Knoxville, and met Jack at the Greyhound bus station with a Samsonite suitcase with two dresses in it, and I ran like hell, all the way to Washington to work for him. I got a divorce, and married Jack a year after that, and no one's ever laid a hand on me since then. I wouldn't let them. I know better now. If anyone even looks cross-eyed at me, I run like hell. I don't know why I got lucky, but I did. Jack saved my life. He made me everything I am today. Without him, I'd probably be dead by now. I think Bobby Joe would have probably killed me one night, pushing me down the stairs till I broke my neck, or kicking me in the stomach. Or maybe just because I'd want to die finally I've never said anything about any of this because I was ashamed of it, but now I want to help women like me, women who aren't as lucky as I've been, women who think they're trapped, and don't have a Jack Hunter waiting for them with a limousine to take themto another city. I want to reach out to these women and help them. They need us,” she said, as tears filled her eyes, “we owe it to them.”
“Thank you, Maddy” Phyllis Armstrong said softly. They all shared a common bond, or most of them, lawyers and doctors and judges and even a First Lady, histories of violence and abuse, and only by sheer luck and grit had they survived it. And they were all acutely aware that there were countless others who weren't as lucky, and needed their help. The group sitting in the First Lady's private quarters was anxious to help them.
Bill Alexander was the last to speak, and his story was the most unusual, as Maddy suspected it would be. He had grown up in a good home in New England, with parents who loved him and each other. And he had met and married his wife when she was at Wellesley and he was at Harvard. He had a doctorate in foreign policy and political science, and had taught at Dartmouth for several years, and then Princeton, and was teaching a class at Harvard when he was made Ambassador to Kenya at fifty. His next post was in Madrid, and from there he was sent to Colombia. He said that he had three grown children who were respectively, a doctor, a lawyer, and a banker. All very respectable and academically impressive. His had been a quiet, “normal” life, in fact, he said with a smile, a fairly boring, but satisfying existence.
Colombia had been an interesting challenge for him, the political situation there had been delicate, and the drug trade pervaded everything in the country. It was intricately interwoven into all forms of business, tainted politics, and corruption was rampant. He had been fascinated by what he had to do there, and felt equal to thetask until his wife was kidnapped. His voice quavered as he said it. She was held prisoner for seven months, he said, fighting back tears, and then finally gave in to them, as the psychiatrist sitting next to him gently reached out to touch his arm, as though to steady him, and he smiled at her. They were all friends now, and knew each others most intimate, and best-hidden secrets.
“We tried everything to get her back,” he explained in a deep, troubled voice. Maddy had calculated from the time he'd spent in his three diplomatic posts that he was sixty. He had white hair, and blue eyes, and a youthful face, and he looked strong and athletic. “The State Department sent special negotiators to talk to representatives from the terrorist group that was holding her hostage. They wanted a prisoner exchange, trading her for one hundred political prisoners, and the State Department wouldn't agree to it. I understand the reasons for it, but I didn't want to lose her. The CIA tried too, and they tried to kidnap her back, but they fumbled the attempt, and she was moved into the mountains and after that we couldn't find her. Eventually, I personally paid the ransom they wanted, and then I did a very foolish thing.” His voice shook again as he continued to tell the story, and Maddy s heart went out to
“Thank you, Maddy” Phyllis Armstrong said softly. They all shared a common bond, or most of them, lawyers and doctors and judges and even a First Lady, histories of violence and abuse, and only by sheer luck and grit had they survived it. And they were all acutely aware that there were countless others who weren't as lucky, and needed their help. The group sitting in the First Lady's private quarters was anxious to help them.
Bill Alexander was the last to speak, and his story was the most unusual, as Maddy suspected it would be. He had grown up in a good home in New England, with parents who loved him and each other. And he had met and married his wife when she was at Wellesley and he was at Harvard. He had a doctorate in foreign policy and political science, and had taught at Dartmouth for several years, and then Princeton, and was teaching a class at Harvard when he was made Ambassador to Kenya at fifty. His next post was in Madrid, and from there he was sent to Colombia. He said that he had three grown children who were respectively, a doctor, a lawyer, and a banker. All very respectable and academically impressive. His had been a quiet, “normal” life, in fact, he said with a smile, a fairly boring, but satisfying existence.
Colombia had been an interesting challenge for him, the political situation there had been delicate, and the drug trade pervaded everything in the country. It was intricately interwoven into all forms of business, tainted politics, and corruption was rampant. He had been fascinated by what he had to do there, and felt equal to thetask until his wife was kidnapped. His voice quavered as he said it. She was held prisoner for seven months, he said, fighting back tears, and then finally gave in to them, as the psychiatrist sitting next to him gently reached out to touch his arm, as though to steady him, and he smiled at her. They were all friends now, and knew each others most intimate, and best-hidden secrets.
“We tried everything to get her back,” he explained in a deep, troubled voice. Maddy had calculated from the time he'd spent in his three diplomatic posts that he was sixty. He had white hair, and blue eyes, and a youthful face, and he looked strong and athletic. “The State Department sent special negotiators to talk to representatives from the terrorist group that was holding her hostage. They wanted a prisoner exchange, trading her for one hundred political prisoners, and the State Department wouldn't agree to it. I understand the reasons for it, but I didn't want to lose her. The CIA tried too, and they tried to kidnap her back, but they fumbled the attempt, and she was moved into the mountains and after that we couldn't find her. Eventually, I personally paid the ransom they wanted, and then I did a very foolish thing.” His voice shook again as he continued to tell the story, and Maddy s heart went out to
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