"Oh, it's not pure at all. I've had some pretty dirty thoughts." He laughed at the flood of color in her cheeks. "You, too?"
"Stop it, Colton," she said a little breathlessly. "We're not doing this here."
"Let's do it somewhere else then."
"You are impossible. This conversation is over."
"I think it's just getting started."
"I know what you're doing. You're trying to distract me. It's not going to work." She glanced at her watch. "I need to get the conversation started." She got up and walked over to the game table and waited until the hand was played. Then she said, "Ladies, are you ready to talk to me?"
"Of course we are," Eleanor said. "So sorry to make you wait, but I was winning for a change, and I didn't want to stop. Plus, you and Colton seemed to be enjoying each other's company."
Colton smiled as he saw Olivia's cheeks turn pink at his grandmother's sly smile and perceptive comment.
"It's fine," Olivia said, clearing her throat. "But I would like to begin now if we can."
"Let's move to the couches," Ginnie said, taking charge.
As the women moved from the table to the couches, Colton followed, taking a seat next to his grandmother. It made him feel like he was doing something to protect her, even if that something only amounted to sending Olivia a warning look. Not that she'd heed his look. There was determination in her green eyes. She'd come for her story, and she was going to get it.
His stomach turned over a little at that fierce gleam in her eyes. He really hoped there wasn't a story to be had, or at least not one that would be damning to his grandmother.
But that was ridiculous, he told himself. His grandmother was completely herself today. If she had a secret, she wouldn't reveal it now—would she?
Chapter Nine
Olivia pulled out a small notebook and a pen and glanced around the group, giving each of the women an encouraging smile. Ginnie Culpepper, the outgoing redhead sat next to the quieter brunette Constance Baker, and Eleanor introduced the fourth woman as Lucy Hodges, another one of the actors from the Center Stage Theater Group. Lucy was an attractive blonde who appeared to be at least seven or eight years younger than the other women.
"We spoke briefly yesterday about your theater group yesterday," Olivia said. "I'd like to know more about it."
"We were very good," Eleanor said with a proud smile. "But we were amateurs until we recruited Lucy, who was a legitimate actress, for our first play,
A Streetcar Named Desire.
Lucy played Blanche, and I played Stella. It was such a dark story with love, sex, desire, and infidelity. It was rather shocking but also exciting."
Olivia could clearly see the passion in Eleanor's eyes as she spoke about the theater.
"I loved being on stage," Eleanor continued. "It reminded me of when I was a little girl in Ireland. I was a child actress until I was ten. My mother was an actress, too. She took me with her to an audition once, and she didn't get the job, but I did. I think that always bothered her." Eleanor looked at Colton. "Did I ever tell you that?"
"No, you did not," he said, giving her a surprised look. "I had no idea you liked performing."
"It was a wonderful time," Eleanor said. "I got to play so many interesting characters. When I stepped on stage, I left my real life behind."
"It was great," Ginnie agreed. "And it was quite a change from our normal boring lives of carpools and bake sales and soccer games."
"Was it ever hard to go back to real life?" Olivia asked.
Eleanor immediately shook her head. "I was a mother with five children. I had a lot of fun playing someone else on stage, but I knew who I was when the curtain went down. Sometimes it took a few minutes to regroup, but by the time I got home I was
Mom
again."
"We only put on the shows during the summer," Constance added. "It was the one time of the year we could justify not volunteering at school. We were all stay-at-home moms with husbands who supported us. We were supposed to be home with the children."
Olivia nodded, thinking about her own mother and how she'd taken for granted that her mom would always be there when she came home from school. She wondered if her mom had ever wanted to step away from that role, if only for a few moments. Maybe she'd have to ask her.
Clearing her throat, she turned her attention back to the group. "What about Molly? Did she enjoy the plays even though she wasn't on stage?"
"Oh, she loved putting those costumes together," Eleanor said. "She used to make her children clothes, but they always had to be a certain way. With the costumes, she could make crazy patterns and shapes and they looked amazing."
"Why didn't you find another place to run the plays after the theater burned down?" she asked.
Her question created a tense silence, and she saw a flurry of looks move around the circle.
"It had just run its course," Eleanor said.
"We were all getting grief from our husbands and families for spending so much time at the theater, too," Ginnie put in. "It would have been difficult to get them to support starting over somewhere else and having to reinvent everything all over again."
"Some things just end," Constance said.
"It was sad, though," Lucy muttered.
Olivia looked around the group, a little puzzled at how the conversation had suddenly fizzled out. They'd been so excited to talk and now they seemed to have no words. "But what about the charity? Surely, your families and friends could support your efforts in that regard?"
"Not really," Ginnie muttered again.
"Ginnie," Constance said sharply.
Ginnie shrugged. "Well, it's true."
Olivia turned to Eleanor, sensing that the other women were not going to tell her anything else unless Eleanor took the lead. "Eleanor? How did you feel about stopping?"
Eleanor shifted in her seat. "I was unhappy that it had come to an end," she said carefully. "I knew there were more people we needed to help, but we weren't going to be able to do it, so we had to accept that."
Olivia sighed. She tried to be a patient person, knowing that sometimes you had to wait for a clue to reveal itself, but she only had a few days in San Francisco, and the clock was ticking.
"Okay, ladies. Here's the deal," she said. "Molly asked me to fly across the country to hear your stories. She told me I'd hear from amazing, courageous women, whose secrets were worth telling. So far I haven't heard one thing that would make me believe she was right. You're a group of interesting women, but you're holding something back. Now, you can either talk to me or I can go back to my job. It's your choice."
The women exchanged pointed glances, and there appeared to be some sort of silent communication going on.
Finally, Eleanor said, "You're right, Olivia. Molly wanted us to talk about something we all did together, something important. It's just been so long since we said it out loud."
"We never said it out loud," Ginnie interjected, drawing accompanying nods from Lucy and Constance.
"What is it?" Olivia asked, beginning to feel like she was finally getting somewhere.
Before any of the ladies could respond, Colton suddenly sat up a little straighter. "None of you has to say a word," he said forcefully. "If you don't want to talk to Olivia, you don't have to. Molly was the one who asked her to come here. It might have been her decision to speak, but that doesn't mean it has to be yours."
Olivia knew he was only protecting his grandmother, but she hated the way he'd put an abrupt stop to what had appeared to be a breakthrough.
Eleanor patted Colton's leg. "Thank you for the reminder, Colton. But actually, what you just said makes me want to talk to Olivia."
Colton frowned and muttered, "Why?"
"Because Molly can't talk, but I still can." Eleanor took a breath, then continued. "You asked about the charity, Olivia. Here's the truth. We used the theater group as a way to raise money to help women who were being abused by their husbands or boyfriends. Forty years ago domestic violence was not talked about the way it is now. And while it's still going on, and there are women still in trouble, there are more resources today. Back then there were very few options."
Olivia edged forward in her seat, anticipation tightening her nerves. "How exactly did you help them?"
"We tried to give them whatever they needed," Eleanor replied. "Every situation was different, but if what they needed was to get out of their home environment, we made that happen."
"You helped women get away from their abusers? How did you do that?"
"We gave them money and helped them plan their escape," Eleanor said.
"You mean, like an underground railroad?" she asked in amazement.
Eleanor nodded. "Yes. It was exactly like that."
Olivia saw the same shock she felt reflected on Colton's face. She'd never imagined that these four old ladies had done something so daring.
"Are you serious, Grandma?" he asked.
"Very serious, dear."
"It started with one person in trouble," Ginnie interjected. "It was a friend of ours. She needed money so she could go to her sister's house. Her husband controlled their bank account. She couldn't access it without his permission."
Olivia couldn't imagine being in that kind of situation, but she was a woman from a different generation.
"Most of us were also on budgets controlled by our husbands," Constance said. "We couldn't take the money out without telling them where it was going."
"And when we did try to tell our husbands, it didn't work," Lucy said. "I told my husband once that I needed to borrow a hundred dollars to help a friend, and he told me to send my friend to the police."
"We realized we had to do something to raise money," Ginnie added.
"I got the idea of putting on plays," Eleanor said. "Molly and I had just volunteered to run a school production, so we knew what was involved. And Constance's brother found us the theater. It all fell into place fairly easily."
"It just seems that way now," Lucy said. "I remember it being a lot of work."
"I suppose that's true," Eleanor said. "But it was for a good cause. We helped two women that first year. The next year it was four and by our fifth year I think we'd helped more than a dozen."
"Not everyone needed a lot," Constance said. "Some just needed help to find a job or bus money to get to their folks' house."
"And others needed more drastic measures," Ginnie said dramatically.
"Like what?" Olivia asked.
"We had to fake one woman's death," Eleanor said. "That was probably the toughest acting we ever did. But if she hadn't
died,
her husband would have hunted her down until he took his last breath."
"I was wondering what the men thought when the women just disappeared," Olivia said.
"I'm sure a few of the men looked for them, but we'd gotten some people to help us with creating false identities," Eleanor said. "Ginnie had a friend who did really good work on driver's licenses and passports."
"So these women started brand new lives." Olivia blew out a breath. "I must admit I am awed and amazed."
"So am I," Colton said. "But I don't understand why this was all done in secret. Why not get the police involved?"
"Most of the times the police weren't interested in helping, or the women couldn't produce any evidence. And if they complained, and their husbands heard about it, they suffered more pain. The women we helped were truly trapped," Eleanor said. "We were the last resort for them. And I can't lie. Sometimes it was dangerous to do what we did."
"What do you mean?" Colton asked. "What happened?"
"I drove a woman to a bus station one night," Eleanor said. "It was almost midnight. Her husband was supposed to be at work. But he showed up. It was just me and his wife on an empty platform. He put a knife to my neck. He told her to get in his car, or he would cut me. She started crying hysterically, and I was terrified. I can still feel that cool metal against my neck." Eleanor put a hand to her throat. "Thankfully, the bus came down the road at just the right moment. I guess the headlights distracted him. He loosened his grip on me, and I kicked him where it hurts the most. I grabbed her arm, and we ran like hell. That time we did go to the police station."
"Oh, my God," Olivia murmured.
"I can't believe you did that, Grandma," Colton said. "Did the guy go to jail?"
"He did," she said. "There were witnesses on the bus who were willing to testify to what they'd seen. That time we got lucky."
"You call that lucky?" Colton asked in disbelief.
Eleanor gave him a smile. "Yes, because she survived and not everyone did. However, after that incident, some of the women in our group got nervous. They were afraid that they would end up in the same situation, and it wouldn't turn out as well. Our volunteer support began to dwindle."
"And our husbands wanted us to be done," Ginnie put in. "At least the husbands that knew about it."
"Did Grandpa know?" Colton cut in.
Eleanor drew a deep breath. "Eventually. Not at the very beginning. I knew he wouldn't like it."
"Did you tell him what happened at the bus station?" Colton asked.
"Later, I did," she admitted. "He was not happy. He didn't want me to risk my life. And he was also worried about our children being in danger. I didn't think that was really possible, but one day when Jack was about eighteen he got jumped by a bunch of older boys. He was beat up and they took his wallet. We thought it was a robbery, but when Jack told me the identity of one of the kids, I wondered if there was a connection, because I'd helped get that kid's mother out of town. But she hadn't taken her son with her, because he was seventeen, and he didn't want to go." She paused. "Jack told me that the boy said something to him about payback, but he didn't know what it meant. I was afraid I did. I realized then that I couldn't jeopardize my family, no matter how good the cause. I was going to quit, but a week later the fire destroyed the theater, and the decision was made for all of us."