“Edie.” I grabbed her elbow. “Are you all right?”
“And you, Kramer.” Mac plowed on as if he hadn’t noticed Edie’s distress, and he probably hadn’t. “You are to do a profile of Stephanie Bauer, director of that organization that helps abused wives. You know the one. It’s down a couple of blocks on Main Street.”
I kept hold of Edie. “You mean Freedom House?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Find out how the place works and see if you can interview some of the abused women. You know, tear-jerker stuff like you did with those pregnant girls at Christmas.”
I nodded. Not a bad assignment.
“You two are to work together on this thing.” Mac looked from Edie to me and back. “Got that?”
I nodded. Edie just turned away, removing herself from my support.
“Edie!” Mac’s voice was abrupt.
She turned a white face to him, but he didn’t see. He was looking at something on his desk.
“Do you understand what I want?”
“Yes. But I hate it.” The last was under her breath.
“What?” Mac demanded.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
I blinked as I followed Edie back to our desks. She hated this most interesting assignment?
“What’s wrong, Edie? And don’t tell me nothing,” I said as she opened her mouth to say just that. She even got the noth out.
Edie was a genuinely nice lady whose fine, light brown hair was cut shoulder length and hung straight, swaying when she turned her head. Her blue eyes were often sad though never more so than today. She wore all her clothes a size too small, not because she wanted to be sexy or provocative but because she kept hoping she’d lose that ten to fifteen pounds.
“Let it go, Merry. Please.” She turned abruptly and almost ran to the women’s room, a one-person operation where she could find privacy.
I watched her go, and as I turned back to my desk, I saw Jolene watching too.
“No more questions, Jo,” I said. “When she wants to tell us about it, she will.”
“You’re no fun.” But when Edie finally returned red-eyed to her desk, Jo kept quiet.
I spent the balance of the day reading about Freedom House in either our paper files or e-files or online. I learned it was established five years ago and that Stephanie Bauer had been its only director. I learned that in addition to providing counseling and comfort to abused wives, Freedom House sponsored training workshops for churches who wanted to know how to help abused women in their congregations.
I studied the pictures of Ms. Bauer and saw a woman of about forty, very slim and attractive with great dark eyes and dark curly hair.
“I was an abused wife,” she was quoted as saying in one article. “I know the fear and desperation of these women. I know their feelings of being powerless. I also know God can help them deal with the overwhelming helplessness. I know they can live again.”
How did she learn to live again? What specifics marked her flight from her husband to her position at Freedom House? Or had he reformed and she was still married to him?
I called Freedom House and got Stephanie Bauer on the line. “May I come interview you some day soon?”
“How about tomorrow?” she asked. “I know it’s Saturday, but my schedule is crazy what with the ministry, the Easter holidays and my kids.”
I had rehearsal with the bell choir tomorrow morning for the upcoming Easter service, and in the evening Curt was taking me to the reception that Mr. Montgomery was throwing for the News staff and his invited guests. But I was free Saturday afternoon.
“Is two o’clock all right?” I asked Stephanie.
“Will we be finished by three? I have an appointment with my daughter at three. We’re going shopping. She ‘needs’ some spring clothes.”
“We’ll be finished by then,” I promised. Then thinking it might fit into the article, I asked, “How old is your daughter?”
“Fifteen.”
Just like Randy, I thought. Poor Stephanie.
“A teenager at the mall,” I said, sarcasm dripping a bit too freely. “It ought to be an interesting afternoon for you.”
“It will be interesting,” Stephanie said, ignoring my tone. “I enjoy anything I get to do with Sherrie. We’re both so busy! And Rob is no better.”
“Rob’s your—?”
“My son,” Stephanie said. “He’s eighteen. We’ve been filling out financial information for colleges all year, and the hardest part is finding a night when we’re both home!”
When I hung up from my conversation with Stephanie, I glanced at Edie. Stephanie’s relationship with her children seemed the polar opposite of Edie’s with Randy. Both women had had marital hard times, but one had fun with her kids and the other cried. Interesting.
It was almost five o’clock when Jolene said, “Hey, Merry, Edie, let’s go get dinner together.”
“What a good idea.” I hadn’t been looking forward to a lonely Friday night. Curt was away overnight on a men’s retreat, and he’d talked Jo’s husband into going along. Apparently she wasn’t any more anxious to fritter the night away alone than I was.
“Thanks, but I can’t,” Edie said. “I need to get home.”
“But Tom works on Friday nights, doesn’t he?” Jolene asked.
“Well, yes.”
“And Randy’s certainly big enough to feed himself.”
Jolene had obviously been thinking about this dinner for some time and had figured out all the angles, something for which she was justly famous.
“He won’t be home for dinner,” Edie said, then realized she had thrown away her best excuse to decline. With a sigh she shrugged. “Let me call and leave a message telling him where I’m going.”
Jolene was delighted. She’d now have Edie in close quarters for an hour. More than enough time to turn the screws.
“Now you be good,” I managed to whisper to Jolene while Edie was talking to Astrid, the hostess at Ferretti’s, Amhearst’s one and only decent restaurant. “Edie doesn’t need you badgering her.”
“Me? Badger?” Jolene looked aghast.
This time I was the one who snorted.
Within five minutes we followed Astrid to our booth.
“Eggplant parmigiana,” Jo told
