of course you can never do because for him the issue isn’t love but absolute authority. Total control. That’s the goal of every abuser.”
“The puppeteer pulling the strings,” I said.
“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
