The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  Miguel had brought her to the beach, riding behind him on the Mormon settler’s horse. She had struggled for hours to ride while holding the baby securely. Miguel had pushed them hard, and Katrina arrived exhausted, chafed, and unspeakably sore from bouncing painfully on the hard leather of the Spanish saddle. Miguel had then taken the second horse with him upon departure. Now, she was trying to retrace that route on foot, but at a much slower pace. She knew that it might take her several days to cover the same ground Miguel had ridden in one long day.

  Now five days into her return trek, she still had not come to the familiar land around New Hope. Traveling with the baby strapped to her back, sleeping wherever darkness caught her, and leading the goat by a tether, she felt she must have made less than five miles a day. Finding enough drinking water was her greatest concern, but she had been successful in locating several small streams, and at every opportunity she filled the two gourds she carried in her small bundle. Still, the infant suffered from the journey, and her own strength was failing her. How many more days she could travel in such a condition she didn’t know, and it began to frighten her, but she knew there was no turning back. She felt that if she could reach New Hope, shelter and the well the settlers had dug would provide some respite. From there it was only about twelve miles to Don Sebastian’s hacienda.

  Tom and Andy arrived back in Mazatlàn tired and discouraged. The villagers had provided little information other than to say that the Yanqui woman and the baby had gone inland a week earlier. The fishing boat skipper suggested they obtain horses and a guide and make the trip by land, following the inland trail from Mazatlán back toward the fishing village at Point Lobos. By doing so, they might intercept Katrina along the way. He was skeptical about her chances of surviving alone in the jungle, but Tom and Andy felt it was their only hope.

  After a night’s rest, they procured some horses and a pack mule, outfitted for a week on the trail, and with the assistance of a local guide, rode north toward New Hope, where they camped the first evening. The next morning they started out again, advising their guide to lead them from New Hope to Point Lobos via the jungle. The man’s English was only basic, but conversation was possible.

  They had been riding for several hours and had stopped at about midday to give their horses a blow in the intense heat of the jungle, when a rider overtook them from behind. Listening to him speak excitedly in Spanish to their guide, Anders and Tom knew that he brought important news. In broken English, the guide translated the rider’s message.

  “The woman is found, Señors.”

  “Found?”

  “Sí. She is with Don Sebastian Cardenas.”

  Tom and Anders looked at each other and smiled broadly, filled with relief.

  “She made it,” Tom said.

  “She’s alive!” Andy shouted.

  “Aye. How far to Don Sebastian’s?” Tom asked the guide.

  The guide looked up at the sun momentarily and replied, “by dark, Señor.”

  Tom motioned toward the rear. “Lead on, Pancho.”

  “Sí, Señor,” he smiled, reversing course and following the rider whom Don Sebastian had sent to find the two men.

  A short time after dark, the lights of Don Sebastian’s hacienda appeared on the horizon and the four riders urged their weary mounts into the same cobblestone-paved courtyard where Harold Stromberg had first seen Teresa as she dismounted from her early morning ride.

  Servants took charge of the horses and Tom and Andy were led into the main house where they were met by Don Sebastian, who, unlike the first time they had seen him, had a bright smile on his face.

  “Your sister is well, Señor,” he said to Andy. “She is sleeping now.”

  “And the baby?” Andy asked.

  “Also well. The doctor is in attendance, and he has assured me they will be fine. They are both exhausted, but otherwise uninjured,” he continued, still smiling.

  “Thank you, Señor, for sending a man to find us,” Andy said.

  “De nada, Señor. Now, you shall bathe and rest. Tomorrow your sister will be awake and you can talk. Let me show you to your rooms. If you please, Señor,” he said to Tom as they ascended the stairs.

  Sometime later, after having bathed and eaten food brought to his room, Tom stood by the window, looking out into the night. The house had quieted, and he thought about what he ought to do. His first thought was to leave a note for Andy and depart early in the morning. But as the night wore on, and sleep eluded him, in spite of how tired he was, the thought of seeing Katrina again took hold. Katrina was no longer married.

  “Señora Stromberg is asking to see you, Don Sebastian,” the servant said, in Spanish.

  The old man was sitting on the verandah, taking the morning air, sipping his coffee, and watching the swallows flit in and out of the eaves of the hacienda. His days had been filled with emptiness since the men from the small village near New Hope had brought Teresa’s body home for burial. Since that fateful morning, he had not seen or spoken to his son, Miguel, but reports had reached his ears that Miguel had been in on the raid against New Hope and that after several weeks of absence, had taken up residence at a hotel in Mazatlàn. The Don, fearing the truth, had not tried to see Miguel nor sent messengers to him.

  When, nearly three months after the massacre at New Hope, his servants had informed him that the young Yanqui woman had arrived at his hacienda, weak from hunger and dehydrated, bringing with her a malnourished infant, he had quickly responded. Providing immediate care for Katrina and the baby, the Don had also sent his riders into Mazatlàn to inform the two Yanqui men who had been seeking her. When Don Sebastian learned the two had left on a search and rescue mission into the interior, he had sent his caballeros in several directions hoping to find them and call them back. That is how Tom and Anders happened to be overtaken on the jungle trail and brought to the hacienda.

  “Is she well this morning?” the Don asked.

  “She is awake, Señor, but weak.”

  “And her brother?”

  “The Yanquis are also awake, Señor.”

  “Sí. I will go to her. Inform the men and bring them to her room also.”

  “Sí, Señor,” the servant replied.

  As Don Sebastian entered Katrina’s room, she looked up at him, a weak smile crossing her face.

  “My child, you are looking better this morning.”

  “The baby?” Katrina asked.

  “Ah. He is also well,” he responded, motioning for a servant who stepped from the room and quickly returned with the infant, placing him alongside Katrina in the bed. Katrina pulled the baby close and peeked into the soft blanket wrapped around the tiny bundle.

  “You both will need some care and nourishment, but in due time, you will both be well again,” Don Sebastian assured Katrina.

  “But there is another surprise for you this morning,” he smiled, turning toward the door.

  Katrina followed his gaze to find Andy standing in the doorway. Smiling broadly and stifling a cry, he quickly stepped to the side of the bed and leaned over to embrace his sister.

  “Anders, how . . . oh, thank God, Anders!” she cried, holding him tightly and beginning to weep.

  After a time, Anders stood up from the bed, taking Katrina’s hand in both of his and looking lovingly into her tired and sunburned face as she wiped at her tears with the sheet.

  “You have a brave sister, Señor Hansen,” Don Sebastian said. “She must have walked through the jungle for many days to reach my home.”

  Andy continued to hold Katrina’s hand, glancing at the infant and back again at Katrina. “You need some time to regain your strength, Katrina, and then we’ll take you home.”

  “Home,” she said softly, smiling through her tears.

  “Someone has come with me to help find you, Klinka,” Andy said.

  Katrina looked into Andy’s eyes, waiting for him to continue. Then a movement over his shoulder caught her eye, and she raised up slightly from
her pillow to look toward the doorway. There, Tom stood quietly just inside the room, watching as Katrina recognized him and burst again into tears. Astonished to discover him there, Katrina was suddenly filled with a sense of the love and concern being concentrated in her by these kindly men, and overwhelmed by her emotions, she surrendered to uncontrolled sobbing.

  Not knowing exactly how to comfort her or what to say to her, the three men stood awkwardly by. Finally, the Don said, “Perhaps we should leave this young woman and her child so they may rest. It will be some time before they are back to normal strength.”

  The three men turned to leave, but before they could do so, Katrina shook her head and struggled to speak.

  “Señor,” she finally managed to say to Don Sebastian. “Por favor,” she said, patting the edge of her bed.

  Don Sebastian came forward and stood at her bedside, waiting for her to regain her composure.

  After a time, she drew a deep breath and said, “Don Sebastian, I am so grateful for your assistance, and I want to tell you how sad I am over the loss of your daughter.”

  Katrina’s voice broke again, but after a moment, she was able to say, “Teresa was very kind to me, Señor, and I loved her like a sister.”

  Don Sebastian nodded his head, standing by the bed and saying nothing, tears welling up in his eyes as well.

  Katrina went on. “There was something that she made me promise . . . just before she died,” she said, dissolving again into tears. After a time, she cleared her throat, and reaching for Don Sebastian’s hand, said, “She made me promise . . . that I would deliver your grandson into your care.”

  The old man, who had continued to smile at Katrina as she spoke, turned his head now to look at the infant. Katrina pulled back the blanket wrapped around the sleeping, three-month-old infant, a smile on her face, mixed with the tears glistening on her cheeks.

  “Can you not see the ‘Cardenas’ features?” she asked, smiling. Katrina continued to look into his eyes—eyes that were moving back and forth between the infant and Katrina. After what seemed like minutes, a look of understanding came across his face.

  “But I assumed . . . the baby was someone else’s . . . perhaps from the village . . . ”

  “Don Sebastian, he is Teresa’s son. Your grandson. I was present at his birth and for some short hours, Teresa knew her son and knew that he would be in good care with his grandfather. The boy needs you, Don Sebastian. He needs to learn his heritage—the Cardenas heritage,” she said, lifting her chin slightly, in one of the proud mannerisms she had learned from Teresa.

  Don Sebastian reached out his hand to lightly touch Katrina’s cheek as she lay on the bed before him. She laid her head back on the pillow, turning to look at the infant and gently stroking the child’s hair. Don Sebastian placed one hand on Katrina’s head, his other on the child, and after a moment, said emotionally, “Gracias, my child. Thank you. Thank you for your love, and for caring for my . . . grandson,” his voice breaking. “I know Teresa Maria loved you, too, child.”

  Katrina smiled at the old man, whose tears were channeled from his eyes in the deep wrinkles of his weathered face.

  Leaving Katrina to rest, the three men left the room, but only after Anders and Tom had promised to stay nearby and be available to talk later in the day.

  That evening, Katrina felt well enough to get out of bed and get dressed. Don Sebastian ordered a small and private supper for her and Anders and Tom, which they ate together in the dining room. Katrina was full of questions about home and how Tom and Anders had managed to get together, and how things had gone in Alaska, and about a hundred other things.

  She briefly related the horrible happenings that had taken place during the attack on the colony. She was embarrassed to describe Harold’s deceit, but spoke lovingly of Teresa and the things they had endured together. She was too tired to talk at length about losing her baby, or Teresa’s death, or all that had happened to her while struggling to survive on the beach at Point Lobos, but she promised to say more about those experiences at another time.

  Listening to all of this, Tom offered on a couple of occasions to leave the room, but Katrina said she wanted him to know what had taken place, and in the end, it was Anders who excused himself, leaving Tom and Katrina together, seated across from each other at the dining table, in a room where the only light came from the candles burning in an elaborate candelabra.

  After Anders left, Tom and Katrina sat for awhile in silence. When Katrina brought it up, they agreed that it was incredible that they would be seated together, in a hacienda in Mexico. Though it was much on Tom’s mind that with Harold Stromberg now dead, Katrina was no longer married, he knew it would be completely wrong to discuss that situation. Still, he was having difficulty trying to ignore the possibilities that fate seemed to have reordered.

  Katrina looked into Tom’s eyes and said, “Thank you, Thomas, for coming with Anders to look for me. It seems you have been rescuing one or the other of us ever since we first met.” She smiled and reached across the table and took Tom’s hand, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb. Tom noticed but did not mention her rough and sunburned hands.

  Looking now into that face, still reddened and puffy from her ordeal, Tom experienced a flood of sympathy for her. “Katie, m’darlin’” he blurted, “I told you before, you’re a strong woman. I’m proud of what you’ve done, how you’ve survived. You needed no rescue from the likes of me,” he laughed.

  Katrina laughed in return. “I don’t feel so strong right now.”

  “Aye, but you’ll soon be better.”

  They sat there, gazing at each other in the candlelight, and after a moment Tom spoke again, “There’re so many things I want to say to you, but I know now isn’t the time . . .”

  Katrina smiled, tears welling again in her eyes. “I know,” she said. Then wiping at her eyes with her fingers, she said, “I feel like a perfect fool, crying every time someone says anything nice to me.”

  Tom smiled at her. “What you need is rest, Katie. I guess we’ll have plenty of time to talk, that is, if you don’t mind listening to my Irish palaver.”

  “It was that Irish ‘palaver’ that first attracted me,” Katrina said, smiling, “Do you remember the first words you said to me?” she asked.

  “’Tis a vision of loveliness I see before me,” Tom immediately said, “ . . . but of course, I was referrin’ to the sea,” he teased.

  Katrina smiled again—the same smile that had captured his heart, the first time he ever saw it, on the docks at Queenstown.

  Standing, Tom continued to hold Katrina’s hand across the table and raised her up. “I’ll say good-night to you, now,” he said, then added, “It seems you were right, Katie.”

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “It seems both of our lives have been in the hands of the Lord, and he has watched over each of us.”

  Reverting to her Norwegian accent, Katrina smiled and said, “Ya, you’re surely right, Mr. Callahan.”

  Tom laughed out loud, then said, “Rest, Katrina. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you are stronger. I’ll be here. You have my word on it.”

  Three weeks later on their first evening at sea, with occasional lights along the Baja Peninsula glowing to their right, some ten miles away, Tom came on deck to find Katrina in a pose etched in his memory. She was leaning against the railing, this time on the starboard side, so she could watch the lights glide by. Without speaking, he came alongside her and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing.

  The weeks of rest at Don Sebastian’s hacienda had provided a refreshed and determined Katrina Hansen. The decision to return to her former name had come of her own accord, but Tom was quietly pleased with the decision.

  They had talked a great deal during her period of convalescence in Mazatlàn, but no words of their future plans had as yet entered their conversations. Tom frequently almost ached to declare himself, but he knew it was proper to wait for Katrina, now a
widow, to give the signal.

  One thing Katrina had tearfully confided in Tom was the dread she experienced every time she thought about leaving little Sebastian in Mazatlán when it came time to sail back to the United States.

  With regular feedings and constant care from not only Katrina but several of the women on Don Sebastian’s household staff, he had quickly gained weight, and at nearly four months of age, was smiling and following people with his inquisitive eyes. He seldom cried and was the focus of everyone’s attention in the hacienda.

  Caring for the infant during the weeks of deprivation and hardship in the small hut on the beach at Point Lobos, had provided for Katrina a bonding with the child. Though the little boy had been frequently ill and not easy to care for, his vulnerability and pain had touched Katrina’s heart, and she had learned to love him as she nurtured and protected him. She felt now, something like the loss she had experienced when she lost her own baby, only in some ways this was more acute. This was a baby whom she had bathed and cuddled and prayed for. She had come to know his personality and to love his appearance. Then, too, his was the voice the Lord used to call out to her and to rescue her from her despair. By returning the child to Don Sebastian, in fulfillment of her promise to Teresa, Katrina felt as if she were parting with her own baby and the person who had provided her sole purpose for living during the difficult time at Point Lobos.

  Her pain was somewhat balanced by the pleasure she took in seeing Don Sebastian returned to life again, but it was an ache and a loss she would not soon get over.