by Gayle Roper
“And Freedom House is the result?”
Stephanie nodded. “We only make a small dent in a very large problem, but we can do that.”
“Did you ever see your husband after you left?”
“I saw him in court when I fought for sole custody of the kids.” Stephanie smiled. “I won. After all, I had all those medical records of my various injuries. And a judge who understood the issues at stake.”
The phone rang.
“Excuse me.” Stephanie went to her desk. “I’m on a twenty-four-hour page because of the nature of Freedom House.”
I thought of my father, who was an absolutely wonderful husband and father. I thought of Curt, so kind and loving, and I was suddenly ashamed for all I’d taken for granted.
“Tina!” The command in Stephanie’s voice drew me. “Tina! Now listen to me. A bad morning at work doesn’t give him the right to unload on you.”
Tina murmured something.
“We’ve talked about this before, Tina. You’re panicking, doing what comes naturally to you. Don’t let yourself do that. You’ve got to choose to do the right thing, not the known thing. It’s your choice. To stay or to go—it’s your choice.” She listened for a minute. “I know it’s scary. Oh, Lord, please give Tina Your strength and Your courage. Help her make wise choices for her children’s sakes. And protect all of them, Father. Protect all of them.”
I listened to Stephanie’s prayer and wondered how many women she’d prayed with through the years, either over the phone or in person. How many women now lived without fear because of Freedom House?
Stephanie hung up and sat quietly for a minute or two with her eyes closed. Then she looked at me.
“One of the things we do for women who want to escape and are willing to take that risk is plan what to take and where to go. Some, like Tina, have been under their husbands’ thumbs so long that we have to begin with things as elementary as getting their purse and the kids. And some like Tina need time to save the taxi fare.”
“Do they live here if they bolt?”
She shook her head. “Once in a while someone stays here if there’s no other option. But I don’t take people in often for two reasons. My family and I live here, and I don’t want to endanger my kids. Also, we’re too public to be a safe house. A true safe house is a closely guarded location.”
“If this isn’t a residential facility, what do you do besides plan escape routes?”
Stephanie stood and walked back to the easy chair across from me. “We’re basically a training ministry. We teach women all about the power and freedom of choice. We teach them they can make good choices or bad choices. It sounds so obvious, this choosing well, when we say it to each other, but it’s a new truth to many women. And of course we teach the women that the greatest power and freedom of all come from choosing to believe in Christ.”
“So how do you teach this? What specific programs do you have?”
“I have a staff, mostly volunteers, who work with me. We teach Bible studies. We have support groups. We counsel. These programs might not sound like much, but they represent hours and hours of work each week.”
I didn’t doubt that for a minute. “May I come to one of the Bible studies?”
She looked at me carefully. “I need to know that you’ll respect the privacy of these women. It’s crucial to protect them. Their lives are literally at risk.”
“Believe me,” I said, hastening to reassure her, “I understand that. I promise to protect them.”
She nodded. “Okay then.”
A knock sounded on the door of the office, and there was Sherrie grinning at us.
“Hey, honey,” Stephanie said. “Is it three already?”
“Just about.” Sherrie came in and sat on the sofa beside me. Her eyes sparkled with life and good humor.
“This is Merry Kramer,” Stephanie said. “She’s a reporter at the News. She’s going to write an article about Freedom House.”
Sherrie looked at me. “Hey, that’s great. Somebody needs to write about Mom and all the good stuff she does.”
The phone rang again, and Stephanie went back to her desk to take the call.
Sherrie leaned toward me. “Can I be in the Freedom House article? I’ve got stuff I want to say, stuff I think kids need to hear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve lived here for a long time now, and I watch the women.” Her young face was serious, her brow furrowed. “I listen to Mom when she talks to them. I even go to some of the Bible studies. I’ve reached some conclusions that might keep girls from getting into marriages with the wrong guy. Sort of preventative stuff.”
I smiled broadly. “I think I’d like to talk with you. Monday after school at the News?”
“I’ll be there.” She grinned happily.
A high-pitched, desperate voice wept through the phone loudly enough to attract both Sherrie and me.
“Easy, Tina,” Stephanie said calmly. “Tell me the place you’ve chosen to go in times of trouble.”
“Poor Tina.” Sherrie shook her head. “She’s a nice person, but she’s a waffler.”
“A waffler?”
“She can’t decide whether to get out or not. One minute she’s leaving him, the next she’s going back because he loves her.” Sherrie snorted. “He doesn’t love her. He likes to control her.”
Tina’s terrified voice cut across the room again, her apprehension clear even if her words were not.
“How will you get to your parents?” Stephanie said into the phone.
I was now openly listening and thinking like mad. I had Stephanie’s personal story. I had the facts about Freedom House and the services provided. I might even have a sidebar article from Sherrie aimed at kids. But an interview with an abused wife! And right in the middle of a crisis! Wow.
I leaned toward Stephanie. “Can I help Tina? Drive her somewhere?”
Stephanie looked at me thoughtfully. “Just a minute, Tina. I need to check something.”
“I mean it. I’ll be glad to help.”
“She’s not just fodder for an article,” Stephanie said bluntly.
I flushed, caught. “I know that.”
“Promise you won’t write about her without her permission, and promise you’ll flatten her story so she can’t be identified.”
That wasn’t a hard promise to make. I certainly didn’t want Tina to suffer any more harm or hurt. “I promise.”
Stephanie nodded, satisfied. “She needs a ride to Phoenixville. Public transportation isn’t a possibility. And for financial reasons neither’s a cab.”
“Phoenixville’s not that far,” I said. “About a half hour up Route 113.”
“It’ll be very messy emotionally,” Stephanie warned. “And that’s the best possible scenario.”
“That doesn’t bother me.” Anything for story color. “Has her husband come home? Is that why the sudden panic?”
“He called from work and is full of fury. Apparently things have gone badly today, and she and the kids are about to bear the brunt of his frustration if we don’t get her out.”
“Where does she live?”
Stephanie returned to the phone. “Tina, I have someone here who can take you to your mother’s. I want you to tell her how to get to your house.”
I took the phone. “Hi, Tina. I’m Merry. I’ll be glad to drive you where you need to go.”
“I’m scared,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.
“I know. Now tell me how to get to your house.”
She gave me directions hesitantly, pausing several times to yell at a crying child who responded by wailing louder.
“I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” I assured her.
She sniffed. “The kids and I will be waiting. And please, please hurry!”
FIVE
Tina’s cozy, tree-lined street looked like a Norman Rockwell setting made for raising happy, well-adjusted children. I wondered what secrets lived in the other
houses.
A new red sports car sat in the driveway of Tina’s home, its sticker still on the window. I glanced at the price as I walked past and flinched. He might be having trouble at work, but obviously he made a good income. Too bad Tom Whatley hadn’t been at Hamblin’s to make the sale. There had to have been a very nice commission on this one.
As I stood on the front step, I could hear raised voices inside, first deep and masculine, then shrill and feminine. Then I distinctly heard a slap and a cry of pain.
Suddenly getting a good bite for my story seemed unimportant, even selfish. A woman’s very life might well be at stake, and journalism faded to insignificance. I put my shaking finger firmly on the bell.
All noise within ceased. Then the woman inside this house began to cry.
I rang again.
The door opened and a floridly handsome man glowered at me from the other side of the storm door. He wore a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing strong arms and wrists. Did he develop those muscles with exercises other than beating on Tina?
“Hi.” I smiled brightly, ignoring the turmoil in my stomach. Not only did I have the long tradition of Nellie Bly and Brenda Starr to uphold; I had right on my side.
“We don’t want any,” he snarled. “I gave at the office. Go away.”
I grabbed the storm door and pulled, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t. The door opened wide. He blinked in surprise at my audacity.
“You must be Tina’s husband. I’m Merry.” I held out my hand and stepped into the house. He was forced to either collide with me or step back. He stepped back. He did not shake my hand.
“Hey, Tina, I’m here,” I called gaily.
She appeared behind her husband, a red handprint clearly visible on her cheek. Her eyes were full of fear, her face wet with tears, but her chin was held at a determined angle.
“Ready to go?” I asked.
“Go?” He sputtered like an outboard motor misfiring. “Go where?” He glared at Tina, then at me.
Tina and I ignored him. She turned and disappeared.
I’d lost her! “Tina?”
She reappeared with two small children, a boy about six and a girl about four, each carrying a little backpack. They looked more frightened than children should ever have to look. The girl had obviously been crying, her face mottled, her nose running.
Tina’s husband turned to her with a roar and grabbed her by the upper arm. She winced, and I knew she’d find a bruise there in a short time.
“Go,” she whispered to the kids. “Out to the car.”
“Mommy?” The girl looked at Tina with huge eyes dripping tears.
“Aren’t you coming, Mom?” the boy asked, trying not to cry.
“I’m coming,” Tina said. With her free hand she shooed the children. “Go.”
“Don’t you dare!” At their father’s voice, both children froze halfway down the steps.
I turned to them and smiled, hoping my lips weren’t quivering too much for my smile to be reassuring. “Why don’t you two climb in the backseat and buckle yourselves in?” I suggested quietly. “Your mom and I will be right there.”
The boy looked at his father, at his mother, at me. Then he grabbed his sister’s hand. “Come on, Lacey.”
Together they ran to the car. He pulled the rear door open, and I almost smiled as he helped her in and tried to buckle the seat belt around her.
“You can leave if you want,” Tina’s husband told her in a steely voice, “but I’ll find you, you know. You’re mine. You can’t escape. Ever.”
Could she possibly stand up to such focused intensity from someone who absolutely vibrated with the necessity to bend her to his will?
For a long minute she said nothing, just stared at him like a trapped rabbit.
“Tina,” I said. “Look at me. Look at me!”
“You stay out of this,” he hissed, his eyes never leaving Tina. “This is between my wife and me.”
“Tina!”
She pulled her gaze from her husband’s.
“It’s your choice.” I tried to remember what Stephanie had said. “Remember—the power of choice.”
When she responded, her voice was only a whisper and she talked to the floor, but she’d made her choice. “Let go of me, Bill. I’m going with Merry.”
He was startled at her unprecedented audacity, and taking advantage of his shock she wrenched her arm from his grasp.
He grabbed for her. “That’s what you think.”
I stepped quickly out the door onto the porch, though I kept the storm door open. I looked at the empty yard next door and called, “Hi, how are you doing today?” I even gave a little wave.
The idea that there was someone watching what was happening caused Tina’s husband to check for a minute. She saw her chance and darted past him, ducking as he slapped at her. She and I hurried toward the car.
I stopped halfway down the walk and turned back to the house. He stood on the front steps, his face red with fury, his hands clenched in fists.
“There’s something you should know before you lay a hand on your wife again.” I was so angry my voice shook. “I write for the News, and I’d be delighted to write about you by name. I’m sure they’d like to know at work just what kind of a man you are.”
He stared, clearly surprised. Then he shouted, “You wouldn’t dare! I’d sue you for all you’re worth! You have no proof.” He looked at his wife who was climbing into my car. “And who in their right mind would ever believe her?” The contempt in his voice gave me the chills.
“How about me? I believe her.” And I turned my back.
When we arrived at Tina’s parents’, they welcomed her and the children with obvious relief.
“Finally,” her father said with tears in his eyes. “And this time you’re staying.”
Tina burrowed into his arms as he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
“Come on, Lacey, Jess.” Tina’s mother took a small hand in each of hers. “I bet I can find some ice cream in the freezer.”
“Don’t let them eat all mine,” their grandfather said in an attempt to lighten the moment.
“It’s okay, Grandpop.” Lacey stopped in the doorway, trying to swallow her disappointment. “We don’t have to have any.”
With a sad smile, Grandpop said, “Honey, I was teasing. You eat as much as you want.”
Lacey looked at him hesitantly. “I mean it,” he said. “It’s all yours.”
“It’s okay, Lacey,” Jess said. “Isn’t it, Mommy? It’s okay here.”
“It’s okay here,” Tina repeated and began to weep.
Tonight’s black-tie reception was important for my career as I’d be meeting my new superboss for the first time, and I wanted to impress him. I was going to wear one of those rare, it’s-exactly-right dresses that made me feel like a million dollars but which I bought for thirty bucks in a secondhand clothes store. It had a fitted sapphire blue silk top covered with so many sequins that I shimmered like the Caribbean Sea awash in sun jewels. Its soft silk skirt fell in a graceful column.
But it was Curt I really wanted to impress. I wanted to knock his socks off, make him drool, froth at the mouth and go weak at the knees. I grinned at the absurd thoughts. I’d be happy if I could make him whistle.
I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror in my underwear, one eye made up, my hair in hot rollers, when I realized that my dress, fresh from the cleaners, was still hanging in the car. I shuddered when I thought of its condition after sharing a backseat with Lacey and Jess, but it was the only truly fancy dress I owned—unless you counted four frou-frou bridesmaid dresses, including one from Jolene and Reilly’s wedding. Of course I wouldn’t be caught dead in any of them outside a church.
I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes before Curt arrived. I grabbed my new red coat and threw it on over my undies. I ran out the front door. I was halfway across the porch when I heard the door not only slam closed but snap in the way
that meant only one thing: locked. And the key was in my purse on the sofa.
I stared at my front door. A couple of months ago someone had broken into my apartment by shattering one of the small panes of glass in the door. After that I’d lobbied my landlord for a new, all-wooden door. He hadn’t been happy with the idea, but when I offered to share the cost with him, he’d agreed. My new, solid door with the peephole was impregnable, unless you happened to be carrying an axe in your coat pocket.
I had ten minutes—no, probably about eight by now—to get back inside before Curt arrived and found me in my rollers, underwear, half-made-up face and slippers with the Winnie the Pooh heads on them. I began a frantic search for a secret way into the apartment.
I was behind the yew hedge by the front window, trying in vain to open it, when I heard a deep voice say, “It’s a cinch that no one at the reception will hold a candle to you tonight.”
For once the voice didn’t thrill me to my toes.
I turned to face him. He looked absolutely gorgeous with his black curly hair and dark eyes behind his new brown wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a tux. A tux! And I was wearing a coat and underwear!
He studied me closely, looking from one eye to the other. He was trying rather unsuccessfully not to laugh.
I stalked out from behind the bushes, clutching my coat to me. “I’m locked out.”
“Ah.” Then he saw my feet. “Hey! Maybe I can get a pair of Tiggers!”
“Very funny. Go away. Come back in twenty minutes.”
Instead he leaned over and kissed my cheek, getting poked in the temple with a roller in the process.
“Sorry.” I rubbed the little red marks left by the roller’s teeth.
He looked at the front door. “You’re sure it’s locked?”
I just looked at him.
“All right then.” He retraced the route I had just taken, trying all the windows I had just tried. Whiskers followed his progress from window to window, meowing encouragement from inside. I was perversely pleased to see that he had no more luck than I.