“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 oryour 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, theSpirit 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 hadto 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 waitingfor 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.”
