more. Overton’s skin was dark brown from the many years in the sun, skinny and short in stature, as well as being an illiterate who never desired to alter his circumstances. He ma
y not have been able to read or write, but he was damned good at reading the land and animals around him. He could tell when a mare was going to give birth and when the ground was too cold to let the horses out to graze, even if it felt warm to the rider.

  “Mr. Brownin’," the man shouted, pulling his horse to a halt next to Daniel's. "We've got a problem." That was nearly how every sentence the man began started. There was always a problem, even if it was nothing more than a cat having a litter of kittens behind the woodpile.

  "What is it Mr. Overton?" Daniel asked with a sigh

  "One a the mare's is real sick. I think its colic, but I ain't fer certain sure. We found some moldy feed in the back o’ one o’ the stalls, but I ain't for certain sure, how it got there."

  "Have you told Mr. Turner about this?" Daniel had been overseeing the stables for Victor since he helped the man draw up his first will four years ago. They had developed an instant liking for each other, as well as a deep respect for the other's intellect concerning well-bread horseflesh. Victor offered to sell Daniel his prize stallion, Roustabout at an almost obscenely low price. Daniel had been so pleased with his horse - a hopeful for next year's Beaumont Stakes – he had been willing to help the old man at the ranch, which he had done nearly every day for the past three years.

  "No sir, I ain't. Do ya think I’s outta?" Daniel shook his head, aware more than anyone - with the exception of Louise - just how sick the land's owner really was. To keep the ranch hands respect and loyalty, he had to help with the charade that all was normal at the main house.

  "I think we can take care of it ourselves. I'll tell him after supper. By then we'll have it all under control." Daniel and Overton hurried back to the stables, plotting the cure and cause of the moldy feed.

  Several strange things had occurred lately, but there were too many contradictory reports to point a finger at just one person. The only thing everyone agreed on, was the dark haired woman seen riding off the day they found three dead horses. Nobody knew who she was or where she came from and she rode too fast and knew the terrain too well to find. Even with Roustabout, they couldn't catch her.

  Hopefully they would be able to discourage anything more serious from happening in the future, or from causing trouble at the annual fall sales. Daniel feared for Victor's health and feared too that he would demand helping them find the culprit behind the accidents. He not only had to protect the old man from an early grave, but he had to make certain the stables didn't suffer from these strange events. A little bad publicity could cause a huge ripple in the gossip chain and the stables would suffer the consequences.

  Until Julia and Jeremy Turner returned home, it was Daniel's responsibility to keep things under control, and out of respect for the old man, he vowed to do just that. He didn't give a damn what the Turner brats had to say about it. If it was a fight they wanted, he would be prepared for it!

  The peak of the dark brown roof rose above the towering trees, as the hack pulled up the dirt road leading home. The ranch style windows with their diamond framed panes, shined like rare gems in the setting sun. A warm breeze blew across the fields and stables, bringing with it the familiar odors of a horse ranch. The coachman continued on his journey with a snort of disapproval. It was a scent Julia had once thought she'd never be able to wash off her skin; the scent was pure home and she found herself inhaling deeply. Strange how someone could come to miss something so repugnant as the smell of horse dung and drying hay.

  The door to the large ranch house swung open and the aging butler - long overdue for retirement - stepped out on the large wooden veranda as the team of horses pulled to a halt. His tight curly hair was sparse and silver and showed of a recent trim; his face seemed a little darker and held several wrinkles Julia hadn't remembered him having a few years back; yet he was just as welcoming and friendly as always.

  Thompson had been with the Turner family since before she was born. He had been a bought and paid for slave, now free and working for a weekly salary. He had the chance to leave years ago and start a life as a free man, but chose instead to stay on at the ranch. He was a loyal employee and a good friend. Never in all the time Julia had known him, did he miss a day’s work; much to her father's constant complaints. It was odd how two people, who never appeared to get along, became as dependent on each other as Thompson and Victor Turner were.

  Julia watched the old man accept her luggage from the driver, who quickly unloaded her belongings from the top of the coach. He was anxious to leave the smells of the farm behind as the haste in his actions revealed. Julia paid him promptly, included a generous tip and then turned towards the woman walking down the steps behind her.

  Her dark hair, though streaked with strands of silver, matched Julia's in length and texture. The midnight blue of her eyes shined her pleasure, yet her features were pale and drawn making her appear much older than her fifty-two years. It was obvious there was more behind Julia's urgent homecoming than she had been led to believe.

  The return home to Turner Stables was prompted by a telegram from Louise who had pleaded with her daughter to return to Kentucky, telling her only that her father was very ill and she was needed. The facts were hard to accept, since her father had been sick only twice in his life as she recalled. That with the fact that her mother was prone to exaggerate, led Julia to believe all was fine. Now, as she stood watching the older woman, seeing the fatigue and exhaustion etched on her delicate features, she realized there was much more here than what had been revealed in the brief explanation.

  "Julia, darling, welcome home. How was your trip?" Louise hugged her daughter's slender frame against her, wrapping her arms around her so tightly Julia was certain she'd choke the breath from her.

  "It was fine, long but good. How's father?" she asked, pulling away.

  "He's resting right now, but you can see him in a little while. Let's get you settled in, and get some dinner into you. You look as though you haven't had a square meal in well over a year. Hasn't your Aunt Lena been feeding you?"

  Julia and her mother followed close behind Thompson who walked up the steps and into the spacious, well cared for mansion. She looked around the entry as she removed her dark red and black hat and gloves.

  The front hall was just as impeccable as always, etched in varnished oak with a matching light brown carpet. The stairs that faced the door wound around to the top floor, encircled in an oak banister that brought back many memories of little children sliding and racing down them. It had been five years since Julia was last here, yet everything remained exactly as when she left, making her homecoming feel stale; it was as if she had never left.

  "I want to know about father's condition," she insisted, receiving an urgent look from her mother, as she glanced towards the dark man who stood by the stairs with the luggage. It didn't seem unlikely that Thompson wasn't aware of the situation or her father's illness, yet Louise acted as though she really couldn't speak freely in front of him.

  "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 t
he 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