A Lasting Impression

her ankles, then, as she got closer to the deeper pool, around her calves and waist. By the time the water reached her chest, she knew she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—turn back, but oh . . . it was cold.
    Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and submerged herself beneath the surface, and for a few brief seconds, the world above faded from view. It was the desire to be clean, and the longing to bury her old life in exchange for the promise of a new one that permeated every corner of her heart, that crowded out every last doubt.
    She didn’t know how to go about reshaping this world she’d created without destroying it completely, but she trusted the Potter to know, to show her, and to mold her. Into whatever He wanted her to be.

    Belmont came into view and Sutton reined in, as much to give the mare from the livery in town a chance to rest, as to give himself a moment to rehearse, again, what he was going to say to Claire when he saw her. Forgive me for being such a fool didn’t seem like enough, yet that’s the first thing that came to him.
    In nearly every letter she’d written, she’d asked when he would be returning, so he felt sure she’d missed him. But being back now, coming in unannounced, and not knowing what the situation was between her and Andrew Stanton, he suddenly felt out of place, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
    The mare pranced beneath him, and he urged her on uphill toward the mansion. He’d stopped briefly by the law office in town to speak to Holbrook, but he had been out on an appointment. Sutton hadn’t been too disappointed. The person he really wanted to see was at Belmont. Or he hoped she was.
    He spotted Eli on the front portico. Already the old man had an arm raised in greeting.
    Eli met him at the front steps. “Welcome back, Mr. Monroe. We didn’t know you were returning today, sir. I would have sent a carriage into town for you.”
    Sutton dismounted and handed him the reins. “Hello, Eli. And it’s no bother. I left Angola sooner than planned.”
    “Nothing’s amiss, I hope? Mrs. Acklen and the children are all right?”
    “Everything’s fine, and the Acklens are well. I simply had business to tend to. My trunks should be arriving from the station soon.”
    “I’ll see to them, sir.”
    Sutton started toward the house. “Is Miss Laurent inside?”
    “No, sir. She left earlier this morning. I’m sure she’s fine, but I was about to send Zeke out to make sure she was all right.”
    “All right? Where did she go?”
    Eli motioned. “Out across the meadow, sir, toward the creek, like she usually does. She had all of her painting things with her, sir. She’s usually back by now for lunch, that’s all.”
    Sutton reclaimed the mare’s reins. “I’ll ride out and find her.” Astride the mare, he glanced down. “If she shows up without me, tell her I’m back and that I need to speak with her.”
    A hint of a smile tipped the old man’s mouth. “Yes, sir, Mr. Monroe. I’ll do that. And, sir . . . ?”
    Sutton held the mare steady as Eli stepped closer.
    “If I might be permitted to say something to you, sir . . .”
    Sutton nodded but got the distinct feeling the older man was set on saying it either way.
    “Your father was among the finest of men, Mr. Monroe. It doesn’t matter what others might say about him now—or write about him, sir. Those of us at Belmont who knew Dr. Monroe still hold him in great honor. I hold him in great honor, sir.” Eli’s head dipped the slightest bit. “Just as I do his son.”
    Sutton looked away. Obviously Eli had read the article in the Banner. But why this man’s opinion of his father—and of him —should move him to such a degree made no sense. Sutton worked to loosen the tightness in his throat. “Thank you, Eli. I appreciate that.”
    The old man held up his right hand and pointed to a raised scar that extended from the base of his thumb clear across the top of his wrist to the other side. “I would’ve lost my hand years ago, sir, had your father not doctored me. He came back every day for a month, then every week for several months after. He was out here the day before he—” Eli bowed his head. “Before they killed him, sir. He told me then, like he always did, how proud he was of you. And he’d be proud of you now too, sir, with how you’re handling all this.”
    Sutton knew better than to try to speak again. It was all he could do to nod an acknowledgment. He rode out toward the