A Lasting Impression

you ride?”
    Half an hour later—with the newspaper tucked in the bottom of the trash bin in the kitchen—Claire found herself seated sidesaddle on a beautiful little black mare named Athena. The spirited animal pranced beneath her, straining at the bit, but Claire managed to hold her steady.
    Armstead, Mrs. Acklen’s coachman, assisted Mrs. Acklen into the saddle of a magnificent bay stallion. The horse looked identical to one depicted in an oil painting in the central parlor, and also to a bronze replica in the small study. The painting was of Mrs. Acklen some years earlier, holding the reins of a stallion—a thoroughbred, she’d learned.
    Mrs. Acklen skillfully prodded the massive brute up beside the pretty mare, and Athena snorted and tossed her head, as though challenging his superior breeding. The stallion, standing a good three hands taller than Athena, merely glanced over with passing interest.
    Mrs. Acklen leaned forward and stroked the thoroughbred’s neck. “How long has it been since you’ve ridden, Miss Laurent?”
    Claire had to think. “Over two years, I’d say. But when we first came to this country, we lived near a horse farm. The owner was gracious enough to let me ride in the afternoons in exchange for giving his young daughters art lessons. So . . .” She dared let a touch of confidence slip through. “I’m a fairly good rider. Or at least I was.”
    “Is that so?” Mrs. Acklen’s gaze moved over her as though she were evaluating Claire’s equestrian skills. “Don’t let Athena’s size mislead you, Miss Laurent. She’s a spirited little thing who flies across these meadows. But I’m afraid she can get rather ornery when she loses to Bucephalus.”
    Loses to Bucephalus? Who had said anything about racing? Claire ran her fingers through Athena’s mane, debating whether or not to say what she was about to say. Prudence advised that she not, but friendly competitiveness won out. “In my limited experience, Mrs. Acklen, I’ve noticed that sometimes the horse who’s least favored ends up finishing first.”
    Athena whinnied as though in agreement, and Claire leaned forward to reward the mare with a quick rub behind the ears.
    Unmistakable challenge brightened Mrs. Acklen’s eyes. “ Hmmm . . . look at that. I think she likes you.”
    “You sound surprised, ma’am.”
    “No, no. Not surprised.” Mrs. Acklen’s smile turned sugary sweet. “It’s just that Athena usually prefers men. She threw her last two female riders. Shall we be off?” Without waiting for a response, she flicked the reins and Bucephalus started forward.
    Staring slack-jawed, Claire felt the powerful ripple of Athena’s rib muscles beneath her. She gave the mare a gentle prod, and Athena shot off at a trot.
    Mrs. Acklen set a steady pace down through the meadow and across the creek to the valley beyond. Claire rode beside her, doing her best not to allow Athena to pass Bucephalus, which the mare seemed intent on doing. Claire wondered whether she should try to make conversation, but after listening to dictation for hours on end, she preferred the quiet and the rustle of the wind through the meadow grasses and figured Mrs. Acklen did too.
    A touch of crimson edged the maples—the same ones Sutton had pointed out from her bedroom window. But that slightest hint of color was enough to prime her imagination. Mrs. Acklen had already paid her her first wages, more than Claire had expected to earn. So she planned on buying canvases and paints later in the week, and would be ready to capture nature’s masterpiece when it was at its height.
    “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Acklen said, her focus trained ahead.
    Claire knew the question wasn’t really a question, but neither was it rhetorical. “Belmont is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. The first time I saw it, I thought of it as a miniature American Versailles . ”
    Mrs. Acklen laughed. “Having experienced the beauty of Versailles firsthand, as I’m assuming you have as well . . .”
    Claire nodded.
    “. . . I’ll take that as a compliment.”
    “As it was intended, ma’am.”
    Athena quickened her pace again, and Claire tugged the reins to keep the mare in step. Mrs. Acklen was right. The mare seemed bent on putting Bucephalus in his place.
    Mrs. Acklen nudged Bucephalus to a faster trot, giving Athena a passing sideways glance. If Claire didn’t know better, she might think Mrs. Acklen was taunting the animal. And her