Free Haunting Jordan by P. J. Alderman Page B

street.”
    “Nonsense—”
    “No.” Mona was adamant. “You listen to me. You and the girls have been in far greater danger than you realize. Seavey’s utterly ruthless. And those two thugs he has with him? You don’t want to know what they’ve done to the girls they’ve gotten hold of.” Her expression softened. “Look, you helped us last night, and we’re grateful. But don’t be a fool—you have no experience with men likeSeavey. Take water to the injured, if you feel you must—you’re safe enough on the beach. But stay away from the tunnels.”
    Hattie wanted to protest, to point out that as owner of a shipping business, she would eventually have to cope with the dangers of the waterfront. That as the daughter of parents who had regularly ventured into the slums of Boston to provide medical care, she knew a thing or two about what she might encounter. But she’d gone cold at the image of Charlotte and Tabitha in the hands of Seavey’s thugs.
    Mona was right—she didn’t have any experience with men like Seavey. Or with running a waterfront business. She didn’t just feel like an interloper—she felt completely out of her element.
    A fact Clive Johnson relished in reminding her of daily.
    * * *
    O NCE she’d filled a bucket from the well and hunted through the piles of merchandise from the general store for a cup, she carried both across the street. As the fire had burned lower, people had started small bonfires along the beach for warmth and were now huddled around them, their hands spread over the flames. She spied Mona moving from one group to the next, distributing the blankets.
    People huddled under blankets, their faces lined with the strain of their ordeal. Conversation trailed off to tensesilence whenever Hattie approached, but she persisted, knowing they needed the water she offered. Some refused outright, but others accepted the cup, their eyes remaining wary as they drank.
    The workman who had tended to the prostitute she’d pulled from the fire stopped to help her hold the head of a burn victim so that she could trickle water into his mouth. “I’m Frank,” he said as he gently lowered the man back to the ground with large, capable hands. “And you are?”
    “Hattie,” she replied softly. Under the circumstances, it didn’t seem right to insist he address her formally. She noted the care with which he tucked a blanket around the man.
    “Well, Hattie, it’s a good deed you’ve done tonight,” he said, leaning back on his heels and smiling tiredly. “Though folks are acting wary, they won’t forget that one of you from the hilltop area came down here.”
    She shrugged. “More should have been willing to help. ‘The good we secure for ourselves is precarious and uncertain until it is secured for all of us. …’”
    “Jane Addams,” he said, nodding. “Apt.”
    “You know of her work?” Hattie was surprised.
    His expression turned wry. “Just because I don’t live on the hill doesn’t mean I don’t stay abreast of social reform. Hull House has been an exceptionally successful settlement house for the unfortunate back East.”
    “Yes, of course,” Hattie said quickly, embarrassed that she’d allowed herself to be misled by his appearance into thinking he was uninformed. Indeed, she should have immediatelynoticed his intelligent eyes and educated speech patterns. Yet given his muscular build and work clothes, he certainly didn’t fit the mold of a refined man of letters who spent his days reading in the library.
    “We need to move the injured to the Green Light,” she said. “Do you know of any men who can help transport the ones who can’t walk on their own?”
    He nodded, waving over several who stood close by. After explaining the situation, he quickly had a system set up whereby he and Hattie would give the victims water and check their condition, then indicate who should be moved.
    She followed him down the beach to kneel by the next victim. “Are you a