Caught in a Bind (6 page)

“That’s too kind an image, but it definitely gives the idea.”

“How were the kids during this time?”

Stephanie smiled. “They were the one bright spot in my life. But they misbehaved, as all kids do, and I began to fear that Wes would beat them too.”

I thought of vivacious Sherrie and felt sick at the thought of someone hitting her. “Did he?”

She shook her head. “Wes never laid a hand on them, but they learned what they saw modeled. One day I was outside in the garden when I heard Sherrie begin to cry. She was about five years old. I rushed inside and found her and Rob in the living room. Rob was yelling at her like Wes yelled at me. He was calling her the same names that Wes called me. And on her cheek was a red handprint from where Rob had hit her.”

My blood chilled as I thought of the handsome kid in the booth last night at Ferretti’s.

“‘She didn’t do what I asked,’ Rob said. ‘I told her to get me something to drink and she didn’t.’ ‘I didn’t, Mom,’Sherrie said, hanging her head. ‘I’m sorry.’”

Stephanie swallowed hard, the memory obviously still painful. “‘You can’t hit her like that, Rob,’ I told him. ‘It’s not right.’ ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Daddy hits you.’” Stephanie looked at me. “That’s when I knew I had to leave. I couldn’t let my children become Wes and me. I called that nurse and she sent me to a safe house. We lived there for two months. I couldn’t go to my regular job because Wes could find me there, but I found another one in another town nearby. And for some reason I began to go to church.”

She turned and pointed to the photo of a little white building that looked more like a VFW hall than a church. It hung on the wall beside this year’s school pictures of Sherrie and Rob.

“The safe house gave me protection when I needed it and helped restore order to our lives, but it was at church that I met
Jesus. There I learned the power of choosing God’s way. That’s when I determined to offer women everything the safe house had offered me plus the power of God to redeem broken lives.”

“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

T
ina’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.