Chapter 8

8

JUNE 29, 1927 MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

I had gone to sleep with the storm blowing the ship over rolling waves, and I woke up to a storm slashing against the windows of our house on Dupont Avenue. Lightning filled the dark sky, and thunder shook the earth.

My room was cheerful despite the storm, with soft white curtains, floral wallpaper, and white trim. A white canopy bed offered more delicate fabric to the room, and a plush rug softened the hardwood floors. For a moment, I savored the comfortable bed and my clean skin and hair.

But thoughts of Marcus filled my mind. Now that I knew he was aware of my identity, everything was different.

I pushed aside my covers, not wanting to think too deeply about the captain's son. I wanted to trust him, to believe that he would help me escape, but I couldn't be certain. Was he just trying to get me to trust him so he could sabotage me? I wasn't sure what he would gain from it, but there might be something in it for him.

Only time would tell—and I had a lot of that.

As soon as I forced thoughts of Marcus from my mind, he was replaced with thoughts of Alice. I needed to get her out of our house before Ruth and her children arrived.

I quickly changed into a green dress with a dropped waistline, a pleated skirt, and a scooped neckline. Since I wore a hairnet to sleep at night, my marcel waves were still intact and I only had to touch them up a bit to make them presentable.

My hair reminded me of Lewis's visit the night before and the dreaded nickname he'd given me when I was fourteen. I wouldn't believe him when he said he teased me because he had a crush on me. He had liked to make me look foolish when we were younger, and if I started to believe him now, it would only increase my foolishness.

I finished my toilette and left my room, pushing Lewis out of my mind, too.

The guest bedroom door was slightly ajar, so I peeked inside and found that Alice was gone. Alarm filled me as I rushed down the stairs. I didn't want Alice to have access to my parents without my presence.

Since the storm had passed, the sun was now peeking from behind the clouds. Water dripped from the eaves, and the birds chirped outside. As I came to the bottom of the steps, the doorbell rang.

Ruth stood on the porch with her three small children—a big grin on her face—and my heart fell. I hadn't realized she'd be here so soon. I glanced toward the dining room where Alice was probably waiting for breakfast.

How was I going to tell Ruth that Alice was staying with us?

My nephews saw me, and they also grinned as I opened the vestibule door. Peter was five and John was just three. Little Sarah was in her mother's arms. She'd had her first birthday while we were away and had grown so much since I'd last seen her.

I forced a smile and opened the front door.

"Auntie Carrie!" the boys said as they ran toward me.

"Hello, sweethearts," I told them, giving each a big hug.

Ruth looked exhausted. She was only twenty-nine, but she looked much older. Her skirt was wrinkled, no doubt from holding Sarah on her lap in the streetcar, her hair was disheveled, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Yet—she smiled at me and offered me a hug with her free arm. "Welcome home. I hope we're not too early. The children couldn't wait to see their grandparents and aunt."

I returned her hug, whispering in her ear, "Alice is here."

Ruth's arm tightened, and she held me longer than necessary. When she pulled back, I saw panic in her gaze. Panic and questions.

I didn't want the children to hear or repeat something they shouldn't, so I simply said, "She arrived soon after we got home yesterday, and I couldn't stop her. Mother and Father offered her a place to stay."

Ruth's face paled, and she whispered, "Do they know who she is? How she claims to be connected to Andrew?"

I shook my head as I heard Mother approach.

"Are those my grandchildren?" Mother crouched in the foyer and put out her arms for Peter and John. They raced toward her, giggling with glee.

Alice appeared in the parlor doorway. She looked rested and refreshed in a floral-patterned dress, her hair in place, her porcelain skin without a flaw. She was a beautiful woman, a little younger than Ruth—but she didn't carry the same burdens my sister-in-law carried.

"You've grown so much," Mother said to the children, oohing and aahing over their suits and their haircuts.

Ruth stared at Alice, and Alice stared back. She clearly knew who Ruth was, and she looked just as pleased with herself as she had before. Perhaps even more so now.

But what was she after? Money? Attention? Fame? Or did she simply want to destroy our family?

"And Sarah," Mother said, oblivious to the tension that had entered with Ruth and the children. She reached for the baby, but Sarah seemed shy and scared. It had been a few months since we saw her last, and she buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

"That's alright," Mother said as she placed her hand on Sarah's back. "She'll warm up to me soon. Won't you all come in for breakfast?"

"Oh no." Ruth quickly shook her head. "We—we can't stay."

"But, Mama," Peter said. "You told us we could play at Grandmother's."

Ruth put her protective hand on Peter's shoulder, clutching Sarah on her hip. She swallowed and said, "I'm sorry, Petey. I forgot we have an appointment this morning."

"Must you go?" Mother asked Ruth. "I haven't seen the children in months. And Father hasn't had a chance to see them yet, either."

"I'm sorry, Mother Baldwin," Ruth said, starting to back away. "We can't stay."

"Oh, but you haven't met our guest yet," Mother said in an attempt to stall her. "Ruth, this is Miss Pierce. And Miss Pierce, this is our daughter-in-law, Mrs. Andrew Baldwin."

"How do you do?" Alice asked Ruth, showing no sign of discomfort.

Ruth nodded but couldn't speak or meet Alice's unwavering gaze.

Mother frowned. Ruth had always been unfailingly kind and thoughtful.

Right now, she looked like she might faint.

"I'm sorry, but I really must go. We'll return soon," Ruth promised, though I knew she wouldn't come back if Alice was in the house.

"Goodbye," Mother said, a bit forlorn.

"Come, John," Ruth said to her son, who was standing by his grandmother's side.

John frowned and shook his head. "I want to stay at Grandmother's."

For the first time, I saw Ruth lose her temper. "Obey me this instant," she said to her son in a sharp voice.

John's brown eyes grew wide, and he scurried across the foyer to his mother's side.

Ruth didn't apologize to us, and she didn't say goodbye as she turned and fled the house.

Mother stood at the door, staring at Ruth's retreating form, her brow troubled. "I wonder what could be bothering her?"

I felt sick to my stomach as I turned toward Alice.

She simply looked away.

I tried calling Ruth several times that morning, but she didn't answer her phone. No doubt she felt betrayed by me, and perhaps even my parents, though they didn't know Alice's identity.

Before lunch, Alice went up to her room for a nap, and I followed her a few minutes later. Father had left the house to meet with the mayor regarding Lindbergh's visit, and my mother was in the kitchen with our hired girl, Ingrid, planning the week's menu.

I tapped on Alice's bedroom door and waited, trying to steady my nerves. Anger had radiated through me since Ruth left. My dear, sweet sister-in-law didn't deserve this. Not from Andrew, not from Alice, and not from me.

Alice opened the door, only partway, and said, "Yes?"

"I know who you are."

"Of course you do. I knew that from the moment I met you. No doubt the mousy little Ruth warned you about me."

"Don't speak about my sister-in-law that way." I was trying to keep my voice low, but it rose with anger. "I want you to leave this house immediately."

"How will you make me?" Alice asked, putting her hands on her hips. "By telling your parents who I am? It'll only hurt them to know the truth."

"I don't even know what the truth is. You're probably not even pregnant."

A glimmer of fear or unease filled Alice's eyes, and she said, "I am pregnant."

I paused. It was the first time I had seen anything real or authentic in her. She was afraid of being single and pregnant. But who did she have to blame? Surely my brother hadn't tricked her into this. They were both at fault. Unless ... "Is my brother even the father?"

Alice's chin lifted as she glowered at me. "If I say he is, then he is. Now beat it, Miss High and Mighty. I'm sure you have a few skeletons in your closet that you don't want aired. It wouldn't take me long to find them, either. So, you stay on your side of the house, and I'll stay on mine, and we'll get along just fine."

"I don't know what you want from my parents, but I'm begging you not to hurt them." I didn't care if I had to grovel in front of her. "And don't hurt Ruth, either. She's the sweetest person in the world. Andrew doesn't deserve her. It's not her fault that her husband—"

"You just leave my affairs to me, you understand?" Her gaze was filled with ice. "Then I can leave yours to you, and we all get what we want."

I wasn't even going to pretend like I wasn't hiding anything. It would be a lie to defend myself. "What do you want?"

Again her defenses slipped, and I saw behind her mask, if only for a moment. "I want, for once in my life, to not be the victim. To have control of my own destiny."

And with that, she closed the door in my face.

I stared at the wood panel for a heartbeat, wondering at her comment.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on as I tried getting ahold of Ruth. I called a few of my music students to let them know I was resuming lessons, and then I spent an hour practicing on the piano in our parlor. It had been months since I'd played, and my fingers ached, but my heart was strengthened. When I played for myself, music was a healing balm.

My mind returned to Mr. Hemingway's letter, tucked safely away in my correspondence box, and the joy I had felt singing in the Dingo Bar in Paris. His idea was ludicrous. I couldn't sing at a speakeasy in Saint Paul. But I couldn't bring myself to destroy the name and address of the proprietor, either.

"Caroline?" Father asked, interrupting me as I played Chopin.

I stopped abruptly, my heart pounding from the music and the intensity of my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"It's almost four."

Nodding, I closed the cover over the keyboard and turned on the stool. Father had organized an emergency meeting with the mayor of Minneapolis and several other leaders to petition Lindbergh to stop in the city on his tour. They would arrive at four.

"I'm wondering if you'll sing a hymn at the start of my broadcast on Sunday evening."

I blinked several times. The weight of his request felt like a boulder in my gut. "Your international broadcast?"

"Yes."

I couldn't say no. He wouldn't understand if I didn't want to perform for so many people. In his mind, the bigger the audience, the better. More people to reach for the gospel of Christ. Of course he was right—but it also meant the bigger the audience, the more opportunity to disappoint.

"If you'd like me to sing, I will," I told him, trying not to show my nerves. I wanted him to believe I was as confident as him.

"Good." He smiled. "I thought we'd start with ‘Amazing Grace,' since that seems to be a universal favorite. If it goes well and the station director is pleased, we'll discuss what you'll sing next week." He started to turn away and then said, "See that Alice doesn't come downstairs while we're meeting. I'd hate to have to explain her presence in our house. You understand?"

I understood, but I wasn't sure that Father did. If he really knew who Alice was, he'd be more concerned.

"It's not that I'm embarrassed," he said quickly, "or ashamed that we're helping her. I just want to focus on the meeting about Lindbergh."

"I understand."

He left me in the parlor by myself, still a little stunned that I would be singing on the radio.

The doorbell rang, and I rose from my stool to welcome Father's guests.

As I opened the vestibule door, I was surprised to find Lewis standing on the porch in his police uniform. A blue coat, buckled at the waist over blue trousers, and a military-style hat with his badge number at the front. I had never seen him in uniform.

It made me pause as I realized how much he had matured.

Yet, when he grinned, he was the same old Lewis.

"What are you doing back here?" I asked as I opened the front door.

"What kind of a welcome is that, Miss Baldwin?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "As long as you call me Miss Baldwin—or even Caroline—I'll be very welcoming."

His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. "Then I'll refrain from calling you—"

"Don't," I protested.

His smile was wide. "Can't I even finish?"

"No. But I am curious why you're here."

"Your father invited me to the meeting."

I frowned. "But he's trying to keep Saint Paul out of it."

With a nonchalant shrug, Lewis entered our foyer. "Something about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer."

"You're not an enemy."

"According to you," he said, getting a little closer than usual, "I haven't been much of a friend, either."

My pulse sped at his nearness, and my breath stilled—but then he tapped the tip of my nose like he used to when we were children, and I realized he was still teasing me.

I lowered my eyelids and scowled at him, which only made him laugh.

But something else caught his attention.

Alice stood at the top of the steps, her smile wide. She walked down the stairs, letting her hand trail gently on the railing.

Lewis didn't let his gaze wander from Alice but said to me, "Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Carrie?"

"She's not my friend," I said, irritated for reasons I couldn't identify. I needed to get Alice upstairs or out of the house before someone else saw her and asked questions.

"Then who is she?" he asked, even though Alice could hear him.

"I'm Miss Alice Pierce," she said, extending her hand dramatically, like an actress in a movie. "And who are you, Mr. Police Officer?"

He grinned, smitten, as he took her hand. "Lieutenant Lewis Cager, at your service."

"Alice and I were just leaving," I said to Lewis as I grabbed my purse from the hall table. "Father is in his office."

"We were leaving?" Alice asked.

I moved between them and took Alice's arm, drawing her out of the foyer.

"Goodbye, Lewis," I called.

His laughter filled the foyer behind me as I led Alice into the kitchen, toward the back door.

"That was rude," Alice said as she pulled away from me.

"We have to go to the baker and the butcher for Mama."

Alice walked beside me, but her stiff posture changed, and she began to laugh. "You're jealous! Is Lewis your sweetheart?"

"No."

"Maybe not yet, but deep down inside, you want him to be."

Her accusation was ridiculous.

Lewis Cager was my childhood tormentor. Nothing more.

Or so I used to think.