A Lasting Impression

discerning—nature. “I never said that.”
    “No, sir, you didn’t.” She gave him the up-and-down look she’d been giving him since he was thirteen. “But I heard it, just the same.” She leaned closer. “You think the Lady done made up her mind on which one she gonna hire?”
    The Lady. A title some of the older Negroes had bestowed upon Mrs. Acklen years earlier. He shook his head, glancing back toward the sitting room. “Not yet. Mrs. Acklen and I will discuss it later, though, I’m sure.” Adelicia had agreed to let him offer his input before she made her final decision, since he would also be working closely with the young woman.
    “You think the Lady might pick that highfalutin’ little thing that sashayed her fancy little bottom through here a while earlier?” Cordina made a sashay movement herself, and Sutton smiled.
    “Heaven help us all if Mrs. Acklen hires her.” Which she would do over his dead body.
    Cordina let out a deep chuckle. “I done saw the way that sweet gal been eyein’ you when she was here, sir. Mmm-hmm . . .” She firmed her lips while laughter danced in her eyes. “You best watch yourself, Mr. Monroe. That little snippet of a woman got somethin’ more than helpin’ the Lady on her mind.”
    “Thank you for the warning, Cordina. It’s duly noted.”
    She smiled and patted his hand, her palm rough from kitchen work. He didn’t know how old Cordina was, and knew better than to ask. He marveled at how one woman could manage what Cordina did, while also keeping up with every morsel of gossip pertaining to both the house and grounds staff.
    If she was ever in a mood and unwilling to talk—which happened on occasion—he went to Eli, her husband, who knew how to sweet-talk the woman into just about anything. Cordina and Eli were as much a part of Belmont as anyone. And despite the war that had been fought and lost, the Negro couple had stayed on with Adelicia. And he admired their loyalty.
    Some of Belmont’s slaves— servants, he silently amended—had disappeared immediately following the end of the war. Which they were free to do, in this new order. His own family’s slaves, all seven of them, ran off shortly after his father was killed and his family home was razed. Not that there was much to stay around for after that.
    Still, they could have at least stayed to help his mother in the days following. Shown some measure of gratitude for how his parents had always treated them—with fairness and honesty. More like hired hands than slaves, and a lot better than other owners he’d known. But now all of that had changed, yet not all of the changes were sitting well with him.
    “I best get myself back down to the kitchen, sir. Make sure dinner’s cookin’ right.” Cordina glanced at the clock on the mantel, and Sutton did likewise.
    It was later than he’d thought. “I sure smelled something good when I walked by the stairs earlier.”
    She raised a brow. “Roasted chicken with white beans, and fresh corn with cream sauce. And blackberry cobbler for dessert. But not if I don’t get back to it. Mrs. Routh told me six o’clock sharp, and I ain’t been late with dinner yet. Ain’t startin’ tonight either. No, sir . . .”
    She bustled off, and Sutton headed for the study, then decided to wait in the entrance hall instead, hoping to conduct his own brief interview with Miss Laurent. Though not for the same reason he’d interviewed the previous ladies.
    He sat down and attempted to review the file in his hand, but his mind drifted back to Mr. Holbrook’s earlier proposition. Though he had yet to weigh all the variables, he already knew he would say yes to working on the case. How could he refuse? It sounded like a lawyer’s dream, and he needed the money.
    The door to the tête-à-tête room opened, and he looked up to see Reverend and Mrs. Bunting.
    “Monroe!” The reverend extended his hand. “I was hoping to see you while we were here today.” Bunting motioned to his wife. “Mrs. Bunting and I were headed out to the gardens for a brief jaunt. Would you care to join us?”
    Sutton shook the reverend’s hand, not having to wonder long about what—or whom—had brought them all the way out here. He glanced toward the sitting room and spotted Adelicia and Miss Laurent conversing by the door. Miss Laurent’s head was bowed, and Sutton couldn’t hear what they were saying. “I appreciate the offer, Reverend. But I’ll have to decline. I’m