Chapter 10

10

JULY 3, 1927 MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

It had been a few days since I had learned the truth about Marcus's childhood and we'd discovered our shared love of reading. Something had shifted between us. There were no pretenses, no hidden agendas, nothing hindering us from knowing each other. I felt vulnerable—yet I knew he did, too. I trusted Marcus with my past, and he had trusted me with his. Even though I was a captive in his cabin, I had never felt safer.

The only thing I truly feared was that someone might notice my growing feelings for him.

It had also been a few days since Ruth had discovered Alice was living in our home. Ruth refused to speak to me but had agreed to come to my father's first live broadcast.

That Sunday evening, Father drove our family's green Chevrolet touring car while Mother sat in the front and I was in the back. Though it was past six, the sun was still bright and hot, but Father insisted upon keeping the top of the car up, in case of rain.

Sweat dripped down my back, and I tried to fan myself.

I hadn't admitted it to my parents, but I'd never been more nervous to sing. There would be a small audience at the studio, though that didn't bother me. It was the possibility of thousands of others listening by radio that made me the most uncomfortable. I didn't want to disappoint Father or his producers or anyone who tuned in to the show.

What I longed for was the quiet of our home—or the unexpected refuge of the little cabin on the Ocean Curse where there were no expectations beyond my ability to serve Marcus and Captain Zale.

We took Lyndale Avenue to Hennepin and pulled up at the new Nicollet Hotel less than ten minutes after leaving our house. The redbrick building was massive and covered an entire city block. It was a plain structure, with most of the expenses reserved for the inside.

Father parked, and the three of us got out of the Chevy. I watched Father for signs of nervousness as I tried to still my own. I fidgeted with my dress and my hat, but my mother's calm hand made me stop.

We entered the lavish lobby and were greeted by two representatives from the WCCO radio staff who escorted us up the elevator to the thirteenth floor. Everything about the hotel was fresh and new, and the radio station was modern and impressive.

"We'll be in here this evening, Reverend Baldwin," the station manager said as he led us down a hallway and through a door with a black-and-white sign above that said On Air , though it wasn't lit up.

The room was probably twenty by twenty and had checkered tan and white tiles on the floor. Cream-colored soundproof panels lined the walls, and two large windows had heavy white drapes. About a dozen wooden chairs were lined up against one wall in two rows, and I was surprised to discover that both of my brothers had already arrived along with several other guests, including Ruth and Lewis.

Lewis caught my eye and winked at me, while Ruth wouldn't look up from her clasped hands.

My brothers, Andrew and Thomas, both rose when we entered the room. They were younger versions of Father in their well-tailored suits, both tall and handsome with strong features, light-colored hair, and muscular frames. Thomas carried himself with the confidence of a police officer, while Andrew played the part of a banker—though Ruth told me that he had left his job at the bank a year ago to bootleg illegal alcohol from Canada, something my parents would be appalled to know. Father's staunch support of Prohibition had been the catalyst to his international fame. It was Andrew's need to do his work in secrecy that kept the public from learning the truth—but how long until he was caught by the feds? If and when that day came, Father's reputation would be ruined along with Andrew's.

"Boys," Mother said, her face lighting up at the sight of her grown sons.

They each gave her a kiss on the cheek and shook Father's hand, then they turned to me. I had missed them while in Europe and accepted their brotherly hugs, one at a time.

"Look at you," Andrew said as he pulled back and shook his head. "Paris was good to you, Carrie. Put some color in your cheeks."

The color in my cheeks had nothing to do with my experience in Paris—but it had everything to do with my nerves about singing tonight and what might happen when Andrew and Ruth came to our house and saw Alice.

Mother took a seat with our family while Father and I were led to the microphone hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

"Reverend Baldwin," the station manager said, "as soon as we give you the cue, you'll speak right into this microphone. There's no need to shout since it will pick up even a whisper."

Good-natured chuckles came from the audience, since everyone knew how fired up Father became when he preached. His voice often shook the chandeliers in our old church when he was in the middle of a good sermon.

Father offered a smile at his own expense, and then the manager turned to me. "Miss Baldwin, we have a piano player ready and waiting, and she'll accompany you while you sing."

I nodded at the manager and the pianist who was sitting at a grand piano in the corner of the room.

We had a few minutes before the show started, so I made my way across the room to where Ruth was sitting in the front row, between my brother and my mother.

"Hello, Ruth," I said.

"Hello." Her voice was small, and she didn't look up at me.

Lewis was on the other side of Andrew, and he was watching our interaction.

"Mother said that you and Andrew are coming over for a late supper."

"That's what Andrew has told me," she said, playing with the handle of her purse. "We couldn't turn down your mother's invitation."

"I am eager to speak to you." I tried not to sound too upset. Thankfully, Mother was engaged in conversation with the person on her other side.

"There is nothing you can say to me," Ruth said.

I met Andrew's gaze and gave him my most disappointed look. He just shrugged, which made me angrier than before. He was ten years older than me and had been twenty-one when he went off to war. He and Ruth had just been married at the time. They'd known each other since high school and had been so in love and eager to start their lives. When Andrew returned, he'd taken a job at the bank, and things had appeared good on the surface for a few years. But then, everything began to fall apart.

Ruth often commented that the war had changed him. The truth was, the war had changed everyone. Some more than others. The thing that the Lost Generation, the flappers, the gangsters, the bootleggers, and even the Prohibitionists and moral reformers had in common was a glimpse of their own mortality. The difference was that one group of people was focused on how short their lives were and wanted to live it up while they could, while the other was thinking of how long eternity was and how best to get everyone there together. The Spanish flu had heightened the problem, and the strict regulations of Prohibition had sealed the fate of America's current problems.

Lewis watched the entire interaction between Ruth and me carefully, questions in the furrow of his brow. But when I met his gaze, his expression softened and he said, "You look lovely tonight, Carrie. It's been a long time since I've heard you sing. I've been looking forward to it all week."

It didn't seem possible, but my nerves increased, and I felt sick to my stomach. I just wanted it to be over.

"It's time, Miss Baldwin," the station manager said. "After the station pauses for identification, our host will introduce this new weekly show, and then he'll introduce you and you'll begin to sing. Will that suit you?"

"Yes, of course."

I followed him to the microphone, my hands sweating and my legs shaking. I was wearing a pretty blue dress and a white cloche hat, which I touched now to make sure it was on straight.

The clock chimed seven, and the manager indicated for the audience to be silent; then the On Air sign lit up inside the room. After the station identification was done, the manager pointed to the host of the show, who was sitting at a table in the corner with his own microphone, and he began to speak.

Father was sitting near the piano, his head bowed and his hands clasped.

I hoped he was praying for my nerves, since I wasn't sure if God listened to my prayers.

When the host was done with the introduction, the manager pointed at the pianist, and she began to play the achingly familiar chords to "Amazing Grace."

I stepped up to the microphone, took a deep breath, and then began to sing.

All I could imagine were the tens of thousands of people listening and panic began to choke me. Father continued to pray, and Mother watched with her eyebrows raised as if holding her breath, hoping I wouldn't make a mistake.

But then the words from a pirate, two hundred years and thousands of miles away, filled my mind and heart unexpectedly. What if I was only singing for an Audience of One? What if I focused on the One who had given me my voice in the first place?

And in that moment, my perspective shifted.

It no longer mattered what everyone else might think. My nerves disappeared as my voice and heart filled with courage.

Thoughts of Marcus made me smile, and thinking that God was taking pleasure in my humble offering gave me joy.

As I finished the last verse, I lowered my gaze from the back of the room to the faces of the audience. Everyone was watching me, but it was Lewis whose gaze held something more than appreciation for my song.

As soon as I thought I saw something deeper, though, he winked at me again and the moment faded. I could just imagine him pulling on one of my braids and telling me I needed more practice.

The song ended, and the studio audience clapped politely; then I went to the only open seat in the front row, which happened to be next to Lewis.

The row of chairs was snug, and I didn't know the person on the other side, so I sat a bit closer to Lewis. Our legs brushed, and he grinned at me with a teasing smile.

Father approached the microphone and offered a prayer before he began his sermon.

Though I'd been listening to him all my life, I never tired of his voice. It was deep and rich and engaging. He spoke about sin and unrighteousness, but he never left it there. He always gave hope for the path forward. And just like the song, he promised there was grace for everyone. He didn't seem a bit nervous, and for the first time, I wondered if perhaps he was preaching for an Audience of One, as well.

"I'm joined in the studio tonight by my loving wife, Marian, and our three children, Andrew, Thomas, and Caroline." Father glanced at us, a rare light of pride in his face. "One of my mentors once told me that a preacher's teaching is only as good as the fruit it bears in his own life. If you have no influence on the lives of your spouse and children, then you have no business influencing anyone else."

There were murmurs of approval around us, but my chest tightened at his words. I glanced at my brothers, but neither one showed any sign of discomfort or shame.

"The Bible tells us that pride cometh before the fall," he continued, "so I speak not with pride, but with humility when I say that I am blessed with the best wife and children a man can have. My wife serves sacrificially alongside me. My oldest son, Andrew, is an upstanding husband, father, and decorated war hero. My second son, Thomas, is a respected lieutenant in the Saint Paul Police Department, and my daughter, Caroline, who you just heard sing, is a godly young woman who joyfully uses her gifts to bless others."

I couldn't breathe as he spoke those words. Guilt washed over me as I thought about all the dishonesty in my life—in our family's life. I secretly chastised my brothers, yet I was just as blameworthy as them in different ways. I didn't serve joyfully—at least, I hadn't until tonight. And it wasn't because of Father's teaching, but because of a pirate's simple faith.

Father's sermon was all about moral character and righteous living, things my brothers and I lacked. How had we not heeded our father's words? I wasn't sure why my brothers rebelled against his teaching, but I knew why I did. I cared too much about what people thought of me, and I feared that the sins of Anne Reed and my grandmother in Salem had stained my soul. Was I destined to follow in their footsteps, whether I wanted to or not?

The thought of falling for a handsome pirate told me I wasn't too far from their path.

A small caravan of cars left the parking lot of the Nicollet Hotel an hour later and moved toward our home on Dupont Avenue where Ingrid was preparing a late supper.

Father pulled into the driveway and let Mother and me out of the Chevy before he brought it to the garage in back. Andrew and Ruth's car pulled up to the curb seconds later, followed by Thomas's and then Lewis's.

Another car I didn't recognize stopped on the opposite side of the street. There were two men inside, both wearing their hats low on their foreheads. When the driver nodded at Andrew, my brother got out of his car and strolled across the street to talk to them.

Ruth didn't move.

Thomas got out of his car and bounded up the sidewalk past me to the porch where he opened the door for Mother and then distracted her as he ushered her inside.

She didn't seem to notice Andrew or the strangers in the other car, which was probably Thomas's intention.

Lewis was the next to exit his vehicle. He glanced toward the meeting across the street, but he, too, ignored the situation.

I waited for him with a frown. "Who are those men Andrew is speaking to?"

With a shrug he said, "I don't know."

I tried getting a better look, but Lewis stepped into my line of sight and said, "It's Andrew's business. He's a big boy."

"You won't tell me—even if you know."

"Andrew's making his own decisions, Carrie."

"You're a police officer, and if those are gangsters, you—"

"I'm off duty."

I shook my head in frustration, but Lewis changed the subject as he started to coax me up the sidewalk toward the house. "I missed you more than I realized I would when you were in Paris."

The sun was low on the western horizon, creating a soft glow on the yard, making his blue eyes sparkle.

"You missed me?" I asked, though he was only trying to distract me. I had my eye on Andrew, who was still across the road.

Ruth wiped her cheeks as if she was crying but made no move to leave her vehicle.

"Would that surprise you?" Lewis asked, drawing my attention to him.

"A little."

He shrugged. "It surprised me, too. Maybe that childhood crush is still alive and well."

I rolled my eyes and started for the porch. "I wish you could be serious for once, Lewis."

He reached out and took my hand to stop me. "Is that what you really want, Carrie?"

Something about the way his voice had shifted, and the tenderness in his touch, filled me with apprehension. Lewis had never been serious.

Pulling my hand away, I tried to laugh it off. "I don't know what I would do if you were serious."

"We can find out."

I chuckled outwardly, though inside I was not laughing. I knew how to handle the easygoing, lighthearted Lewis Cager.

This man was entirely different.

"Come inside," I said as I wrapped my arm through his like I would an old chum, while glancing over my shoulder at Andrew. "Last one in has to help Ingrid with the dishes."

I tried to pass off his words and actions with nonchalance, but he was stiff beside me as we walked into the house.

It didn't take him long to relax, though, and he was soon teasing poor Ingrid, whose cheeks were aflame with embarrassment.

A few minutes later, I moved the curtain aside and saw that the men were gone, and Andrew was standing beside the open passenger door of his car speaking to Ruth.

She hadn't moved and was still staring forward, her body rigid.

"Where are Andrew and Ruth?" Mother asked as she came down the stairs.

I stepped away from the window and said, "In their vehicle. And where is Alice?"

"In her room. She said she didn't feel well and didn't want to intrude on our family time."

I closed my eyes briefly, thankful for the reprieve.

The front door opened a moment later, and Andrew and Ruth entered. Andrew bypassed me in the foyer and joined Thomas and Lewis in the parlor.

"Are you feeling alright, Ruth?" Mother frowned at her pale daughter-in-law.

"I'm fine," Ruth said, though she wasn't doing a good job convincing anyone.

"If you need anything, you know to ask." Mother glanced into the parlor and said, "Now, Thomas, put that down. It was a gift from the French ambassador!"

She hurried off, leaving Ruth and me alone in the foyer.

"I'm so sorry, Ruth," I said the moment Mother was out of earshot. "I wanted to get Alice to leave, but she tricked Mother and Father into letting her stay. They don't know who she—"

"Don't." Ruth put up her hand. "I don't want to know any more. I've determined to make the best of this and try to be a grown-up about it. It's not your fault or your parents' fault. I will take the blame."

I frowned. "You? There is no one to blame but Alice and Andre—"

"No." Her voice was firm. "If I was a better wife—"

"Ruth, that's ridiculous and you know it."

"If I was a better wife," she continued, "my husband would not stray. I often allow my exhaustion to get the better of me, and I don't honor my husband as I should."

I stared at her, shocked and horrified. "You are an amazing wife and mother, Ruth. It's your husband—"

"I won't hear it, Carrie. If you can't speak nicely about my husband, then I don't want you speaking about him at all." She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Now, I'm going to join the family and make sure that everyone has a splendid time together. Your parents deserve nothing less."

Anger vibrated through my body as she walked away—not anger at her, but at my brother and at the woman in the guest room upstairs.

"Andrew?" I said as I came to the parlor door. "May I have a word with you?"

Ruth shook her head at me, but I couldn't bear her nonsense. If she wouldn't talk some sense into her husband, I would.

Andrew sighed and then rose from the sofa.

I turned on my heels and strode out the front door to the porch.

Thankfully, he followed without a fight.

"I know what you're going to say, Carrie. And frankly, it's none of your business."

"That woman is upstairs, in our parents' house," I seethed. "It is my business. Do you have no regard for anyone but yourself? Father's livelihood and reputation is teetering on the edge, and you're going to tell me to mind my own business?" My voice was rising to a dangerous level, so I forced myself to calm down. "What about your wife and children? Your own reputation?"

He shrugged. "What is a reputation, anyway? Who cares?"

"I do—all of us do. Why are you being so selfish?"

"You're so na?ve, Carrie." He reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket but returned them, apparently remembering where he was. At least he had some respect for our parents' home.

"How am I na?ve?"

"There's a big world out there, and it's ripe for picking. Father's views are so narrow and old-fashioned. The 1920s are a rebirth, and the rest of the world is moving on, but he's stuck in one place. I have no desire to stay there with him."

"His ideas are not old-fashioned. They're timeless. God's Word is eternal. He doesn't change just because society changes." Even if I wasn't sure God cared about me, I was certain about His character. "You're giving in to the desires of your flesh, and you're hurting everyone you love in the process."

"You're starting to sound like the old man," he scoffed and then patted me on the head as if I were a child. "Na?ve and in your own little bubble. It'll pop one day, and you'll realize I'm right."

I pulled my head away from his hand and clenched my teeth. "If it's old-fashioned to see to the happiness and well-being of your family, then I don't care if I am na?ve. There is right and wrong, Andrew, whether you want to accept it or not. What you're doing to Ruth and our parents is wrong. What you're doing to Alice is wrong, too." I didn't have any fond regard for her, but the truth was the truth. "You need to deal with her before she becomes a bigger problem."

Andrew rolled his eyes and leaned against the pillar. "Fine. I'll see what I can do."

I wanted a concrete plan, but at least he seemed receptive to my plea.

"And stay home with your wife and children, where you belong," I said, pushing a little further. "Ruth loves you, and when you come to the end of your life, she's all you'll have left—if you're lucky. Treat her like the rare treasure she is and stop hurting her."

"Stay out of my business." Anger glinted in his eyes as he pushed away from the pillar. "Ruth's fine."

I wasn't afraid of my brother, so I pressed on. "And who were those men across the street?"

He shrugged. "That's none of your business, either."

"Are they ...?" I paused and lowered my voice even further. "Gangsters?"

Andrew's chuckle was sardonic. "Let's just call them business associates, shall we?"

"Why would you tell them where our parents live?"

"They were in the neighborhood, and we had a transaction to make." He patted his pocket. "I gotta feed my kids, don't I?"

He walked back into the house, leaving the front door open.

I stayed on the porch, taking several deep breaths, wanting to calm down before I joined the others. The last thing I needed to worry about was gangsters hanging around my parents' house.

"Everything okay?" Lewis asked as he stepped onto the porch, the screen door creaking with his arrival.

I tried to steady my nerves as I said, "I'll be fine."

"Does your beef with Andrew have something to do with Alice?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"I'm a police detective, Carrie. It doesn't take much to notice the tension in this house."

"I'm happy my parents haven't figured it out."

He shrugged and leaned against the pillar that Andrew had just occupied. "You might be surprised."

I stared at him. "You think Mother and Father know?"

"It might explain why they've allowed a complete stranger to live with them."

Nibbling my bottom lip, I contemplated his words.

"Come on," he said with a smile, putting his arm around my shoulder. "Let's go inside before your mother starts to worry. Ingrid's roast smells delicious, and I already saved the seat next to you at the table."

"So you can tease me?"

He laughed. "So I can flirt with you."

I rolled my eyes—but deep down, I knew he wasn't teasing, and I wasn't sure what to do with that information.

Because the only man who had made my heart race with attraction was on a pirate ship, two centuries away. And he hadn't teased me once.