A Lasting Impression

popping up and down so fast Claire didn’t know where to look next, what the bid was, or how on earth the auctioneer was keeping track of everything. It was all so exciting.
    Only then did she see the bid paddle balanced on Sutton’s knee. On the back of the paddle was written the name Acklen. “Is Mrs. Acklen bidding on some of these?” she whispered.
    Sutton just looked over at her and smiled, and Claire felt her hopes rise.
    “Thirty-two dollars going once, thirty-two going twice . . .” The gavel sounded. “ Cherished Dream . . . sold for thirty-two to Mrs. Daniel Worthington.”
    Mrs. Worthington beamed and nodded to those around her as though she’d painted the oil on canvas herself.
    The next several paintings didn’t go for nearly what Cherished Dream had, and Claire’s expectation for her own entry began to fall. But the next few auction items generated a flurry of bidding and she grew encouraged again. I’ll paint as if I’m painting only for You. I’ll paint as if I’m painting only for You. . . .
    She repeated it over and over, reminding herself that no matter what came, she’d painted this canvas with that as her goal and she’d done her very best. And that was the most she could do.
    Finally, hers was brought to the stage.
    “The final item up for bid is an oil on canvas entitled . . . An American Versailles. The artist is Miss Claire Elise Laurent of Nashville, Tennessee.”
    Seeing her painting up there and hearing her name read aloud caused her to tear up. Sutton reached over and squeezed her hand.
    The auctioneer started the bid at two dollars, and paddles flew. Claire felt as if she were on a carriage careening out of control. Her heart raced. She gripped the edge of her seat, not knowing where to look next.
    “The bid stands at thirteen dollars. Do I hear fourteen?”
    Thirteen dollars already! She got so excited.
    The bidding started again and, feeling someone watching her, Claire looked over to see Mrs. Worthington looking their way. She smiled but the woman quickly turned around. And yet when the bid increased again, Mrs. Worthington glanced back. Claire looked at Mrs. Acklen’s paddle resting on Sutton’s leg and she gradually realized that Mrs. Worthington was waiting to see if Sutton was going to bid on the painting for Mrs. Acklen—before she bid herself.
    “The bid for An American Versailles stands at thirty-two dollars. Do I hear thirty-three? Because if I do, An American Versailles will be the top-bidding item for a new-artist entry in this year’s auction.”
    A paddle flew up. And another. And another. But Sutton’s paddle stayed still and unused on his leg.
    Claire bowed her head, trying to simply focus on the moment. Her first auction. And the painting was hers . Under her name. She thought of her mother and wished she could have seen this moment. But maybe, just maybe, she could.
    “The bid stands at thirty-nine dollars, folks. Do I hear forty?”
    Sutton raised Adelicia’s paddle.
    Claire turned to look at him, but he faced forward, smiling. Adelicia Acklen was bidding on her landscape! She could hardly sit still. Then she felt the stare again. She looked to see Mrs. Worthington bidding now too.
    “The bid stands at forty-one dollars. Do I hear forty-two?”
    Sutton raised the paddle again, and Claire wondered what bid limit Mrs. Acklen had set.
    “We have forty-two dollars—forty- three over here on my left!”
    Claire looked across the aisle. Mrs. Worthington’s paddle kept popping up in the air.
    “Forty-seven dollars. Forty-eight.” The auctioneer gestured first with one hand, then the other. “Forty-nine. Fifty! Do I hear fifty-one?”
    Sutton raised the paddle again, and Claire started thinking of all the kind things she could do for Mrs. Acklen. She would organize the woman’s dresser drawers. She would calligraphy labels of every Latin name for every flower, plant, shrub, and bush in Mrs. Acklen’s two-thousand-square-foot conservatory.
    Only two paddles vied for the winning bid now. Acklen and Worthington. Back and forth. Back and forth.
    “I have a bid, ladies and gentlemen, of sixty-one dollars. Do I hear sixty-two?”
    Without hesitation, Sutton raised his paddle, intent on the auctioneer.
    “I have sixty-two dollars. Do I hear sixty-three?”
    Mrs. Worthington’s faithful paddle went up.
    The auctioneer smiled. “Looks like we could be here all night, folks.”
    Everyone laughed. The hall was standing-room only now and had grown