A Lasting Impression

ma’am. Not mine. She gave Eli the measurements for the stand and made the table skirt herself.”
    Adelicia turned to Claire, her tears falling freely, just as Claire’s were. “With all my heart, Miss Laurent . . . thank you. As long as I am at Belmont, I shall never move it from this place.”

39

    C laire had finished adding the column in the ledger book when a knock sounded on the library door. She quickly made note of the final tally, not at all confident in the number. “Come in . . .”
    “Good afternoon, Miss Laurent.”
    Recognizing Eli’s voice, she glanced up, and a shooting pain burned the back of her neck. It took her a moment to focus. Too many hours spent poring over figures and sums, along with late nights of planning with Mrs. Acklen, working on Madame LeVert’s memory book, arranging for not only a brass ensemble, but an orchestra as well, along with omnibuses to transport guests to and from the reception, and painting party favors—one hundred fourteen Belmont bombonnières for Mrs. Acklen’s most honored guests, filled with assorted sugar candies this time—along with myriad other tasks on the ever-growing list.
    Recent days were a blur, and she had no idea how she would get everything done in time.
    Rubbing her neck, Claire lifted her gaze. “Good afternoon, Mr. Eli.”
    He held up a cotton sack. “More responses for the reception came in the mail, ma’am.”
    “Thank you.” She gestured to a table in the corner. “Would you set them over there, please?” Five weeks ago, she’d addressed and mailed five hundred seven invitations, the majority to couples. As of yesterday, the twenty-ninth of November, eight hundred forty-six guests had sent acceptances.
    Eyeing the sack in Eli’s hand, she somehow knew that not a single one of those envelopes would contain a declination. Which pleased her, for Mrs. Acklen. But it puzzled her too.
    Without exception, the women who had declined Mrs. Acklen’s invitation to tea earlier in the month had swiftly accepted the invitation to the LeVert reception. And Claire wondered why they’d said no then but yes now. It seemed too much of a coincidence that their calendars would have all been full that day. Could it be that Madame LeVert’s presence was the swaying factor? And if that were true, did Mrs. Acklen realize it?
    Claire knew that if the answer to the first question was yes, the answer to the second had to be as well. Because Adelicia Acklen was as intelligent and discerning an individual as she’d ever met. Yet to think that Mrs. Acklen was intentionally hosting this reception for Madame LeVert only to ingratiate herself to her peers seemed beneath the woman. Furthermore, it felt . . . self-serving.
    No sooner came that thought than Claire felt as though she were looking into a mirror, and she didn’t like what she saw. But her situation was different—at least that’s what she told herself—yet she still didn’t like the comparisons her conscience was drawing.
    “Excuse me, Miss Laurent, I don’t mean to take you from your work”—Eli laid a copy of the Banner on the desk and pointed—“but Mrs. Acklen’s party got another mention today, ma’am.”
    Welcoming the interruption, Claire picked up the paper. “Thank you, Eli.” An article had appeared in this same newspaper four weeks earlier announcing the “By Invitation Only” event being coordinated by “Mrs. Acklen’s personal liaison.” At first, Claire had been a little miffed that the newspaper hadn’t included her by name—she would have enjoyed seeing her name in print.
    Then thoughts of Antoine swiftly resurfaced, and she was grateful for the journalist’s oversight.
    Eli paused by the desk. “Is there anything I can get you, Miss Laurent?”
    Claire glanced at the ledger book, then massaged her forehead, sighing. “Another pair of eyes to check these numbers, perhaps?” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could recall them. Eli was well spoken and could read and write, which was uncommon enough for a Negro, illegal as it was, or had been. But she had no idea about the extent of his education. And the thought of offending the dear man made her want to—
    “I’d be obliged to work the sums for you, if you’d like, Miss Laurent.” Claire nudged the ledger book toward him, and in a fraction of the time it had taken her to add the numbers, Eli reached for the pencil and made a correction. “You can check me, ma’am, but I’m fairly sure