More Than Words: Stories of Strength: Close Call / Built to Last / Find the Way

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world: Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.

—Margaret Mead

Jan Richardson and Kathryn Babcock took Margaret Mead’s inspiring words to heart when they first set out to create a safe Internet site to link abused women with local shelters. From the very beginning, Jan and Kathryn envisioned a site that would help women across Canada—truly working locally and thinking globally. That vision led to the founding of Shelternet. Today, women and children, no matter where they live in Canada, can connect with the shelter closest to them through Shelternet.

Kathryn and Jan first met by chance when a group of women gathered to discuss philanthropic strategies. At the time, Jan was a director of a London, Ontario, women’s shelter, and Kathryn was a Toronto-based corporate fund-raiser for charitable organizations. They were next to each other, and the outgoing Kathryn began to chat to Jan. The conversation turned to discussing the Internet and the glaring absence of resources out there for women in crisis. In a desperate need to find help, abused women were trying to find information in unregulated chat rooms, and shelters were receiving crisis e-mails from women without knowing how to safely respond. Shelters needed to increase their online presence in a way that would offer information and anonymity. Jan and Kathryn agreed something needed to be done. This casual meeting led to the dream of connecting all shelters for all women across Canada, and after three years of hard work and perseverance, the dream came true.

Jan has always believed a lot of important work comes into being through women’s vision and passion—women dreaming the impossible and making it into a reality. “That’s how women do business,” Jan says. “Women network through their relationships with other women, and women show great strength in making things happen. They’re undaunted—they’ll champion monumental goals, and have a way of overcoming any obstacles in their paths.”

With Shelternet, Jan and Kathryn had that kind of vision—to do something that had not been done before—and they had the courage and determination to realize that vision. Neither Kathryn nor Jan had a background in Web site design or technology—and they had no financial backing. But from her front-line experience, Jan knew what the site should look like and feel like to make it work for the women who needed it. The creation of the site became a collaborative effort as individuals, organizations and corporations came on board with technical and financial support.

Shelternet was successfully launched in August 2002 as the first site of its kind in the world, receiving international and national acclaim. It is available in ten languages, and Shelternet’s interactive map connects women with the shelter closest to them. The site provides links to local help lines, information on developing a safety plan and stories of inspiration from other women who have left abusive relationships. Shelternet also reaches out to children and teens who have witnessed the abuse of their mothers, with special resources for them about where they can get help. So often it is children who find the information for their mothers.

The children are Kathryn’s motivation for her involvement in Shelternet—and in all her work to end violence against women. It’s unimaginable to Kathryn the level of fear a child would feel seeing their mother being abused. Yet in Canada alone, more than 300,000 children witness the abuse of their mothers every year. More than half the women come into shelters with children—many under five years of age. The feisty part of Kathryn can’t stand women being abused and children being scared. “I wish I could be twenty-five feet tall and get the women and children out of there,” she says. “I look at my relationship with my husband, how gentle and loving it is, and I want that for every woman—to never be afraid in an intimate relationship. True partnership is worth fighting for. Children raised in a loving home is the greatest gift we can give.”

Jan was another motivator and inspiration for Kathryn as they worked together on Shelternet. As Kathryn describes Jan, “She had a huge history and significant experience in the shelters. She’s incredibly well versed in the issues. She’s extraordinary.”

Jan is motivated by the possibility that a woman can be anything she wants to be, and she’s dedicated her entire adult life to the experience women have in the world. But as Jan says, “That means violence. Men violate women because they can—they’re allowed to.” Besides having been the director of a women’s shelter for more than fifteen years, Jan has served as an advocate, teacher, writer and community builder—all as part of her ongoing commitment to one day eradicating violence against women and children. Jan’s work with Shelternet has been an inspiration to continue her commitment. “I’ve been humbled by the incredible efforts of others,” she says, “particularly the rural women and shelters that have so few resources and real hardships. Yet these communities have real heart.”

Jan and Kathryn believe that the spirit of collaboration can make anything possible. But as Kathryn emphasizes, “There are so many issues that need help. Don’t be afraid if you’re just one person. Two is better—” she laughs “—but even one is okay. Any passion can be an issue you can volunteer for—and every skill is needed. You just have to reach out.”

Reaching out is the first connection to making a real difference in a community. And in the words of Margaret Mead, it’s the only thing that can change the world.

For more information visit www.shelternet.ca.

CARLA NEGGERS

CLOSE CALL

CARLA NEGGERS

Carla Neggers is the New York Times bestselling author of The Angel, The Widow, Cold Pursuit, Abandon, Breakwater, Dark Sky, The Rapids, Night's Landing and Cold Ridge. She lives with her family in New England.

Visit the author's Web site at: www.carlaneggers.com.

CHAPTER ONE

A dirt-encrusted mountain bike. A battered kayak. Free weights loose on the floor. Gym clothes and squash rackets hanging from a pegboard. Street and ice hockey sticks leaned up against the wall.

Brendan O’Malley’s idea of how to welcome guests to his place.

As she stepped into the foyer, Jessica Stewart told herself there were no surprises. It wasn’t as if she’d expected feng shui or something out of a decorating magazine. She loved the guy. She really did. She didn’t know if she was in love with him, but that was a problem for later—right now, she had to fight her way into his apartment and find out what he was up to.

Jess stuffed the key that O’Malley’s brother Mike—the firefighter brother—had loaned her. Brendan was one of the cop brothers, a Boston homicide detective. The other cop brother, the youngest, was just starting out. There was also a carpenter brother and a marine brother. Five O’Malley brothers in all. At thirty-four, Brendan was smack in the middle. A guy’s guy.

There was, in other words, no logical reason Jess should have expected anything but hockey sticks in the foyer.

Brendan and Mike owned the triple-decker and were renovating it as an investment property. Brendan had the first-floor apartment to himself.

Jess had rung the doorbell. She’d pounded on the door.

Taking Detective O’Malley by surprise wasn’t a good idea under any circumstances, but today it was really a bad one.

He’d almost been killed yesterday.

She hoped the kayak and mountain bike were a sign that he was still in town. Even his brothers didn’t want him going off on his own so soon after a trauma.

Using the toe of her taupe pumps, Jess rolled the dumbbells aside and entered the living room. It was her first time inside his apartment. Their on-again, off-again relationship over the past two months had been at theaters, restaurants and her condo on the waterfront. They hadn’t had so much as a candlelight dinner at his place.

No wonder.

It wasn’t that it was a pigsty in the sense of trash and garbage all over the floors and furniture. He didn’t live like a rat—or with rats. His apartment simply reflected his priorities. He had a flat-screen television, stacks of DVDs, an impressive stereo system, a computer, shelves of books on the Civil War and more sports equipment. In the living room.

He wasn’t much on hanging up his clothes, either.

Mike had warned Jess when she talked him into giving her the keys to his younger brother’s apartment. Brendan had lived on his own for a long time. His apartment was his sanctuary, his world away from his work as a detective.

Inviolable, and yet here she was.

She walked into the adjoining dining room. The table was stacked with car, sports and electronic gaming magazines and a bunch of flyers and guidebooks on Nova Scotia—another sign, she hoped, that he hadn’t already left.

He needed to be with his family and friends right now. Not off on his own in Nova Scotia. Everyone agreed.

Jess continued down the length of the apartment to the kitchen. A short hall led to the bathroom and bedroom. The bedroom door was shut, but she knew she’d never have gotten this far if he were on the premises. It was only five o’clock—she’d come straight from the courthouse—but he’d taken the day off.

No dirty dishes in the sink or on the counter, none in the dishwasher.

Not a good sign.

The house was solid, built about a hundred years ago in a neighborhood that wasn’t one of Boston’s finest, and had a lot of character. Brendan and Mike were doing most of the work themselves, but they were obviously taking their time—both had demanding jobs. They’d pulled up the old linoleum in the kitchen, revealing narrow hardwood flooring, and scraped off layers of wallpaper. Joe, the carpenter brother, had washed his hands of the place.

Jess peeked out onto the enclosed back porch, stacked with tools and building materials, all, presumably, locked up tight.

Brendan had mentioned, over a candlelight dinner at her place, that a couple of jazz musicians lived in the top floor apartment, a single-mother secretary with one teenage daughter in the middle floor apartment. He and Mike had fixed up the upper-floor apartments first because they provided income and allowed them to afford the taxes and mortgage.

Taking a breath, Jess made herself crack open the door to his bedroom.

It smelled faintly of his tangy aftershave. The shades were pulled.

The telephone rang, almost giving her a heart attack.

So much for having a prosecutor’s nerves of steel.

She waited for the message machine.

“Stewart?” It was O’Malley. “I know you’re there. I got it out of Mike. Pick up.”

No way was she picking up.