Chapter 4

4

JUNE 11, 1927 WASHINGTON, DC

I had never seen anything like the festivity that accompanied us from Paris to Washington, DC, after Lindbergh landed. Father had received a telegram from President Calvin Coolidge, inviting us to attend the welcome home celebration for Lindbergh in our nation's capital. We extended our stay in Paris for a week and then set sail to Washington, instead of New York.

The following week, we had been on a ship making our way back to the States in 1927, while in 1727, I had been on a ship hugging the eastern shoreline of the southern colonies on our way to Florida and then on to the Bahamas. The two ships were vastly different in size, technology, speed, and comfort. In 1927, I was waited on by a maid and a steward. All three scrumptious meals were served in the stately dining room, and in between meals, I had the luxury to read, write letters, play shuffleboard, and listen to the endless notes Father was preparing for his radio sermons. In 1727, I was helping night and day in the ship's galley cooking bland meals that I would serve to the captain, his officers, and then the rest of the crew. In between meals, I scrubbed the deck, cleaned out the goat pen, picked eggs, milked cows, and hauled supplies.

But now, Washington, DC, beckoned. We'd been here for almost a week. It was the first time I'd been to the capital, and it had amazed me from the moment we arrived. Excitement hummed among those who sat on the temporary stage under the Washington Monument at quarter to one that sunny afternoon. Red and white bunting, floral garlands, and American flags decorated the white pillars of the stage. I sat to Father's left, while Mother sat to his right, and Irene was next to her. We had prominent positions near the front of the large stage to the right of the microphones. As the most popular preacher in America, it didn't surprise me that Father would be included in the celebration. He represented the religious values of our nation, something the president would be keen to convey to the world.

Thousands of people stood under the shadow of the monument—so many, I couldn't begin to guess the number. Maybe even a hundred thousand. Men's bowler caps, white straw boaters, and fedoras bobbed up and down next to women's colorful, wide-brimmed hats or tighter cloche caps.

Everyone who arrived on the stage stopped to greet Father. Genuine respect and admiration shined from their faces. Most knew him because of his passionate preaching, but some remembered his years as a playboy baseball star. It was hard to imagine Father living a loose and wild life as a ballplayer. After he'd found salvation, he'd given up his baseball career to attend seminary at Moody Bible College in Chicago. There, he met my mother, and for thirty-five years, they had built their lives upon their shared faith in the gospel.

"Reverend Baldwin," a military man with a French accent said as he stopped in front of Father. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person. My wife, Grace, and I had the honor of attending one of your tent revivals in Virginia last year."

The gentleman was bedecked in US military whites with several pins and ribbons on his chest. The beautiful woman next to him, presumably, Grace, was in an elegant blue dress with a cloche cap covering most of her blond hair. At their side were two young girls who looked to be somewhere between eleven and thirteen. The older one had blonde hair like their mother, but the younger girl's hair was a deep red.

"I'm Brigadier General Lucas Voland," the man continued as Father shook his hand. "This is my wife, Grace, and these are our daughters, Lydia and Kathryn."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Father said. "I'm very aware of your service to our country." He made introductions and then said to Mother, "The general was an important flying instructor during the war and helped to create the United States Army Air Corps. If I'm not mistaken, Mrs. Voland was also an aviator and was the first woman to make a transcontinental flight."

"Your memory serves you well," Mrs. Voland said.

"Won't you sit with us?" Mother asked.

As Father and the general continued to speak, Mrs. Voland and her daughters took the empty seats next to me. After they were settled, Mrs. Voland said, "I've heard you recently came from France, Miss Baldwin. My husband is from Paris, and my sister, Hope, was the first woman to fly from England to France over the English Channel in 1912. We've visited several times, and I never tire of the beauty of the country."

"It was my first time," I told her, amazed at the daring feats she and her sister had undertaken for aviation. No wonder she was standing on the stage with us. "I thought it was lovely."

"My daughters haven't been there yet," she said as she looked at Lydia and Kathryn. "But I long to take them to their father's home country."

"I've been there, Mama," the younger daughter, Kathryn, said as she stared up at her mother. "With Austen's family."

Mrs. Voland nodded and then put her hand on her daughter's shoulder before saying, "Of course. How could I forget?"

Kathryn smiled, revealing identical dimples in each cheek. She was a beautiful little girl with a charming twinkle in her brown eyes.

How could Mrs. Voland forget that her daughter had been to France? I turned to the older daughter, assuming she had been there, as well. "And what about you?" I asked Lydia. "What is your favorite thing to see in France?"

"I haven't been there," she said, an equally delightful smile on her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed."

Mrs. Voland only smiled.

The United States Marine Band began to play "Hail to the Chief" as a cavalcade of dark vehicles arrived with President and Mrs. Coolidge.

Everyone stood and cheered at their arrival, and Mrs. Voland looked relieved to end our conversation.

The president and his wife stepped out of their vehicle with Secret Service men positioned all around. They walked up the steps to the stage and joined the dozens of dignitaries and their guests who had been invited to attend.

Father stood a little straighter as the president walked up to him and shook his hand, thanking him for coming before moving on to the next dignitary and finally making his way to the front of the stage where General Voland stood.

The band finished playing "Hail to the Chief" and began another rousing song to keep everyone's attention occupied until Lindbergh arrived.

A brilliant blue sky stretched over Washington, DC, without a cloud in sight. It was warm, but not overly hot, and a gentle wind fluttered the hem of my dress. I took a deep breath, thinking about where I was standing—my place in history. How different this life was from the other one I led. How strange that tonight I would go to sleep, and tomorrow I would wake up on a British merchant ship, bound for Nassau, surrounded by rough sailors, squealing pigs, endless waves, and sunburn.

As much as I hated the expectations and pressure Father's position brought into my life, I couldn't deny some of the privileges it afforded. Even being in Paris and meeting Ernest Hemingway—though that was more of Irene's doing.

Thinking of that night made my pulse race. I prayed no one would ever know.

A commotion caught my eye as Lindbergh's parade of vehicles approached. Thousands of people followed from the naval yard where he had arrived with his airplane, The Spirit of St. Louis , on a battleship. They were on every available surface for as far as I could see. In trees, on the tops of cars and buildings, all of them trying to press closer.

Finally, Lindbergh and his mother exited their vehicle and approached the stage. The crowd went wild with cheers, applause, and shouting. A woman fainted near the front of the crowd, and several people bent down to help her up.

Lindbergh was a tall, handsome, shy fellow. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment as he shook people's hands. His popularity was due, in part, to the innocence he portrayed in a world fraught with gangsters, crime, and danger.

A world my father was trying to reform—and my brothers had embraced.

When Lindbergh came toward us, Father reached out his hand and said, "Hello, Mr. Lindbergh. I'm Reverend Daniel Baldwin."

Lindbergh shook Father's hand and nodded, a congenial smile on his face. "How do you do?"

"I'm from Minneapolis," Father continued quickly, no doubt conscious of all the others who wanted to speak to the aviator.

That caused Lindbergh to pause and take a closer look at Father. "It's nice to see someone from back home. I'm from Little Falls."

"Yes, I know," Father said. "I hope we can talk about you visiting Minneapolis in the near future."

"I would like that."

Father's face beamed. "I am hoping to hold a tent revival and would like for you to speak—"

"I am focusing on promoting aviation," Lindbergh said with a quick nod. "Nothing more. Thank you." He moved on, dismissing Father as he continued to shake hands.

I could see the surprise in Father's face. He was the one who usually dismissed people.

As we all took our seats and the ceremony to award Lindbergh the first ever Distinguished Flying Cross medal began, Father sat silently between Mother and me—his chin lowered in both disappointment and contemplation.

An hour later, we were on our way back to our hotel.

Father was quiet as he stared out the cab window.

Mother and I shared a glance, and Mother finally said, "Things will work out, Daniel. I don't know what you were hoping for when you spoke to Lindbergh, but God has a way of surprising us if it's His will. His plans are better than ours."

Father pulled his gaze back into the car and smiled at Mother. He reached out to her and, in a rare show of affection, patted her hand. "You're right, Marian. I won't lose sight of God's sovereignty. I never do."

His ability to control his emotions, yet keep his dogged determination, amazed me. How could he be so disciplined? So ... perfect? Day after day, I saw his unwillingness to waver in his calling. It was inspiring—and intimidating. He wholeheartedly believed that every Christian should pursue their calling with the same intensity, and he pushed those around him to be as passionate as him.

Yet, I had no desire to follow in his footsteps. At least, not on such a large scale. Every time he pushed me to do more, be louder, fight harder, all I saw were my inadequacies. I feared I was a disappointment to him and to God. But I tried anyway, and would keep trying, even though the pressure intensified as his international audience grew.

"Lindbergh's wholesome appeal has captured the attention of the world," Father said. "If he were willing to come to Minneapolis and speak at one of my tent revivals, I believe we would see one of the greatest awakenings in our country's history, while strengthening our stance on the benefits of Prohibition. But how to get him to come?" He looked out the window again, and I knew that whatever obstacles stood in his way would not be there for long. Somehow, my father would find a way, and Mother and I would be beside him.

We arrived at the Willard Hotel and went to our separate rooms. Irene had decided to nap, but I couldn't sleep after all the excitement and had pulled a book out of my purse. It was my favorite story, Gulliver's Travels , one I'd read countless times and never tired of.

A few minutes after I settled into my book, a knock at our door startled me. When I opened it, I found a bellboy standing in the hallway with a silver tray. Atop it was an envelope.

"A letter for you, Miss Baldwin."

"Thank you." I accepted the letter and gave him a coin for his trouble, then closed the door and took a seat near the window for better light.

The envelope was addressed to me, but there was no return address. The only person who knew I would be in Washington, DC, was my sister-in-law, Ruth.

My heart started to pound hard as I slipped my finger under the envelope flap. Ruth lived in Minneapolis with my oldest brother, Andrew, and their three small children. What was so urgent that she couldn't wait to tell me until I returned home?

I pulled the single paper out of the envelope and scanned the contents, dread filling my chest.

My dearest Caroline,

I'm desperate and do not know where else to turn. You are aware of some of Andrew's choices since his return from the war, but you do not know them all. I have wanted to spare you from the worst of it, but I fear this will not keep. A woman by the name of Alice Pierce has contacted me, claiming she is carrying Andrew's illegitimate child. She is but one of many indiscretions Andrew has had over the course of our marriage, though many of them have been paid to disappear. You may wonder why I stay with Andrew, but I think you know the answer. A divorce would scandalize your father's name, and I love your parents too much to let that happen. This is my burden to bear, and I have taken up the call, though I do falter from time to time.

I don't know if Alice is truly pregnant, or if she is trying to blackmail us. Andrew says she means nothing to him. A dancer at a nightclub from Saint Paul. He is attempting to ignore the situation, but I fear that if we continue to disregard it, she will approach your parents.

I'm imploring you to keep your eye out for Alice, and if you see her, please deflect her. I will continue to work on Andrew to deal with this situation, but you know how stubborn he can be.

Please pray for Andrew. He is not the man I married, nor has our life been what I thought it would be. I naively believed Reverend Baldwin's son would be as God-fearing and honorable as his father. Perhaps he was at one time, but the war changed him. It changed us all.

I long to see you again, dear Caroline. Please know I only share this with you to ask for your help, not your pity.

Love, Ruth

I crumpled the letter and lowered my head, lifting my feeble prayers to a God I hoped would listen.

Father's calling had not only impacted my life, but it had overflowed into my brothers' lives, as well, though it seemed only Ruth was suffering. She couldn't divorce Andrew for fear of a scandal, so she stayed and put up with the pain.

And for what? To pretend our family was different from all the others.