A Lasting Impression

gone.
    Away from Belmont. Away from him. Away from this fresh start at a new life.
    No . . . telling the truth came at too great a cost. Besides, that life was behind her now. Wasn’t her pledge to start over, to do better, never to steal or to lie or to forge anything else again . . . enough?

23

    Y ou’re certain I’m not speaking too quickly this morning, Miss Laurent? You’re keeping up?” Mrs. Acklen crossed the study to the secretary’s desk and peered over Claire’s shoulder.
    “Yes, ma’am. I’ve written everything down. Including the Christmas menu, along with the amounts and what to order from which company.” Claire offered her the pages for review, accustomed to Mrs. Acklen’s perusal. Her hand ached from taking dictation all morning, no matter that the fountain pen was the nicest she’d ever used. The ink fairly glided onto the page.
    A gentle rap sounded.
    “Come in,” Adelicia announced, turning as the door opened. “Ah! Miss Cenas, how are you this morning?”
    Claire looked up to see the children’s tutor smiling in her direction and returned the gesture, mouthing a quiet “Good morning.” She’d met the teacher earlier in the week, and a more organized individual she’d never known.
    Miss Heloise Cenas worked magic with the children and their studies. With never a cross word and never her voice raised, the eloquently spoken schoolmarm delivered the lessons in such a way that even Claire had found herself listening, on occasion, outside the classroom, which was conveniently located in a spare bedroom off the grand salon.
    Miss Cenas paused inside the doorway. “I’m very well, Mrs. Acklen, thank you. And so happy to be back at Belmont. Forgive my interruption, ma’am, but I wanted to remind you that the children and I will be away for the day. We’re venturing across town to see Joseph Jr. We’ll have lunch with him and see his new quarters at school.”
    “Very good, Miss Cenas. Please be sure and take the basket of goodies Cordina made up for him this morning. And I wrote him a long letter before going to bed last evening. It’s in the salon on the side table, unless Mrs. Routh has already tucked it . . .” Mrs. Acklen paused, and turned to Claire. “Excuse me for a moment, Miss Laurent. I need to make sure everything is as it should be for Joseph.”
    Mrs. Acklen swept from the room, intent on her mission. And with another quick dip of her head, Miss Cenas closed the door behind them. Claire welcomed the moment of quiet.
    Stretching her back and shoulders, she peered out the window and saw Belmont’s gardeners hard at work. The men toiled from dawn to dusk every day, it seemed. No wonder the gardens were always so pristine.
    She claimed a spot on the settee and flipped through a back issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book.
    Four out of the past five mornings, with the exception of Sunday, she and Mrs. Acklen had barricaded themselves in this room, Mrs. Acklen dictating, and her transcribing. Everything from letters to formal acquaintances, to responses to business owners, to list after list of projects to be completed, which included ordering fresh oysters from New Orleans for Christmas dinner.
    On Sunday morning, the entire family had attended church services, Claire included. Apparently now that she was a more permanent employee, Mrs. Acklen expected her to attend, which was fine. Claire had enjoyed the service, especially Reverend Bunting’s sermon, and though church meant going into town, church was also the last place Antoine DePaul would be.
    The only part of the experience she hadn’t been particularly fond of was when she’d discovered that the pew she’d spent the night on had been Mrs. Acklen’s personal pew. She grew warm again remembering Sutton’s hushed remark to her as they’d left the sanctuary. “I’ve never noticed before, but that pew is almost comfortable enough to sleep on.”
    She smiled to herself. The scoundrel . . .
    Though he’d more than made up for the comment the following day when she’d discovered a bouquet of wildflowers by her bedroom door along with a note— Congratulations on a job well done, Captain. Respectfully, Your Lowly Corporal.
    Not really reading the pages of Godey’s, she returned the magazine to the table and noticed a newspaper tucked beneath a Harper’s Weekly. The newspaper seemed vaguely familiar for some reason, and when she tugged it free of the magazine, she realized why.
    Mrs. Acklen subscribed to the New