A Lasting Impression by Tamera Alexander Page A

wanted her to do, instead of what she knew she wanted to do.
    Yet, in the end, He’d still said no.
    From her vantage point, Claire could see one of the women kneeling. Only then, be it right or wrong, did she start to feel self-conscious about overhearing their conversation.
    “What makes you think you’re going to get the position anyway? Half of the girls we know have interviewed for it and were turned away.”
    “Because I’m the most qualified, Susanna. I know what it’s like to move in her circle. Father says Mrs. Acklen thanked him by name the last time she was in the bank.”
    “Yes . . . but the advertisement calls for applicants skilled in filing and able to manage details. You have trouble keeping the perfume bottles on your bureau straight. And you don’t speak French either.”
    Claire bumped her head on the bottom of the pew—then froze.
    “What was that ?” came a harsh whisper. The skirt of the woman standing swished as she turned this way and that.
    Claire held her breath.
    “It was just a wagon or something else outside. And excusez-moi ! I do so speak French. À quelle heure arrive le train? ”
    Claire let out her breath and then inhaled again. The woman interviewing for the position did have a passable French accent. But passable didn’t mean she truly knew the language.
    “Susanna, are you going to pray with me or not? The interviews end today, so this is my only chance!”
    Claire watched Susanna go to her knees beside her bossy friend and wondered how long they were going to be. She hoped not too long because she would hate to be caught hiding beneath—
    Only seconds had passed before the overly forward woman stood. Claire smiled to herself. Apparently, when attempting to sway the Almighty’s opinion, the length of the prayer was of little importance.
    “I need to go get ready for my interview.”
    Susanna rose. “I thought you said it wasn’t until noon.”
    “It isn’t! But I need for everything to be perfect. You’ve seen her in town. You know what she dresses like, how she always looks so perfect. I have to look that way too. And I need for you to help me. Please  . . .”
    A tired sigh. “All right, I will. But you have to promise you’ll put in a good word for my younger brother, if you get the job.”
    The woman gave a tiny squeal. “I will. I promise. But I can’t guarantee anything.”
    Hasty steps portended their approach, and Claire lay perfectly still.
    “Your brother is going to have to work very hard in order to get that job, and then to keep it. I won’t put my reputation on the line for just anyone. . . .”
    The front doors to the church creaked open and closed again, and Claire breathed a sigh of relief.
    She waited a moment longer to make certain she was alone, then scooted out from beneath the pew, dragging her belongings with her. When she reached down to retrieve her boots, she noticed her dress. She was covered in dust! Every inch of her, from bodice to hem, including her stocking feet.
    Huffing, she brushed herself off as best she could, her plans for the day entirely altered by what she’d just learned. She hadn’t the slightest idea how she would accomplish it, but she needed to obtain an interview with . . . Mrs. Acklen, whoever that was—today! Because she needed a job, and money to pay for food and a place to live. After all, she could file and manage details and she spoke fluent French!
    She frowned. Her underskirts were so twisted, and no wonder.
    She reached beneath her dress and gave them a good rustle, then—alternately balancing each foot on the edge of the pew—she took the opportunity to straighten and secure her stockings. Feeling her corset and chemise off kilter too, she remedied that with some quick tugs and coercive boosts, then tried to make some sense of her hair. Grit and dust layered her scalp, so she knew excessive efforts there would be wasted.
    What she needed was a long hot bath, a change of clothes, and an