“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.”
