A Lasting Impression

only after clawing her way through the carnage had she barely managed to escape with her life, and that was why she was late. But of course she couldn’t say that, and the real excuse felt flimsy by comparison.
    Standing beside the empty chair, Claire dipped her head, grateful the table hid her muddy hem. “My sincere apologies for being late, Mrs. Acklen.” The silence in the room lay heavy without an accompanying excuse, and Claire bit her tongue to keep one from slipping out, knowing it wouldn’t help her cause.
    “Allow me, Miss Laurent.” Mr. Monroe appeared behind her and held her chair as she took her seat.
    She glanced up at him, catching a hint of bayberry and spice. “Thank you, Mr. Monroe.”
    “My pleasure,” he whispered, his eyes not meeting hers. He returned to his place.
    The same woman who had answered the door returned with three other women, all carrying platters and dishes laden with food. Within seconds, the table was transformed into a mouthwatering buffet. Creamed sweet potatoes, whipped light and fluffy, mounded the scalloped edges of an ivory compote, and thick slices of herb-encrusted roasted pork loin adorned a silver platter. Lima beans in a white cream sauce and a bowl of buttery corn followed, but it was the baked apples still bubbling in their sugary cinnamon bed that drew an “Ah . . .” from Mrs. Acklen’s daughter.
    Claire had never seen the likes of such luscious offerings. Did the Acklen family eat in such a fashion every night? She couldn’t begin to imagine. . . .
    But it was what filled her glass, and everyone else’s, all the way to the brim, that truly amazed her. Ice. Which cracked and popped as the servants poured what looked to be lemonade.
    “Would you care for a roll, miss?”
    “Yes, please.” Claire looked up to see Eva, and almost felt as if she was seeing a friend. “Thank you, Eva.”
    Eva gave a delicate, proper nod older than her years. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
    Only then did Claire notice her dinner plate. Fine scalloped china with the name Acklen painted in gold lettering in the center. She touched the gold-rimmed edging, not having to wonder whether or not the gold was real.
    After everyone was served, the servants left the room. All except the woman who had escorted Claire in. “Is there anything else you be needin’, Mrs. Acklen?”
    Mrs. Acklen gave a sigh heavy with approval. “I can’t think of a thing, Cordina. You’ve outdone yourself yet again.”
    Cordina . . . Claire made mental note of the woman’s name.
    “I ’preciate that, Mrs. Acklen. But it wasn’t just me, ma’am. I have lotsa good help in my kitchen.” She dipped her head. “Hope you all enjoy your dinner.”
    As Cordina exited the room, Mrs. Acklen bowed her head, as did the rest. Claire followed suit.
    “For what we are about to receive, dear Lord, and for what we have already received in such great bounty . . .” Mrs. Acklen’s voice held a humility and quiet reverence that drew Claire’s gaze.
    Barely lifting her head, Claire peeked from the corner of her eye, just in case any of the children were looking. They weren’t. Their heads were all dutifully bowed and their eyes closed, as hers should have been.
    She chanced a look across the table and felt her breath catch. Mr. Monroe’s head was bowed, but only slightly. And he was watching her. She offered a meager smile, which he barely returned before looking down again.
    “Grant us wisdom and discernment to be good stewards of all you have bestowed . . .”
    Claire felt a slight frown. Based on her exchange with Mr. Monroe yesterday, she’d thought the two of them had reached a friendly truce. But what she’d seen in his eyes just now hardly resembled a warm welcome.
    A thought occurred. One that didn’t bring comfort.
    He’d started to say something to her yesterday, just as she was leaving, but they were interrupted. She’d been so preoccupied at the time, she hadn’t thought anything about it, until now. He’d said something about there being a lot of applicants, so she shouldn’t let it—
    Bother her . . . Claire blinked. Was that what he had been about to say? That she shouldn’t let it bother her . . . that she hadn’t gotten the job. He’d assumed Mrs. Acklen had said no to hiring her.
    “. . . and may we always be mindful of those less fortunate. . . .”
    Claire stared through the steam rising from the food. She surmised that Mrs. Acklen relied heavily on Mr. Monroe for legal