The color in my cheeks had nothing to do with my experience in Paris—but it had everything to do with my nerves about singing tonight and what might happen when Andrew and Ruth came to our house and saw Alice.
Mother took a seat with our family while Father and I were led to the microphone hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.
“Reverend Baldwin,” the station manager said, “as soon as we give you the cue, you’ll speak right into this microphone. There’s no need to shout since it will pick up even a whisper.”
Good-natured chuckles came from the audience, since everyone knew how fired up Father became when he preached. His voice often shook the chandeliers in our old church when he was in the middle of a good sermon.
Father offered a smile at his own expense, and then the managerturned to me. “Miss Baldwin, we have a piano player ready and waiting, and she’ll accompany you while you sing.”
I nodded at the manager and the pianist who was sitting at a grand piano in the corner of the room.
We had a few minutes before the show started, so I made my way across the room to where Ruth was sitting in the front row, between my brother and my mother.
“Hello, Ruth,” I said.
“Hello.” Her voice was small, and she didn’t look up at me.
Lewis was on the other side of Andrew, and he was watching our interaction.
“Mother said that you and Andrew are coming over for a late supper.”
“That’s what Andrew has told me,” she said, playing with the handle of her purse. “We couldn’t turn down your mother’s invitation.”
“I am eager to speak to you.” I tried not to sound too upset. Thankfully, Mother was engaged in conversation with the person on her other side.
“There is nothing you can say to me,” Ruth said.
I met Andrew’s gaze and gave him my most disappointed look. He just shrugged, which made me angrier than before. He was ten years older than me and had been twenty-one when he went off to war. He and Ruth had just been married at the time. They’d known each other since high school and had been so in love and eager to start their lives. When Andrew returned, he’d taken a job at the bank, and things had appeared good on the surface for a few years. But then, everything began to fall apart.
Ruth often commented that the war had changed him. The truth was, the war had changed everyone. Some more than others. The thing that the Lost Generation, the flappers, the gangsters, the bootleggers, and even the Prohibitionists and moral reformers had in common was a glimpse of their own mortality. The difference was that one group of people was focused on how short their lives were and wanted to live it up while they could, whilethe other was thinking of how long eternity was and how best to get everyone there together. The Spanish flu had heightened the problem, and the strict regulations of Prohibition had sealed the fate of America’s current problems.
Lewis watched the entire interaction between Ruth and me carefully, questions in the furrow of his brow. But when I met his gaze, his expression softened and he said, “You look lovely tonight, Carrie. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you sing. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
It didn’t seem possible, but my nerves increased, and I felt sick to my stomach. I just wanted it to be over.
“It’s time, Miss Baldwin,” the station manager said. “After the station pauses for identification, our host will introduce this new weekly show, and then he’ll introduce you and you’ll begin to sing. Will that suit you?”
“Yes, of course.”
I followed him to the microphone, my hands sweating and my legs shaking. I was wearing a pretty blue dress and a white cloche hat, which I touched now to make sure it was on straight.
The clock chimed seven, and the manager indicated for the audience to be silent; then theOn Airsign lit up inside the room. After the station identification was done, the manager pointed to the host of the show, who was sitting at a table in the corner with his own microphone, and he began to speak.
Father was sitting near the piano, his head bowed and his hands clasped.
I hoped he was praying for my nerves, since I wasn’t sure if God listened to my prayers.
When the host was done with the introduction, the manager pointed at the pianist, and she began to play the achingly familiar chords to “Amazing Grace.”
I stepped up to the microphone, took a deep breath, and then began to sing.
All I could imagine were the tens of thousands of people listening and panic began to choke me. Father continued to pray, andMother watched with her eyebrows raised as if holding her breath, hoping I wouldn’t make a mistake.
But then the words from a pirate, two hundred years and thousands of miles away, filled my mind and heart unexpectedly. What if I was only singing for an Audience of One? What if I focused on the One who had given me my voice in the first place?
And in that moment, my perspective shifted.
It no longer mattered what everyone else might think. My nerves disappeared as my voice and heart filled with courage.
