A Lasting Impression

Claire felt a disquieting envy creep up inside her. The narrow path opened into a vast meadow awash in golden rays, and Claire started to prod Athena into step beside Bucephalus again, but the mare needed no urging.
    “Look! There!” Mrs. Acklen pointed.
    On the horizon, far in the distance, Claire spotted the horse and rider, and she knew instantly who it was. Such fluid grace . . . “It looks like they’re flying.”
    “Mr. Monroe is a fine horseman. And Truxton, his thoroughbred, is nearly Bucephalus’s equal.”
    They watched until Sutton disappeared over the crest of a hill before continuing on.
    Memories Mrs. Acklen had shared of her own father churned up memories of Claire’s. She’d thought about Papa more in recent days, and almost wished for the harried stress of planning a party again. Sometimes the memories brought a sadness that moved her to tears. But most of the time, especially late at night, when the house was still and everyone else was asleep, the memories filled her with a regret that brought a different kind of sadness. One that left her tearless and guilt-ridden—and wondering if she’d tried harder with her father, if maybe, just maybe, they could have had the relationship she’d always wanted.
    “I’m certain you hold fond memories of your father as well, Miss Laurent. God rest his soul . . .”
    Gentle invitation colored Mrs. Acklen’s tone, yet Claire wasn’t about to admit that her relationship with her own father had been nothing like what Mrs. Acklen had experienced, especially after appearing so disadvantaged by her lack of training in the classics. “I’m sure you’ll understand, Mrs. Acklen, but I find it . . . difficult to speak of my father at present.” She’d tried to say it kindly, but even Claire heard the bitterness in her own voice.
    And apparently, so had Mrs. Acklen, judging by her wary expression. “Yes, I do understand, Miss Laurent.” Her voice held compassion. She reined in, and Claire followed suit. “But if you’ll allow me a word intended to comfort . . . The passing of time does help. It eases the pain, however little solace that may offer at the moment.”
    Bristling, Claire looked away.
    Mrs. Acklen meant well, she knew, but she couldn’t help comparing the woman’s privileged life and upbringing to her own lesser one. True, Mrs. Acklen had lost her husband and her father, but she was also well twice Claire’s age. Death was part of life. But it was one thing to lose a parent when you had a family and children of your own. It was another to lose a parent when losing them meant losing everything—your family, your home, your place to belong. Every security in life.
    “When did you lose your father, Mrs. Acklen?”
    “Seven years ago,” Mrs. Acklen said, looking out across the meadow.
    “And of course your mother, Mrs. Hayes, you still have with you.”
    Mrs. Acklen slowly looked back. “Yes, Miss Laurent. As you well know. And I have sisters and brothers who live not far from here too.” Mrs. Acklen stared, as though reading the threads of Claire’s thoughts. “Is there something else you’d like to ask me, Miss Laurent? Or say to me?”
    Claire swallowed, still tasting the bitterness of regret, but also feeling a twinge of caution. This was her employer, after all. She bowed her head. “No ma’am. There’s not.”
    “Then let me say it for you.”
    Claire looked up.
    “You don’t believe I know what it feels like to lose a parent at your age. And you resent my insinuation that I do.” She raised a brow. “Am I correct?”
    Cheeks flaming, Claire could hardly hold up her head, ashamed now at being so easily read. And yet a part of her still felt justified. “Yes, ma’am. That . . . sums up my thoughts fairly well.”
    “Then your thoughts would be accurate, Miss Laurent.”
    Claire frowned, her grip tightening on the reins.
    “I don’t know what it’s like to stand over the grave of my parents at the tender age of nineteen. I had the blessed privilege of a loving father for forty-one years of my life. And my mother is . . .” Mrs. Acklen blinked, and briefly firmed her jaw. “My mother is a blessing I treasure to still have with me.” She took a breath and opened her mouth as though to continue, then closed it.
    A painful moment of silence passed.
    Claire was forming the words to an apology when Mrs. Acklen turned to her.
    “Mr. Monroe shouldn’t be the only one allowed to fly on this beautiful afternoon, Miss