Chapter 26

26

AUGUST 23, 1927 MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

When I opened my eyes in my bedroom on Dupont Avenue the next morning, I immediately wanted to return to Marcus and not have to spend a day away from him. But it was also torture to be with him and not know what the future held.

The white canopied bed was bright with the rays of sunshine pouring in through the window. I turned on my side and looked at the vibrant green leaves outside, gently swaying in the late summer wind.

Would God listen if I prayed for a miracle? If I believed that He created me and loved me, then I also had to believe that He was for me, and I could go to Him in prayer. It didn't mean He would give me the miracle, but it did mean that He would listen to my plea and do what was best.

I wanted to be with Marcus, to find a way to live as man and wife without the past hovering over us for the rest of our lives. Marcus had led a life of crime—I had not even thought to ask him for a list of his transgressions—but he longed to make it right. And wasn't that what redemption was for? The reason God had sent His Son to offer forgiveness to those who repented?

It was the message my father preached time and time again, from Romans chapter ten. "For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." And in 1 John it said if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us. It didn't mean Marcus wouldn't have to pay the consequences for his actions, but there would be peace knowing he was right with God.

Even if that meant we couldn't be together.

My heart ached thinking about a future without him, so I did the only thing I could. I laid my future in God's hands, where it had always belonged, and prayed for a miracle.

"Caroline," Mother called from the hallway as she opened my door and peeked her head inside. "There's no time to dawdle in bed. We have a very busy day ahead of us."

Lindbergh's homecoming and then Father's tent revival tonight. He had asked me to sing, and I had agreed. But this time, I knew who I was singing for, and I wasn't nearly as nervous.

I quickly got out of bed and dressed in a white summer dress with a pleated skirt, a lace top with long sleeves, and a thick black belt around my waist. It was different from many of the other dresses I wore and had recently been purchased for this occasion at Dayton's department store in downtown Minneapolis. I would wear my white cloche cap and a pair of black buckled heels.

After touching up my hair and putting a little rouge on my lips and cheeks, I left my room. With prayers for Marcus close to my heart, I was ready for the day ahead.

As I walked down the front steps, the house was strangely quiet. I had expected Father and Mother to be chatting excitedly about the day's upcoming activities, or to hear Irene's giggles about seeing Lindbergh again. But there was no noise except the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.

A strange anxiety stole over me as I crossed into the parlor and rounded the corner into the dining room.

Father stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, while Mother was at the table, her handkerchief to her face as she silently cried. Irene was pale—a sickly color that portended shocking news. Her gaze lifted to mine, and her blue eyes were round and filled with tears.

My heart sank as I saw the scene before me. "What happened?"

Mother's eyes lifted to mine, but she let out a cry and buried her face in her handkerchief, shaking her head.

My heart galloped as I looked to my father, who slowly turned from the window. I had never seen his face so grave—so filled with disappointment and defeat. He silently walked to the table, his regal bearing bent forward, as if the weight of the very world was upon his shoulders. Slowly, he lifted the Minneapolis Tribune off the table.

It felt like he was in slow motion as he handed the paper to me. I expected to see Lindbergh's name on the headline. Perhaps the pilot had been killed in a plane crash.

Instead, there was a picture, front and center, of my father in the middle of a sermon, holding a Bible and passionately preaching the Word of God. Around the picture of my father were smaller images with captions underneath. Lewis and me at the Castle Royal, speaking to Annie Barker. Me singing at the Coliseum. A picture of Thomas and Alice dancing together that night—Alice's pregnancy evident. An older one of Andrew with his arm around Alice, sitting at a table, with bottles of alcohol in hand as they grinned at whoever was taking the photo. And another of Andrew and Ruth with their three beautiful children.

Above this collage was the bold headline: The Hypocrisy of Reverend Baldwin's Family.

I stared at the images in shock. My stomach turned as panic gripped my heart. Someone must have been following our family, spying on each of us until they had what they needed. And they'd waited until today—the day of my father's biggest tent revival—to share the story.

My worst fears had been realized.

I quickly skimmed the article, hoping that there was some redemption in this story, but it was worse than I could imagine. Whoever had written it knew about Thomas's weekly visits to Nina Clifford's brothel and Andrew's work as a bootlegger, bringing alcohol into Minnesota from Canada. They outlined Andrew's affair with Alice and then her move into our home before taking up with Thomas. It was an exposé on the transgressions of the Baldwin children as their father, the biggest hypocrite of them all, was about to lead the largest tent revival meeting in the country.

I lowered the paper and found that my father had gone back to the window and my mother's face was still buried in her handkerchief.

Tears came to my eyes as I felt their pain. We'd hurt them—I'd hurt them—and they didn't deserve it. My parents were good and kind. They lived the things they preached. They weren't hypocrites or liars.

We were.

"I'm sorry." My apology was so feeble, so insignificant in light of their suffering. I sank into my chair, feeling weak and unsteady.

Irene stared at her clasped hands. No doubt she wished she was anywhere but here.

Father and Mother said nothing, which was almost worse than if they had yelled. I deserved their anger and resentment. Mother's silent weeping was the hardest to bear. Her heart was breaking, and it was my fault. I had tried for years to live a life that would make them proud. But in just a few days' time, I had thrown caution to the wind to find Annie, and it was now splashed upon the pages of the largest newspaper in Minneapolis. Whoever had taken the picture of Annie and me knew who she was, and the caption under that photo had read: "Caroline Baldwin at the Castle Royal with Annie Barker, the Most Wanted Woman in America."

How had I not noticed there was someone taking a picture of us? It must have been a hidden camera, and the paper must have hired people to spy on our family. There had to be multiple people working together to unmask the Baldwin family, waiting for the perfect moment.

And they had found it.

I had done nothing wrong, but the pictures said otherwise, and it wouldn't pay to defend myself. Not now. Not with my parents just learning the truth about their children's lives.

"Is Alice Pierce who I think she is?" Father asked, his back still toward me. "Andrew's mistress?"

"Yes."

"And did you know who she was when she entered this house?"

I didn't want to answer, but I couldn't lie or stay silent. "Yes. Ruth warned me about her."

"Ruth knew?"

"I'm afraid so."

Mother's cries intensified, and Irene reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

The telephone rang, but no one made a move to answer it.

"No doubt there will be many calls today," Father said. "I don't want anyone to answer a single one. I will make a statement at the meeting tonight."

"You're going through with it?" Mother asked as she finally lifted her face from her handkerchief.

"Of course." Father turned to her. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because our lives have just been torn apart, Daniel. Everyone will know by tonight, and we'll be the laughingstock of the country. All our enemies will gloat, and our friends will abandon us."

Father walked to Mother and offered her his hand.

She took it and rose to face him.

With tenderness, he placed his hands on either side of her face. "If our friends abandon us, then they aren't truly our friends. And if our enemies don't gloat, then they aren't truly our enemies. We will survive this crisis, like all the others, Marian. And we'll do it with God's help."

"I don't think I can muster the courage, Daniel."

"You don't need to. God will give you the strength." He took her handkerchief and gently wiped at her tears. "And if you don't think you have it in you today, then you can stay home, and I'll face this for both of us."

My parents were rarely affectionate in front of us, but Mother went into Father's arms and he hugged her, rubbing her back with a gentleness that spoke volumes about how much he loved her and cared about her. They were a team, both working toward their common goals, shouldering life's difficulties, celebrating their wins, mourning their losses, and trying to ease each other's burdens. When one was weak, the other was strong. It was a beautiful example of marriage—something I longed to have with Marcus. I felt stronger when I was with him, just as I could see my mother felt with my father's strength.

Mother pulled back and took a deep breath. "God will give me strength to face everyone today. I won't cower, even if my heart is breaking."

Father nodded encouragement and gave her the briefest kiss.

"Now," he said as he held out Mother's chair and helped her to sit. "I want to hear everything, Caroline. Even if it's difficult and painful and sordid. I don't want you to spare a detail. I need to know what I'm dealing with if I'm to handle it well. No more surprises."

"I think I'll go upstairs," Irene said as she rose from her spot at the table. "This sounds like a family issue."

No one stopped her as she left the room.

Father took his seat at the head of the table, and both my parents looked at me intently.

I folded my hands and laid them on my lap, knowing this would not be an easy thing to do. "If I'm to explain it all, then there's something you need to know about me."

My mother briefly closed her eyes, as if she couldn't handle one more shocking detail, but my father stared intently. And, just like everything else in his life, he would face it with steadfast courage and determination.

"I tried telling you when I was young, but neither of you would believe me," I said as I watched them for their reaction. "But if you want to understand why I was singing at the Coliseum, or why I was standing with Annie Barker in the Castle Royal, then you'll have to face the truth." I paused just long enough to take a deep breath. "I live two lives. One here—and the other in 1727."

I told them everything about my two lives and why I needed to find Annie. I explained that Lewis was helping me, and that my search had taken me places I would never have gone if I wasn't desperate.

When I was done, my parents stared at me with confusion and disbelief.

"I've wanted to talk about this so many times," I told them, "but neither one of you would believe me."

"I'm not sure how to believe you now," Father said. "It's—it's so strange. Did you concoct this tale to cover up your real reasons for being with Annie Barker?"

"This isn't the first time she's told us this, Daniel," Mother said as her confusion began to clear. "Don't you remember all the strange things she said to us when she was a little girl? She talked about her grandfather and her nanny and the servants who lived on the plantation, as if they were real people and not a figment of her imagination."

"I talked about them when I was little?" I asked.

"You were an early talker," Mother said with fondness. "You prattled on and on about all sorts of things that made no sense at the time. I thought you were being a fanciful child, playing make believe. But I do remember when I started to get concerned, and I brought it to your father's attention."

"And I never spoke of it again after that," I told her.

She turned to Father. "Why would she go to such lengths to make up a story like this, Daniel? I believe her."

I waited as my father studied me, hoping and praying he would believe me, too, because I desperately wanted to talk to him about matters of faith. He wasn't a perfect man, but his heart desired perfection before the Lord, and he was good at offering wisdom and advice.

Slowly, he began to nod. "I have no reason to doubt you, Caroline. Until I saw this newspaper today, I never mistrusted you or your intentions. If you say these things are true, then I will choose to believe you."

I rose from the table to embrace my father. He also stood and took me into his arms.

A dam broke inside of me, and all the tears that had been building up during my life unleashed, cascading down my face in a sort of baptism. I felt renewed, clean, at peace. I didn't have to hide anymore. I could be Caroline Reed Baldwin. A strange conglomeration of the two lives I lived, no longer needing to be one or the other.

It felt good to be seen by my father. It didn't fix the scandal that had just been unleashed upon our family, but it eased the broken pieces inside of me.

There was nothing better than being loved—and accepted—completely.

After Mother hugged me, we went upstairs to freshen up, and then it was time to face the outside world.

It would not be so understanding.

The day went as planned, though things felt off from the start. Everywhere we went, people stared at us, whispering behind their hands. Some mocked my father as he walked through the airport at Wold-Chamberlain Field to wait for Lindbergh's arrival, but he ignored their taunting and kept his chin up.

Lindbergh arrived in his airplane, the Spirit of St. Louis, just two minutes behind schedule, but the crowd of thousands broke the fence and rushed his airplane. The police were forced to get Lindbergh to safety until the crowd could be controlled, which meant the parade from Minneapolis into Saint Paul had been delayed. Both the Minneapolis and Saint Paul mayors were on hand to greet Lindbergh and then ride in the parade ahead of him as escorts.

Because there was a contract with Saint Paul, Lindbergh had to be at the new Saint Paul airport on time. This meant that the parade through Minneapolis was rushed, and many people were visibly upset that they didn't get a better look at the Minnesota hero.

Father, Mother, Irene, and I were in a car at the rear of the parade, though we tried not to draw unwanted attention. Some people recognized Father, and the heckling continued as we made our way to the Saint Paul airport and then on to the reception at the Saint Paul Hotel.

Since Father was on the Minneapolis committee, we were introduced to Lindbergh again, but there were so many people, we only had a moment of his time.

As soon as our audience with Lindbergh was over, we left the hotel. We'd intended to stay for the meal, but the mayor of Minneapolis had asked Father to leave, given the unique circumstances of the newspaper headlines that morning.

My cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment as we drove away from the Saint Paul Hotel and headed back across the Mississippi River toward Minneapolis.

No one spoke, and the silence, after a day of excited crowds cheering Lindbergh's name, was deafening.

"I'm sorry, Daniel," Mother said as we drove to the Hennepin County fairgrounds. "I know this day is not what you had hoped."

"I won't lie," he said. "It's a blow that's hard to accept. But I won't let it deter me from delivering the message God has laid on my heart, even if the three of you are the only people who will hear me." Father had been expecting thousands of people to attend his tent meeting, but after this morning's news, none of us were sure how many would attend.

Irene had been quiet all day. She wasn't giving me the cold shoulder, but she wasn't being warm or friendly, either. Was she simply uncomfortable because of what was happening, or was she angry with me?

When we arrived at the fairgrounds and made our way into the red-and-white-striped circus tent, there were several men waiting for Father's arrival. All of them had grim faces, and they took my father aside to speak in hushed tones.

The tent was huge, and inside were rows and rows of benches that would allow thousands of people to sit. At the front was a stage with a microphone, a pulpit, a stand-up piano, and nothing else. My father liked simplicity.

Several dozen volunteers were setting up the benches for the evening. I recognized many of them, but none would even look at me. A lot of people had put many hours and thousands of dollars into this event. It wasn't simply my father who would suffer if no one attended.

"Come," Mother said as she took my hand. "Let's take our seats."

We would have over an hour to wait.

"Do you think Thomas and Andrew will come?" I asked her, finally voicing the question that had been humming in my mind all day.

"They said they would come, and I hope that they will."

"Do you?"

Mother turned her blue-eyed gaze on me, and I could see the devastation in their depths—but there was also hope. "With all my heart."

Lewis arrived soon after us, his face filled with worry.

"I tried calling you all day," he said as he approached us. "I even stopped by the house, but you weren't in."

"We've been busy with the Lindbergh celebration." I stood, eager to talk to him.

But he turned to Mother and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Baldwin. I can't imagine what you've endured today. Please know that Caroline was never doing anything—"

"She explained everything to us, Lewis," Mother said. "And we understand. Though the reverend and I were upset to learn that you took her to those places without our knowledge, we are relieved to know that you were there with her to keep her safe."

Instead of looking relieved, Lewis's guilt seemed to mount.

"Would you like to sit with us?" Mother asked him.

"Do you think it's wise, since I'm in the photo with Caroline and Annie Barker?"

"I think it's imperative," she said.

Irene moved aside so Lewis could sit between us.

The smell of the musty tent, and sawdust laid over the dirt to muffle the sound of shuffling feet, mixed with the heat and began to give me a headache. As the clock ticked, I feared that people would not come to Father's meeting. He'd never had a problem drawing in crowds before, but today was different. Today, people had learned that the things Daniel Baldwin preached were not being lived out by his children. That level of hypocrisy could not be ignored. I just wished that they knew our father's life, and the things he preached, had nothing to do with the decisions we made as adults. He was good and honest and trustworthy, even if we were not.

Father joined us, his face set in a determined line as he scanned the large, almost empty tent.

"Don't worry, Daniel," Mother said as she reached for his hand. "God will sustain us."

He smiled at her and then greeted Lewis, echoing Mother's sentiments.

As they were talking, Thomas entered the tent, with Alice on his arm, his expression hard to read. They were dressed in their Sunday best, and I didn't miss the shiny gold bands on both of their left hands.

Mother stiffened beside me, and Father's face was serious.

Thomas acknowledged our parents as he said, "Father and Mother, I'd like you to meet my wife, Mrs. Alice Baldwin. We were married yesterday at the courthouse and were waiting to tell you in person this morning. Unfortunately, things didn't quite go as planned."

No one said anything for a moment, and then Mother rose from the bench and went to Alice. She stood in front of her for a heartbeat, and then she embraced the younger woman.

Alice closed her eyes, and her lips trembled as she returned my mother's hug.

"Welcome to the family, Alice." Mother pulled back and put a smile on her face. "As you know, this won't be easy. Especially for Ruth."

Nodding, Alice looked down at her swollen stomach. "I wish I would have done things the right way from the start. But I guess that's not part of our story, so we're trying to make the best of it."

"That's all any of us can do." Mother motioned to the bench. "Won't you sit with the family?"

As Alice was taking a seat on the other side of Irene, Thomas turned to our father and said, "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you, son," Father said, though the weight of the pain he carried was etched deeply into the creases of his face. "There will be time to talk later. You should take a seat next to your wife."

Thomas did as Father instructed just as Ruth arrived, alone.

She was pale and thin. She looked as if she'd aged a decade in the past couple of months. When she saw Alice, she paused, and my heart broke for her. I couldn't imagine the anguish it would cause her to know that Alice was now part of our family, or that every time she saw the child Alice carried, she'd be reminded of Andrew's infidelity. It amazed me that Thomas could accept it. I wasn't na?ve enough to believe that everything would be easy, or that it would all work out well. But I could pray for each of them, hoping that God would bring beauty from the ashes.

Ruth seemed to find some sort of strength from within, and she continued toward our parents. Out of all of us, she was the most innocent, yet she had suffered far more than the rest.

She offered a tremulous smile for my parents. "I'm sorry Andrew couldn't be here."

"I am, too," Father said. "But I'm very happy that you've come." His voice was low and gentle. "I'm saddened by what I learned about him today. I cannot sit back and watch him destroy your life. I want you to know that if you need anything, our door is always open to you and the children. I do not condone adultery, nor will I counsel you to stay in your marriage. Do not feel you need to continue in this hurtful situation because of Marian or me—or anyone else. You should not have to endure what's happened to you, Ruth, and had I known, I would have done something sooner to help. Please forgive me."

Ruth began to cry, and Father stepped forward to embrace her as Mother placed her hand on Ruth's back.

"If Andrew seeks forgiveness," Father said, "he will have it, but I will put you and the children's needs ahead of his." No one spoke for a moment, and then Father said to Ruth, "I'm so sorry you've had to endure today's humiliation."

She pulled away and wiped her tears. "Today was difficult," she admitted, "because now the whole world knows the secrets we've been keeping. But it did not come as a shock to me. I've had years to deal with Andrew's infidelity."

Father nodded. "It pains me to know you've been carrying this burden alone. Will you forgive me?"

"You have no reason to ask forgiveness," she said.

Mother put her arm around Ruth. "Are the children being cared for?"

"Yes, with my parents."

"We will see that you're brought to your parents after the meeting," Mother promised, "or to wherever you'd like to go."

Ruth smiled, and then said, "Thank you. I don't know what will happen with my marriage, but it's good to know that I have your support."

Mother took her hand and brought her to the bench, on the opposite end as Alice. Perhaps, one day, the two women might find a way forward, but today was not that day.

My father looked at each of us sitting in the front row, and he nodded. It hadn't been easy to face his children, but he had done the right thing. And he would do the right thing again as he stood on that stage tonight, knowing that many of the people who came would be judging him—if they came at all.

My fears were soon put to rest as people began to enter the tent. At first, they trickled in, but about thirty minutes before the meeting began, they came in droves. The benches were soon filled, and people were standing on the outer edges of the tent. The noise had increased as people were visiting, waiting for the meeting to start. Father stood behind the stage with several of the men who had helped him plan the event, praying for guidance.

Before long, I was summoned onto the stage to sing the opening hymn.

My legs were shaking, and my stomach was in knots as I climbed the steps. The pianist was seated behind the piano, and she smiled at me. The entire tent quieted. Most of them were aware I had stood with Annie Barker in the most notorious speakeasy in Saint Paul. Did that mean I was defiled? Beyond redemption? Had most of them come to gawk and see how this drama might unfold on the stage? I didn't care why they came, just that they had.

For the first time in my life, I was prepared for this moment. Had I been concerned about the crowd and what they thought about me like I had been in the past, I would have buckled under the pressure. But now I understood that the only One I needed to think about was my heavenly Father. And His love was enough. More than enough.

When the pianist began to play "Amazing Grace," I felt the lyrics deep within my soul. I allowed the grace of God to saturate my words. It was a message for me, as well as for everyone else in the room. I knew the history of the song, which was written by John Newton, a slave trader who had lived an abominable life before finding salvation in Christ. He'd denied his faith most of his life, but after several near-death experiences, he began to understand God's grace and mercy. He studied the Word of God and needed to know if his soul was redeemable.

The answer was a simple yes.

And instead of letting the sins of his past corrupt his future, he had given his life to serving God, and he'd written the most beloved and transformative hymn of all time.

My parents understood that same message and had made it their life's work to share it with as many people as possible.

A few minutes later, after I'd finished singing and was sitting with my family again, my father took the stage.

The audience was silent as his steps echoed across the wooden platform and he stood before the microphone. I held my breath, praying he would have the words, the courage, the forbearance to stand up under their scrutiny.

"I have often stood on a stage such as this one," he began, looking a little older and wearier than before, "and I have preached about the grace and forgiveness of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I did not teach from head knowledge only—or from simply reading the Bible and retelling it in my own words—but from a place of experience. You see, I am a sinner, saved by God's amazing grace. I once lived a debauched lifestyle. As a baseball player, I traveled from town to town, drinking, gambling, and making choices that hurt the people I loved. I denied the gospel of Christ, the very good news that had the power to save me, and I laughed at those who preached it.

"But one morning there was a newspaper outside my hotel room, and on the front page was a story about me. I had been so drunk the night before, I didn't even remember. A group of people had found me, naked, in the middle of a park, and I wasn't alone. The story destroyed my life as I had known it."

My mouth parted as he spoke. I'd never heard this story, and by the looks on the faces of everyone but my mother, I was certain no one else but her had, either.

"That day was not unlike today," he continued as he searched the faces of the people in the audience. "I won't pretend that everyone in the tent didn't read this morning's paper. And I won't pretend that my wife and I weren't devastated at what we saw. But can I tell you? It was nothing compared to seeing headlines about my own misdeeds on the front page, because at that time, I didn't understand the power of redemption. Of forgiveness. Of second chances. But today I do. I know it can change lives drastically—because it changed mine. And if I live to be one hundred, I will never tire of offering grace and forgiveness to anyone who asks it of me, because how could I deny it to someone when it's a gift that God gave freely to me?" He paused, and his countenance became heavier still. "I have put all my focus and energy on my ministry, at the expense of my family. I placed burdens upon their shoulders that were too great to bear, and I never asked them what they wanted. I need to apologize to each of them today and ask for their forgiveness."

His gaze met Mother's, then Thomas's, then mine, and finally Ruth's. "I'm sorry."

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and I simply nodded. Of course he had my forgiveness. He had never set out to hurt any of us.

After he received responses from each of us, he said, "Shall we pray?"

My mother took mine and Ruth's hands, and she bowed her head.

I caught Ruth's tear-filled eyes, and I offered her a smile, which she returned.

Our family wasn't perfect, and there was a lot of healing that would need to happen, but if Father and Mother could extend grace and forgiveness to us, and we to them, then we would find a way to move forward.

As I bowed my head to listen to my father's words of redemption, I prayed that it would extend to Marcus—because he, more than anyone, needed to understand the healing power of forgiveness.