P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“Unfortunately, I have a meeting this afternoon. It wouldn’t do to have you girls visit Mr. Fuller’s establishment without a chaperone.”

“But it’s just a few blocks from the house,” Charlotte protested, “and I could take Tabitha with me. Nothing could possibly happen to us!”

“Nevertheless, it wouldn’t be appropriate.” Hattie didn’t want to alarm Charlotte by mentioning what Mona had said about girls from the hill area kidnapped and sold into prostitution.

“Then Sara could take us.”

“Sara won’t have the time. Now that we’ve let go the rest of the household staff, she has more duties to fulfill.”

“Please?” Charlotte wheedled. “She’d make the time if you asked her.”

“And then she’d feel she had to work extra hard tomorrow to make up for the time she took off to indulge you.” Hattie gave Charlotte a chastising look. “That would hardly be fair.”

As they had arrived at Miss Willoughby’s shop, she shushed Charlotte’s continued objections. Opening the door, she ushered the girls inside. To her dismay, Eleanor Canby stood at the counter, discussing dress designs with the shop’s proprietress.

A satisfied look settled over Eleanor’s face when she saw them. “Hattie,” she acknowledged with a slight nod. “You’ve chosen a nice day to venture out with the girls. I trust you’ve wisely decided to focus on domestic chores in accordance with the dictates of your period of mourning.”

Hattie forced a smile. “The girls and I have the urge to make several new dresses, yes.”

“It does get tedious, wearing the same mourning outfits,” Eleanor agreed, glancing over Hattie’s conservatively cut black muslin day dress and walking boots with approval. “I assume you’re hoping to make a few new dresses that will be suitable, once summer is behind us? I’m sure Celeste can advise you as to the latest fashions.”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” Hattie smiled at the seamstress, who was Eleanor’s niece, the daughter of her brother, a well-respected local physician. The diminutive woman was quiet and shy, and easily intimidated by Eleanor. But once away from Eleanor’s influence, Celeste tended to relax and chat knowledgeably about the latest styles.

Eleanor seemed to want to continue the conversation, no doubt waiting for an opportunity to bring up her latest editorial. Refusing to be drawn, Hattie gave her a polite nod. “The girls and I will be examining your ribbons, Celeste, while you finish with Eleanor.”

A look of frustration passed over Eleanor’s face. “I gather you read this week’s issue of the Gazette?” she demanded.

Hattie turned back, sighing inwardly. “Yes, though you know I don’t agree with your views.”

“My reporters are never wrong.”

“Perhaps, but a second fire could have been started in that location to deliberately mislead the fire department. Have the authorities considered that possibility?”

Eleanor pursed her lips. “I fail to understand why you continue to defend the actions of such depraved individuals.”

“I don’t like to see innocents accused of wrongdoing. And I sincerely doubt the fire was the result of the actions of a prostitute.”

“It will do you no good to voice that opinion in this neighborhood.”

Hattie abruptly lost patience. “So it’s come to that, has it, Eleanor? I’m not allowed to say what I think in public? I thought members of the press were staunch supporters of the First Amendment.”

“This has more to do with your poor judgment than the First Amendment,” Eleanor retorted. “It’s bad enough that you took the girls down to fight the fire. But to continue to openly accuse this town’s businessmen of illegal acts will only further ostracize you, as well as jeopardize any possibility Charlotte will have of making a good match.”

Charlotte touched Hattie’s arm, her expression beseeching, but Hattie shook her head. “Just what do you fear, Eleanor? The truth? Or your investors? Is Michael Seavey one of them?”

“Surely you aren’t accusing me of slanting the news!”

“You don’t need to, as long as you control the editorial page.”

Eleanor’s face flushed dull red, and she stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Watch your tongue, Hattie. If I should make it known I’ve cut you from the list of guests for my social events, no one in this town will have anything to do with you. I hold all the power here.”

From the corner of her eye, Hattie caught Charlotte’s flinch. “To take such a petty action would be beneath you,” she said evenly.

Eleanor stepped back and nodded. “Perhaps. But if you become a social liability, I’ll have no choice.”

Hattie gazed steadily at Eleanor. “If you’ll excuse us, we have ribbons to select. Girls?”

As they walked over to the ribbon display, Hattie realized Eleanor hadn’t answered her question about whether Michael Seavey was an investor in the Gazette .

* * *

UNWILLING to allow her argument with Eleanor to cast a pall on their outing, Hattie indulged Charlotte’s whims for ribbons and lace more than she probably should have. But by the time they arrived back at the house, Charlotte was chatting excitedly with her young maid about the dress patterns they would start cutting that afternoon, so Hattie felt the expenditures were justified. And though Charlotte tried once more to convince Hattie of the dire necessity of a visit to Fuller’s Ice Cream Parlor, she seemed content enough to remain at home with Tabitha.

Relieved, Hattie retired to the library to continue to read through the business files. She’d barely gotten started, though, when Frank Lewis responded to her summons by presenting himself at the kitchen door. At Hattie’s request, Sara brought him to the library, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“There was no reason to assume you have to use the workers’ entry, Mr. Lewis,” Hattie chided.

“On the contrary.” He leaned against the library doors, arms crossed, his gaze cool. “To have come to the front door would’ve given the wrong impression. I don’t aspire to be on equal footing with your neighbors.”

“Reverse snobbery?” she asked lightly.

“Nothing so lofty—I simply don’t respect many of them.” He added, “And you are in mourning, are you not? Your neighbors can’t be left wondering whether you’re receiving gentlemen callers.”

She conceded the point. “You are correct, though I chafe against the societal restraints of the mourning period. A woman is expected to do nothing—sitting in her house with the curtains drawn day after day—going slowly mad from the inactivity.” She glanced at the housekeeper, who continued to hover in the doorway behind him. “Tea and sandwiches, please, Sara.”

Sara sniffed. “Shall I feed him in the kitchen, ma’am?”

“No, he’ll have a light lunch in here with me. We have work to do.”

Frank raised his eyebrows but said nothing while Sara huffed her disapproval all the way down the hall. He didn’t move from the door. “What is it that you want from me, Mrs. Longren? Last time we talked, you accused me of all but murdering your husband.”

“Can you deny that you gave no thought to the potential consequences of what you printed?”

“I printed the truth,” he said, shrugging. “I feel no need to justify myself to you, nor do I feel any remorse that your husband is dead. He was not a man who deserved loyalty, from his crew or from a woman such as yourself.”

The callousness of his statement shocked her. Still, she managed not to show it. “Please, won’t you be seated?”

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze making her nerves skitter. Then he pushed away from the door, wandering over to a wall of bookcases.