Roosevelt first referred to what he called the “Four Freedoms” in a speech he gave to Congress on January 6, 1941. It was Alleson’s belief that they were a result of fears that FDR had experienced, fears that he had overcome, and a complete chapter was devoted to each one. Freedom of speech and expression was the first. However illogical, handicapped people were often treated as if their intelligence were deficient also. What had Roosevelt’s response been? To run for political office, to meet with leaders of other nations, to give fireside chats to his countrymen, and to communicate his vision for freedom worldwide. Freedom of speech meant freedom to teach and freedom to learn.
Freedom of every person to worship God in his own way was the next cornerstone of Roosevelt’s quartet. Spiritual freedom was critical when you were not physically free—FDR chained by his paralysis, millions around the world imprisoned by unjust and repressive political systems. She remembered the Bible story of Paul and Silas, singing in prison, although their feet were in stocks and their bodies bloody from the beatings they had received. Freedom to worship meant the freedom to forgive. Roosevelt had sung hymns, too. His faith may have been shaken, but it had not been destroyed.
FDR had never been poor, but his illness had taught him the difference that having financial resources made. He had received the best medical care available. For the less fortunate, freedom from want meant that their basic needs could be met, for food, shelter, and clothing. For those who were more fortunate, freedom from want meant freedom to give, and Roosevelt had donated large sums of money to construct therapeutic centers to treat others afflicted with his disease.
She took a deep breath. The last freedom of the four was the one that concerned her the most: freedom from fear. In his speech, FDR had been referring to the fear that results from knowing another nation is capable of attacking yours. In his personal life, however, Roosevelt had been less able to defend himself than most men. He must have also been afraid of further physical deterioration. Hitler was on the international scene, yet Roosevelt resisted even the appearance of fright, standing strong first against the Nazi rhetoric, next by establishing an alliance with his British counterpart, Winston Churchill, and last by exercising his right as commander-in-chief to send the American military around the world to make courage visible. Love of country and hatred of evil had motivated him.
She looked up from the book. Freedom from fear meant the freedom to love. You couldn’t love somebody—really love them—if you were afraid for your personal safety. Allied soldiers had left their homes and their families and fought for freedom. Not all had returned, but those who did built new lives and taught their children to love peace.
“If a ‘whole’ man had been in office instead of Roosevelt,” Alleson concluded, “someone whose experience of lack of freedom had been less profound, the course of history could have been completely altered.” Freedom was not a vague concept for FDR, but a tangible necessity of life. Every day that he put on his leg braces or pushed the wheels on his chair, his commitment to freedom grew, and his legacy was political freedom for millions who, without his resolve, would have been enslaved.
She closed the book, a slim volume full of wisdom she wanted to apply to her life. Colin was waiting, and as they headed toward the Heath, she tried first to describe what she’d read. “The book was all about freedom,” she said. “Freedom of speech was critical.”
“Yes, the leaders of both our countries used that freedom effectively,” he agreed.
“Freedom to worship.”
“It’s best not to underestimate the importance of that. Faith can move mountains.”
“Freedom from want.”
She wasn’t giving any details, and he didn’t ask for any. “Jenny, I’m capable of providing for you. I hope you know that.”
The weather was glorious, and the Heath was crowded with people, families having picnics, couples throwing Frisbees, individuals on bicycles. After spending two days indoors reading with artificial light, the sun seemed especially bright to her. A husband and wife passed them, the man with his small son astride his shoulders. The little boy was laughing with each intentional bounce his father made. Above them the sky was a limitless blue, the children’s kites as vivid as their parents’ smiles. None of them had any obvious handicaps.
“Freedom from fear,” she told him. “That was the last freedom I read about.”
They stepped aside to let a runner pass, then another. From the top of Parliament Hill they could see a stadium below. The race must finish there, because the ones who went by, sweating heavily and panting, their mouths open, had their eyes focused in that direction. They had conquered the last climb. It was downhill for them all the way now.
“Hitler was a monster, but he was defeated. I’m going to defeat my monster, too.”
He was no longer certain that it was possible.
“It’s the last big hill I have to overcome.” She peered up at him. They weren’t even holding hands, but other couples were. One bearded young man was stretched out on a blanket next to a girl. Would they go home and make love to each other later that night? If they could do it, why couldn’t she?
He was in no hurry to return to the flat. The public areas of Hampstead masked his growing feeling of estrangement. A couple in love—that was what they were supposed to be—but privacy did not benefit them.
CHAPTER 26
Monday came, Colin went back to the Yard, and Jenny told Esther Hollister how helpful the book about Roosevelt had been. Esther patted her shoulder and bade her keep it. A customer—Jenny had learned to distinguish between potential buyers and those who simply liked to loiter—came in, and Jenny went upstairs to see what computer tasks Mr. Hollister had left for her.
While she worked, she continued to ponder the example of FDR. He was paralyzed: That was a fact. He hadn’t overcome his impediments; he had succeeded in spite of them. The author of the book was paralyzed also, but his condition had not kept him from writing a compelling work. She had been raped and brutalized. That was a part of her history she could not change.
Last week when she’d come home from the bookstore and waited for Colin to come through the door, she’d thought she could love him, but her body had betrayed her. Then had come that terrible session with Dr. Knowles when he’d made her say out loud what her reaction had been. It was worse than testifying. And now Colin didn’t want to do the homework exercises at all.
That night over omelettes and salad, she tried again to explain to him what she had read. In the witness protection flat they had discussed issues which arose from published material, and they had become closer. “Roosevelt survived a lot of campaigns before he became president. Every speech, every election was a chance to fail.”
Colin put his fork down very deliberately. “Damn it, Jenny,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “Each one was an opportunity to succeed as well. And he did.”
Her eyes widened. He was mad at her because she hadn’t succeeded. But she hadn’t quit! She tried now to keep the conversation going. “That’s true. I was just going to say that. His illness didn’t keep him from achieving great things. If he hadn’t been president during World War II—”
“And Churchill, Prime Minister,” he reminded her automatically.
“Where would we be? Two men with infirmities—didn’t you tell me Churchill had a speech impediment?—and neither played it safe. They motivated millions, men on the battlefield and families at home. They gave people hope.”
“One way or another, our experiences in life mark us. We have to decide if that mark will be a scar or a star.”
That hurt. She sipped her wine and searched for a question that would involve him. “What about God, Colin? Was it an accident? That Roosevelt and Churchill were in office at the right time? That you were in the hospital when I woke up? If Simon had been there then, I would never have made it.”
Perhaps not, but she was certainly close to him now. “Goodwyn wouldn’t think so,” he replied. “
He believes that encouragement comes when we need it. He’d probably argue that it’s the same for nations.”
Nations—that wasn’t very personal. She tried again. “I’ve thought a lot about the Scripture he quoted. Do you remember? ‘He has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ Love is the key, Colin. FDR used love of country to motivate him. I’m going to use love of Colin.”
He looked at her for a long time. “It’s been a rough week, Jenny,” he finally said.
Not Jen.
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Tuesday evening was no better. Colin was distant, offering only minimal conversation during dinner and going to his bedroom afterward, leaving her to do the washing up by herself. She had been unable to engage him, and she had run out of neutral topics. She stood in his doorway. “Colin, the other women you’ve been with—did you sleep with all of them on the first date?”
He looked up, startled. “No, of course not.”
“Did they all ooh and aah when they saw you naked?”
She saw a flash of anger cross his face, and he did not answer.
“Had any of them been raped?”
His jaw tensed. “No.”
She didn’t know how to reach him. Was she supposed to throw herself at his feet? “Do I need to find somewhere else to live, Colin?”
His answer was not immediately forthcoming. Seeing her fear of his male anatomy and hearing her words to Theo—that one-two punch ate at him. His body was not a weapon, but as long as she thought it was, what hope was there? Jenny’s rejection of him was more personal than Vi’s had been. But he still wanted Jenny. In his heart he had sworn to love, protect, and honour her. He shook his head slowly.
“I miss you, Colin.” She waited by the door, but after a few minutes she realized he wasn’t going to say anything. That night she dreamed she and Colin were going sailing. She stepped into the boat first and turned around to watch him board. But he didn’t—he held the bow line in his hand for a moment before tossing it onto the deck. The boat drifted slowly away, and he stood on the dock, watching it go.
CHAPTER 27
Jenny did her morning exercises half-heartedly, still thinking about Colin and FDR. Roosevelt had consulted colleagues and advisors, and she would call hers. She phoned Danny first.
“Watch funny films, Sis,” he recommended. “Liar, Liar’s good. Laughter distracts you, relaxes you. You’ll be better able to deal with things.”
Next, Brian. “Have a backup plan,” he said.
Even Hunt. “Take the offensive.”
Last, Simon. It was gone one when he called by the bookshop. Hampstead sidewalks were always busy, but it was still possible to find an uncrowded spot on the Heath. They headed there. “The Hollisters know about me,” she said.
“Is that wise?”
Exasperated, she shook her head at him. “Colin had the same reaction. I didn’t mean to tell them, but the day the article appeared in the newspaper, I was upset. You came to see me, remember? I cried after you left, and that’s when I told them who I was. I didn’t talk about the attack, and they didn’t ask, but now they understand why all my friends are policemen. And they gave me a book about FDR—Simon, there was a whole chapter on freedom from fear! Of course the author was putting it in a global context, peaceful nations fearing hostile, more belligerent ones, but I think it applies to individuals, too. If someone’s not armed and not aggressive, I shouldn’t be afraid of them.”
They found an unoccupied bench. “Were any of the men you served with afraid? What did they do about it? And don’t call it ‘apprehension.’ I’m way past apprehension.”
He waited until the woman with the child in the pushchair had gone by. The Heath was popular with all ages, particularly on summer afternoons. Was she focused on fear because of the possible repercussions of the newspaper story, or was her relationship with Sinclair frightening her? “Training comes first,” he answered. “You prepare your body for what it has to do. You master the weapons and other equipment.”
She nodded for him to continue.
“Practice is next. Going over the elements of a plan builds confidence.”
That must be the reasoning behind the homework assignments.
“When an objective is identified, a team is designated. Everyone has a function, but you work as a team. In the best scenario, each man feels responsible for the success of the mission.”
“If a mission fails, does each man feel responsible for that, too?”
“Absolutely.”
Oh, God. Poor Colin. And it wasn’t his fault. But it wasn’t her fault either! “Go on.”
“Not everyone is equally experienced. In the best teams, individuals complement each other. Usually the team leader is a bit older with some successful ops under his belt.”
She smiled wryly to herself. It was an unfortunate choice of words, but it fit. Colin was older. He’d been successful, in and out of marriage, “under his belt.” “You’ve covered before and during. What happens when a mission is over?”
“The after-action report. A debrief. We examine what we did well, what we did poorly, and what we can do differently.”
That was what Dr. Knowles did. Reviewed their progress. “Are you ever afraid?”
“Yes, but I’m sent into dangerous places. A little apprehension is healthy—makes me careful, keeps me alert.”
“When you were injured—was your mission over?”
“We’d accomplished our objective, but no mission is over until all involved return to base. And no mission is a complete success when men are lost.”
“If you’d been injured earlier in the mission, would you have been more afraid?”
“We’re taught to put more emphasis on the mission than our individual feelings, but yes, I’d have had some anxiety about my ability to pull my own weight.”
“‘Anxiety’—that’s military understatement,” she commented.
“Injuries often occur on a mission. Many times a mission is completed in spite of injuries.” He paused. “I’m not sure how this helps you, love.”
“Dr. Knowles uses some of the same processes. He explains things—to me, mostly. He gives us assignments. He follows up.”
Damn. The bloody newspaper report wasn’t behind this conversation. Was he opening doors for her and Sinclair and simultaneously closing them for himself? “Does he tell you what to do?”
“No, he tells us what not to do, but it isn’t working. Why am I still afraid?”
“We’re trained in advance of an operation. We’re not unprepared for what we encounter.” He paused. “Is Sinclair pressurising you, Jenny?”
“Not anymore,” she said. “He’s quit trying.”
Bastard. He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “And you haven’t.”
“No.”
“Are you unhappy there?”
“Sometimes.” She looked up at him. “Simon, how do you do it? I’ve never seen you afraid.”
He was afraid now. Afraid of what he wanted to do. “Will you be all right for twenty-four hours?” he asked. “I’ll call for you at Hollister’s tomorrow afternoon.”
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Colin slammed the door when he came home. “You were with him, weren’t you?”
“What?” she stammered.
“I rang the bookshop this afternoon, Jenny. Esther Hollister told me you were out with a police sergeant. It was Casey, wasn’t it?”
“We went for a walk.”
“I don’t want to share you with another man, Jenny.”
She raised her chin. “Colin, I needed a friend!”
“Sorry,” he said after a moment but the closed look hadn’t left his eyes.
She heard Simon’s voice, counting to make her feet move toward the courtroom. She took a few steps closer to Colin. “I know I’ve hurt you,” she said. “Colin, I’m so sorry. I’m doing everything
I can to fix it, but I can’t do it by myself.” She took another step. She could touch his hand if she reached out for it.
“Jenny, I need some time.”
She kept her arms at her sides. “I can give you that. And some space, too.” She picked up her handbag and keys and left the flat, wishing he would come after her.
He heard the door shut. When he went to the bay window, there was no sign of her on either side of the street. Then he spotted her sitting on the stoop, leaning against the railing, her head in her hands. Was she crying? He could not tell. What did she expect him to do? Forget how soundly she had rejected him? An hour later when he checked, she was still there.
CHAPTER 28
When Jenny returned to the flat, Colin’s bedroom door was closed. No light showed under it. When morning came, she tried to tell if his bed had been slept in. Hers hadn’t—she’d been awake most of the night, her journal in her hand, but her list of Ways To Reach Colin was blank. He had never shut her out before, and she didn’t know how to get through to him.
She made herself a cup of tea, dressed, and went to Hollister’s early. The hours dragged until Simon arrived. “All fear isn’t equal,” he told her as they walked. “There are degrees. Sometimes it’s just tension or nervousness, and you can tame it by what you call it.”
“My fear’s like an iceberg, and I’m the Titanic. It has punched a hole in my hull, and I’m sinking.”
He tried another tack. “Fear’s not always a bad thing. It can be fuel to motivate you to train harder. If you’re not a little afraid, you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.”
“What exactly are soldiers—or police—afraid of?”
“Failure. We’re taught to focus on getting the job done. We’re not encouraged to focus on the personal risk, beyond accepting that the work we do is inherently dangerous. There’s only ever the mission. And the team. Nothing else.”
The Witness Page 50