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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