I decided to take my chances and make my way to their farmhouse. It was more than half a mile down the snowy gravel road just to get to the road to their house. Once on the main road I would be in the open with no place to hide. I hoped I could remember the direction in the dark.
Having made up my mind to leave, I tried to raise my legs. It was so cold in one spot that my calf was stuck to the ice. I couldn’t pull it free without tearing my skin. When I tried to yank it loose, it felt like a knife was cutting my flesh. I couldn’t move! I was shivering, crying, and near freezing. I rubbed my hands back and forth, trying to warm the area on my calf that was stuck to the log.
The friction was finally enough to warm my calf to the point where I could move my leg, but the cold had caused it to go almost numb. I got up slowly, limping away toward what I hoped was the main road as fast as I could. The more I moved, the easier walking became. Soon I was able to run at a trot out of the woods.
God led me to the main road leading to the Spencers’ farm. Once I was out in the open, I expected to see Daddy’s car lights appear out of the darkness at any second. My breath came out in raspy gasps, and my eyelashes were frozen stiff. I frantically prayed for someone, anyone, to drive by and stop for me before Daddy could find me on this deserted highway.
I had never hitchhiked, but when I saw headlights coming up behind me, the cold and pain overcame my fear, and I walked out into the middle of the road. It didn’t occur to me at the time these headlights could be the ones I was running away from! I was standing in the middle of the road when it hit me that I did not know if this approaching car was Daddy’s. Still, I stood there waiting, knowing it was too late to run. As the lights got closer, I realized it was not a car at all but a semitruck. The truck driver pulled his rig up beside me and rolled down the window.
“Hey there, do you need help, young lady?”
It was a man’s voice, deep and strong. He opened the passenger door and let me climb into the warm cab.
“Can you take me home?” I asked, my teeth chattering.
The truck driver looked at me, his eyes narrow. I was a fourteen-year-old girl, alone and bleeding in the middle of the night on the side of the road.
“My boyfriend tried to hurt me. I just want to get home,” I said.
“Sure, I’ll take you home. I have a daughter about your age. You get on home where it’s warm and safe.”
The driver turned his heater up full-blast. It quickly warmed my frozen feet and hands. I have always believed that God sent that truck driver to me in the middle of the night.
“Thank you,” I said as we pulled up in front of the Spencers’ house.
“No problem.” He smiled warmly at me. “You just be more careful from now on.”
I don’t think he had any idea that he had just saved my life!
Outside the Spencers’ house, the chill returned worse than it had before. This was exactly where Daddy might come looking for me. I could not worry about that though. I just had to hope that the Spencers would take me in from the cold.
The house was dark. I knew they were all asleep, but I had no choice. I banged on the door as loudly as I could, yelling hysterically.
“Jackie! Mr. Spencer!” The strength seeped from me, and I reached out for the doorjamb to keep from falling over.
“Help!” I screamed.
Suddenly, the porch light came on. The door opened, and there stood Mr. Spencer. He barely seemed shocked when he ushered me inside and closed the door behind us. The warmth of the house embraced me, and I thought I would faint. My teeth were chattering as I tried to talk.
“I ran off and left my da . . . daddy,” I said. “He’s going to Arizona, but I can’t go with him.”
“It’s okay, Frances. Jackie thought you might come for help. You’re safe now. Come here and sit down at the table.”
Jackie, awakened by the noise, joined us in the kitchen. She fixed me hot chocolate and wrapped a large flannel shirt around me. It was as if a dam broke inside me. My entire story, my entire life, poured out of me. For the first time, I told someone about our life, and Mr. and Mrs. Spencer listened to every word. I told them about everything except the sexual abuse; I could never tell anyone that. I told them how we were beaten and how Daddy kidnapped me and Nellie from the orphanage. I explained he had stolen their butane tank and it was in his car. I was so embarrassed about that, but I promised I would pay them back for it.
Mr. Spencer looked sad. “I’m not worried about the butane tank, Frances. You don’t have to pay for the wrong someone else does.” I had never been told that before. Up to this point I felt everything my daddy did was my fault.
My hands shook as I tried to drink my hot chocolate, and I could not stop stuttering. I felt I had to make them understand how mean and evil he was as quickly as I could before he came back for me. At that point I was pretty certain he would return, and I was terrified they would make me go back with him. The words, once free, had a life of their own.
“Please, can I stay here with you? I can’t go back to him.”
“You are not going back to him,” Jackie said.
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Spencer agreed.
“You don’t know him though. Not like I do. If he comes here—”
Mr. Spencer interrupted me. “If he comes around here, we will deal with that then. For now, we need to care for you. You’re blee—”
The sound of a car coming up the driveway interrupted him. I froze, panic rising inside me. An engine revved and then stopped. A door slammed and heavy footsteps came crunching over gravel. My heart felt as if it would surely jump out of my chest. Daddy had come to get me!
Chapter 28
One Last Battle
I must have appeared hysterical to the Spencers. When I heard that car stop outside, I jumped up like a startled rabbit. I stumbled, knocking over the chair as I rushed to get to the front door. I had to lock it and keep him out. There was no telling what Daddy might do. Barring the heavy wooden door with my body, I screamed, “No, no! He’s not coming in here!” I tried to reach my hands across the door and tried to block their access to the door handle.
“It’s okay, Frances.”
Mr. Spencer’s soft voice was calm. He approached the front door, and I looked up at him, not knowing what to do. I moved out of his way, praying silently that this kind, gentle, simple farmer would not be murdered while trying to help me. A psychotic, evil maniac was storming up their front walk, and I knew it was my fault they were in this situation. Mr. Spencer remained calm. I took a step to the side and hid behind the door, crouching by the crack between the door and the wall.
“Please don’t open the door,” I whispered.
Mr. Spencer turned on the porch light and reached for the knob.
“Tell him I’m not here. Please, please, tell him I’m not here!”
Mr. Spencer opened the door and stepped outside. Daddy stood on the gravel drive a few feet away from his car. I heard Mr. Spencer trying to calm him.
“Broadus, it’s late now. You need to come back in the morning,” he said.
Daddy ignored him.
“Where is she?” he yelled.
“You’re going to wake my children,” Mr. Spencer said. “Quiet down.”
“Get out of my way! Send Frances out here now.”
In his peaceful way, Mr. Spencer stood his ground. Through the crack between the door and the frame, I saw Daddy. His feet stomped, and he looked ready to lunge at Mr. Spencer. I had seen it many times in the past. He was sizing him up and ready, almost eager, for war.
“Frances, get out of that house!” he bellowed.
Daddy cursed me and the Spencers while I remained paralyzed in fear. I was sure we were all going to die this time. With everything inside me, I wished he would just tell Daddy that I was not there.
Again I begged. “Tell him I’m not here!” Mr. Spencer, however, would not lie. I had watched my dad beat men twice Mr. Spencer’s size. When he reached down and p
icked up a small log off the grass, I knew Daddy would kill him if he stood in the way. I could barely stand the horror.
“Get his shotgun!” I whispered to Jackie. “Call the police! Tell him you’re calling the police!”
Mr. Spencer did not flinch. I couldn’t tell if Daddy could hear me, but I was frantic.
“Tell him you’re going to call the police! He’s afraid of the police!” My heart was in my throat and I could barely swallow. Why won’t they listen to me?!
“Don’t take another step with that weapon,” Mr. Spencer called out to Daddy.
His voice never rose. He never showed an ounce of fear. Mr. Spencer simply stood up to Daddy with faith in his heart. It was an amazing sight, but one I knew could not last. Daddy had no faith. He did not have an ounce of love in him. When he took a step toward Mr. Spencer, all the bloody battles passed in front of my eyes.
My urging got louder. “Tell him you’ve called the police!”
Daddy took another step forward; the log looked bigger the closer he came. “Please, oh please, tell him you’ve called the police!”
That is when Jackie reappeared. In my hysteria I hadn’t heard her coming, but suddenly she passed me and walked out onto the porch. She carried a loaded shotgun.
Mr. Spencer did not take his eyes off Daddy. He gently took the gun from his wife’s hands and pointed it at the ground.
I thought I’d go crazy! “Point the gun at Daddy!” I whispered.
“Get on out of here, Broadus,” he said. “Unless you want to talk like a man.”
I could see the rage filling Daddy’s face. His entire being seemed to quiver with malice. He took another step forward and lifted that log out in front of him.
In response, Mr. Spencer raised the barrel of his gun and leveled it at Daddy’s chest. Daddy did not stop. He took another step, and then another. I was sure either Mr. Spencer would shoot or Daddy would club him down. In the meantime they would have to take me to the hospital for heart failure!
“Jackie,” Mr. Spencer said, as calm as when this all started, “please go on in and call the police.”
It was as if Mr. Spencer had known all along the power of that one word. It was the only thing Daddy ever truly feared. When he heard “police,” the fight left him. The log fell from his hand, and he backed off.
I heard Jackie making the call from behind me. There was no way Daddy could have heard her talking, but his pace quickened. He fumbled with the door latch for the car. He got in, and I heard his car start up.
“I’m going to kill you all,” he yelled out the window. But there was nothing behind those words. His hold over me broke that night. He would rather lose a fight than deal with the police. If a man like Mr. Spencer, one full of kindness and peace, could stand Daddy down, then I knew I could as well. God gave me the courage, and Mr. Spencer showed me what power there is in staying calm. Although I was not to be free of Daddy’s memory for many years, I was finally free of his evil. Daddy could never hurt me again.
Chapter 29
Forgiveness
Physically, I was free, but Daddy’s ghost was not as easy to escape. He followed me through years of my life, haunting my memory and chipping away at any attempts I made to find happiness. I sank very low; I lived hard and was unable to shake the ugly memories of my past. Then God sent a friend and calm presence into my life. His name was Wayne. I had asked God for a man I could pray with who would read the Bible and go to church with me. More than anything, I desired to pray together with my mate—to be with someone who was not ashamed to pray in public.
God lifted me up from wretched depths I won’t describe in this book. He gave me a great love for Him and an inner peace that I didn’t understand at the time. I wanted to live for Him the rest of my life and share His love with a man that felt the same.
Meeting Wayne changed my life. After many long talks on the phone and one dinner, we decided to go out again. He took me to a nice restaurant, and I sat down across from him, a little nervous. Looking into this handsome man’s gentle eyes, I realized how much he did not know about me, or about my lost family. Wayne had a wonderful family, and they were all close. I wondered if he could understand my past.
Through all the battles of my life, one awesome presence had always stayed by my side. I turned to Him at that moment. I would know if Wayne was the one if he prayed with me. From across the table, I looked deeply into Wayne’s eyes.
“Will you pray with me and thank God for our dinner?”
Wayne, who was not yet a Christian, nodded eagerly. We joined hands, and I thanked God for our food. After we said amen, I looked at him. He was very serious. I learned later that he had also asked God for someone to pray and go to church with. He had faith, believed in God, and wanted to learn more, but had not yet totally trusted God for salvation. This was a man who would pray with me out in public and not be bothered by people looking at us. He was hungry to learn as much as he could about Jesus.
That moment had a major impact on me. It was a sign, but the years weighed heavy on my heart. It was not until we were married that I fully opened up to Wayne.
“My life has not always been so nice,” I said.
“Nobody’s life is always nice,” he answered.
“My dad was not a good man,” I began.
I continued on, telling him the story up until I escaped with the help of Mr. Spencer. I was concerned about how Wayne might react, but I couldn’t stop. The story ran out of me like rain falling from a heavy gray cloud. When I stopped talking, Wayne took my hand.
“I’m glad you didn’t give up,” he whispered.
For some reason, I found it harder to finish the story from there. It was a whole new tale that needed its own time and place.
“I’m not sure I didn’t,” I said.
“You’re here now, with me.”
I had struggled when I left the Spencers. I found work, but I was young, inexperienced, and had no skills at all. I got involved with a man, the father of my two children, who was not much different than my father. He was a mean, controlling alcoholic. He threatened to take my children away from me if I didn’t do exactly as he ordered. I felt completely alone, and he pushed alcohol on me until I began to drink along with him. I finally found the strength to divorce him, but the habits stuck, and fear engulfed my life.
“I believe that God brought us together,” Wayne said softly.
I smiled at him. “After my son went into the army and my daughter went to college, I moved to Tennessee.”
He grinned at me from across the table. “I’m sure glad you did!”
“I was so lost, and I remember praying one night, asking God to allow me to find a house close enough to a preacher so that I could learn more about God. With all my heart I wanted to learn how to be saved, and I felt if I lived within a few blocks or even a mile or so of a preacher, it would not be a burden on a man or woman who knew the Lord to tell me about Him too. When I looked for a house to buy, I searched a long time. After months of searching I finally found the house I felt I could make into a home.
“When I was following the Realtor back to her car to sign the papers, she looked over at the house next door and said, ‘You’ll like your neighbors. The pastor of First Baptist Church lives right next door.’ She didn’t notice that I had stopped walking!”
“I prayed a similar prayer,” Wayne confessed shyly. “How were you saved?” he asked.
Our food showed up then. I smiled at him.
“That’s a real long story.”
On a morning years later, Wayne came to our kitchen table with a serious look in his eyes. While he had searched for my family, he was also searching for something else. I knew this, but I never let on that I did. It was not something I wanted him to find. It was something I wanted buried in the past and never brought back again.
While he was searching for Brenda, he had brought the topic up.
“I think we need to find your dad’s grave.”
“No,
I don’t think so,” I said.
“You’ve found love, Fran, but you can’t be totally free until you find forgiveness too.”
I shook my head. “I forgive.”
“Not your father,” he said.
He was right. I was already saved, and I tried to live a life in touch with God, but I still had not truly found the strength to forgive the one who had torn my family from me and ruined years of my life. I resented everything about my dad, and I felt I had every right to.
“I don’t think this is the right time, honey,” I said to Wayne, and that was the end of that. Or so I thought.
A few years later it came back up. This time, though, Wayne knew more.
“I found your dad’s grave,” he said that morning as I sat at the table drinking coffee. I almost choked.
“How did you do that?” I asked. I was shocked and on guard. “I don’t think I want to know where he’s at.”
Wayne ignored me. “He is in an unmarked grave in Cowpens, South Carolina.” Cowpens was only three hours from our home. “Fran, I think we should go down there and put a headstone on his grave.”
I looked at my husband for a minute. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“Because no grave should go unmarked.” I thought about what he said.
“And I want you to do one more thing.”
“What else?” I didn’t think I was going to like this.
“I want you to think of something you want to say to him. Then we’ll have the stonecutter write it on his stone.”
He sounded so sincere about it that I decided not to put up a fight. I could do this for my husband, for the man who had shown me that true kindness and love still existed. So he took me to a shop that sold grave markers. When we arrived, I chose a small stone.
“What do you want engraved on it?” the man working there asked.
I took a deep breath before answering. “Matthew 6:15,” I answered.
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