The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  As the ship moved on, Katrina turned to Tom and lifting his arm, she nestled close to him, laying her face comfortably on his chest and continuing to watch the shoreline slowly edge past.

  What thoughts she had, Tom could not know, but having Katrina again in his arms was the fulfillment of a thousand fantasies he had entertained ever since meeting her—especially those in Alaska where he had lain night after night in his bedroll, holding her picture in his hands and studying it until the paper had begun to separate from the emulsion of the photograph. Now she was, indeed, in his arms and he ached to make her his.

  He finally found his voice. “Once before we stood like this, Katie. A long time ago, it seems. And you made a promise to me at that time. We’ve both come a long way since then, but you’ve never been far from my thoughts.”

  “Thomas, I haven’t . . . ”

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “You may need some time, Katie, for your wounds to completely heal. The hurtful memories I can’t begin to imagine. But I want you to know one thing for certain, Katrina Hansen, I continue to love you with all my heart, and if you’ll have me—when you’re ready, of course,—when that time comes, I want you for my wife, Katie, m’darlin’. We dock day after tomorrow in San Francisco then it’s only a couple of days to Salt Lake by train. If you’ll have me . . . ”

  Katrina put her fingers to his lips to silence his words, looking up into his eyes and thinking of the words she’d written about him in her journal, so long ago. How often she had confided to herself that she did indeed love this brash Irishman—this man who had come thousands of miles to rescue her from an unknown fate and now to claim her for a second time.

  “Thomas, I can’t change the past, and I was married to Harold. I knew nothing of his intent, though, and . . . ”

  “Katie, Harold is dead. The past is dead. Ahead of the bow of this ship lies the future. I want you to be part of my future, and I want to be part of yours. Can we not go forward into that future together, Katie? Will y’not let me enter your life?”

  He gazed at her, a look of love and longing on his face—the one she had memorized so long ago. She placed her hand behind his head as she had once before on the Antioch, and pulled him down to kiss her, trembling with emotion as he held her in his arms.

  “Thomas, if you will have me as your wife,” she said, stepping slightly out of his embrace, but never wavering her eyes from his, “then I will gladly accept. I will try to be a good wife, Thomas, but I must extract one promise from you.”

  He stood quietly, scarcely able to believe the words he was hearing.

  “My belief in my religion has not changed, Thomas. You must understand that. I will continue to practice that belief if, in light of my situation, the church leaders will permit me. If you can give me that promise, Thomas, and also that our children will be allowed the same privilege, then I will be happy to become your wife.”

  “Aye, Katie,” he said softly. “I’ve learned much about the Mormons from Sister Mary, and I know that those who went with you to Mexico meant well, but that they did not represent the church. Anders has explained that. I give you my word, Katie. I will never interfere with your practice of your religion or that of our children, God willin’. But you also must know that I make no promises about becoming a Mormon, other than a willingness to listen and learn. I am Catholic, Katie. You know that. I intend to remain a Catholic. Is marriage acceptable under those terms?” Tom asked, his heart beating rapidly at the prospect of losing this woman a second time.

  She kissed him again, and pressed her head against his chest. “It is, Thomas Callahan. It is.”

  The wedding in San Francisco, with only Anders in attendance, had no pomp or ceremony and was performed by a justice of the peace at City Hall. The evening before the brief marriage service, Tom lay in his bed in the hotel, unable to sleep. Thoughts swirled constantly through his head and the myriad changes that had taken place in his life over the previous eighteen months ran together, presenting Tom with the confused thought that indeed fate, or as Katrina would say, the Lord, had surely taken a hand in his life.

  Rich beyond his wildest expectations, his dream of marrying Katrina about to come to fruition, Tom could think of nothing left undone, whomever or whatever had been the instigator of these changes. Toward dawn, after sleeping only in short snatches, Tom left the warmth of his bed and stood by the hotel window looking out over the slowly awakening city of San Francisco. He had learned during their trip back from Mexico that Katrina had some reservations about her brief marriage to Harold Stromberg, and that she was humiliated over how it must appear to Tom. Nothing had been directly addressed, but even the brief comment from Anders when he had told Tom that Katrina would need time to heal had made Tom think that Anders was perhaps against the marriage. However, Andy’s second statement, that the marriage should take place as quickly as possible rather than have Katrina go back to Salt Lake and fall back under the nearly dictatorial influence of their father, had eased Tom’s mind.

  Less than five hours were left, by Tom’s pocket watch, until their ten o’clock appointment with the magistrate. As of yet, Tom had not told Katrina about his Alaskan fortune, preferring to wait. Why, he didn’t know. She had loved him once, or at least had deep feelings for him, he thought, when he was poor and without prospects, and he didn’t want his newfound riches to influence her decision, one way or the other.

  As the view of the San Francisco Bay became clearer with the growing light, Tom’s thoughts once again drifted to the cause behind all the changes in his life. His mother, like Katrina, would be quite certain of the origin of his good fortune, and even though Tom wasn’t openly religious, he had come to admit to himself that for whatever reason, God had smiled on him. His good fortune, in the form of the woman he loved being once again in his arms, and his golden discoveries in Alaska, had changed his life forever.

  The prayer came slowly at first, Tom’s knowledge of such things being limited to the rote prayers he had learned in school and church in Ireland. But, in a natural way, he was finally able to clothe his feelings and emotions in words, and by the time the sun had cleared the tops of the low range of mountains to the east of San Francisco, Tom had made an expression of thanks and had sincerely asked that he be allowed to understand what he must do to ensure the happiness of this lovely but emotionally wounded woman.

  In Tom’s second talk with the Lord, he expanded upon the promise he had made to God while lying in misery on the straw flooring in the boxcar between Kansas City and Denver. This time, Tom assured God that the riches he had been permitted to amass would be used to help those in need. Sister Mary Theophane’s image continued to place itself in Tom’s mind, and he knew the kindly Catholic sister would be the conduit through whom such charity would flow. As he stepped back into the room and began to draw his bath, Tom Callahan felt a peace within himself that had eluded him for the last several years of his life. Within hours he would take a wife—a woman his mother had not yet met, but a woman he felt certain his mother would approve.

  In the afternoon, after the wedding, Anders left on the train to go back to Salt Lake City, while Tom and Katrina remained behind, planning to spend the next three days in San Francisco. On the following Friday, they also boarded the train to Salt Lake.

  At Tom’s request, Anders had reserved a suite at the Knutsford House, the same hotel in which Tom had taken lunch with Anders the first time they had met in Salt Lake, almost a year and a half earlier.

  Not until during the train trip did Tom discuss his Alaskan fortune with Katrina. He enjoyed seeing her astonishment. But it pleased him more to know that she had married him for himself and that she had been willing to commit herself to what she had presumed was the same poor, ignorant Irishman her father had warned her about.

  The second errand Anders performed, was to forewarn his parents, Lars and Jenny Hansen, that Katrina was married again, this time to the Irishman from the Antioch. Anders was still unaware of Tom’s financial
status, and so, when Lars Hansen asked how Tom expected to provide for Katrina, Anders had no answer.

  The first meeting between Lars Hansen and young Tom Callahan after the couple’s return to Salt Lake City, had no better effect than their first meeting at dinner on the Antioch. Katrina, sworn to secrecy about Tom’s wealth, listened politely as her father abused Tom and, looking directly toward her, told her in no uncertain terms that she was not to come home looking for a handout when her new husband couldn’t find work or feed her.

  Katrina thanked her father for his concern, and kissed him on the head before retiring with Tom to their suite in the hotel. Tom’s last sight of Lars, was as the man gathered his cane and briefcase, leaving Tom with the sarcastic epithet, “Try to make something of yourself, young man. It’s the least you can do for my daughter.”

  Tom smiled politely, shook Mr. Hansen’s hand, and ushered him to the front entryway of the Knutsford House.

  The following morning, Katrina, her two younger sisters, and their mother, drove off in a carriage for a day’s shopping and visiting, an outing prearranged to give Tom the day for business. Walking the several blocks from the hotel to Temple Square, Tom entered the lobby of Zion’s Bank and asked for Mr. Thurston. The young clerk asked if he had an appointment, which Tom confirmed. Shown to Thurston’s office, Tom entered smiling as Robert rose from behind his desk, coming around to greet Tom and pump his hand vigorously.

  “You’re looking a lot better than the last time we met,” Tom said.

  “Good care at Holy Cross Hospital did the trick, I think,” the banker laughed.

  “So,” he said, pulling up a chair for Tom to take a seat. Robert leaned back against the front of the desk, folded his arms across his chest, and smiled at Tom. “Thousands . . . , no, tens of thousands, are scrambling, clawing their way, and gambling their lives’ savings to get to Alaska, and here you sit, with most of Alaska’s gold already in the bank. Nice timing, Mr. Callahan.”

  “Then you received my telegram from San Francisco?”

  “Indeed, I did. And the bank draft. That should keep you out of noisy hospital basements for some time, Tom.”

  Tom stood, walking to the window that looked out toward Temple Square. “Maybe it’ll give me the opportunity to assure that the next occupant of that room doesn’t have such a sleeping problem,” he said, looking back at Robert and smiling.

  “A bit of philanthropy, eh?”

  “No. I don’t see it that way, Robert. Maybe giving a bit of His own back to God. And more importantly, I don’t want others to see it that way. In fact,” he said, retaking his seat, “I don’t want others to see it at all. Is that possible?”

  “Certainly. Zion’s Bank can handle that chore as discreetly as you wish, Tom.”

  “I don’t want Zion’s Bank to handle it, Robert.”

  Robert paused in the act of taking his seat behind the desk. He placed both hands flat on his desk and leaned over toward Tom.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Tom smiled broadly, and began to laugh. “Of course you don’t. I’ll explain. At least, partly explain. In San Francisco, before my trip to Mexico, I sold my Alaska claims to a man named Simonsen.”

  “Yes,” Robert said, seating himself and picking up some papers from his desk. “I believe his name is on these documents he sent.”

  “He gave me two pieces of advice, which I later discussed, after my Mexican trip, with some other bankers in San Francisco. They tended to agree with Simonsen. Now I come to you for confirmation of their opinion.”

  Robert leaned back in his chair, waiting for Tom to reveal this new twist to his deposit of over five million dollars in Zion’s Bank. A deposit that had startled and, ultimately, pleased Robert Thurston, who had chuckled to himself that the young Irishman who had come to help him late one night when he was in excruciating pain with appendicitis, had hit it big in Alaska.

  “No, I don’t want Zion’s Bank to make the arrangements, I want Utah Trust Bank to do the job for me.”

  “Utah Trust Bank?” Robert said.

  “Right.”

  “There is no Utah Trust Bank, Tom,” Robert said.

  “Not yet.”

  Robert’s eyes grew larger. “But . . . there . . . will . . . be,” Robert said, stretching out the words.

  “There will be, if . . .” Tom said, pausing to allow the little ‘if’ word to expand in Robert’s mind, “ . . . if, I can find the right man to run it.”

  With that much said, Tom leaned back in his chair to allow Robert the time to grapple with what Tom had intended to be an idea and a job offer, all in one.

  Understanding immediately what Tom was after, Robert shook his head and fought to control the smile that was smearing itself all over his face.

  “So, Simonsen suggested opening a bank, did he?”

  “He did. And he said gold wasn’t the only metal to mine. He told me that Utah is apparently full of silver, zinc, and copper, and that the mining industry here is ready to erupt. His advice was to be a part of it. ‘Find a good partner,’ he said, ‘and get into it quickly.’ So, what do you say, Mr. Banker? I’ve got about four million I’m willing to put into a bank. Simonsen would like to be a partner with one-third interest and has two million to invest. That gives some young, enterprising man with banking experience a new venture with six million dollars in assets. Do you know of anyone who would be interested in such a proposition?” Tom smiled again.

  “Why me?” Robert asked, becoming serious.

  “Because D.O. McKay vouched for you, Robert, and I quickly came to trust his word. And because Sister Mary liked you, and she’s a good judge of character as well.”

  Robert leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Can I discuss it with my wife?”

  “Of course. I did with mine,” Tom replied. “Tell you what,” Tom said, rising from his chair. “I’ll leave it with you over the weekend, and we’ll have lunch on Monday, if that suits you. I want to see Sister Mary and make a few arrangements of my own. The plan would be, Robert, if you’re interested of course, that I will arrange for a new home to be built and then Katrina and I are going to Europe for several months. Your job, if you agree to be part of the effort, would be to start up the bank while I’m gone and see about getting us into the mining business. You would have a partnership interest, of course. Is that enough time to consider the proposition?”

  “Yes, yes, Tom. Plenty of time. Tell me, Tom,” Robert said, coming out from behind his desk to walk Tom to the door. “When last we met, I don’t recall your having much knowledge about banking or business. How did you . . . ?”

  “I still don’t profess to be an expert, but my uncle had three books in Alaska. Law, Mining Law, and Properties of the Earth’s Minerals. The nights were long and I read a lot, Robert,” he laughed.

  Robert nodded, shaking Tom’s hand as he departed. “See you Monday, Tom. About eleven, if that’s all right.”

  “That’ll be fine, Robert. Good to see you again. By the way, how is D.O.?”

  “David’s been called on a mission, Tom. He’s in Scotland.”

  “I see,” Tom nodded. “Well, perhaps I can write to him. Good lad, D.O. He was very kind to me when I arrived.”

  “It seems circumstances have all been kind to you, Tom. I’m happy for you.”

  Chapter 3

  In July, 1876, a strapping fourteen-year-old Ute Indian boy found a home with troopers of the U.S. Seventh Cavalry, stationed in the northwestern United States. Working primarily with the camp cook, he had also been taken in by the blacksmith at the fort and taught how to care for and repair leather gear for the troopers. Though his name was Walking Horse, the troopers soon began calling him “Stitch,” because he repaired their saddles, boots, and bridles.

  At Little Big Horn, during the time Colonel Custer’s troop was being obliterated by Sitting Bull and the warriors of the Sioux nation, Stitch was away from the action, back at base camp, he
lping the cook with kitchen chores. Several days after the massacre, General Terry arrived with a relief column and Stitch rode away, one of the few members of the Seventh Cavalry fortunate not to have been under Custer’s direct command that fateful day.

  Eventually, Stitch made his way to Fort Douglas in Salt Lake City, where he enlisted in the army and was assigned to a local troop. There he was content to remain, working with military horses and gear for the next twenty years, never asking for, or receiving, reassignment.

  When he mustered out of the army in 1896, Stitch opened a small leather repair shop in Salt Lake, continuing to live quietly and simply, going every day about his work.

  On a day in late 1897, when Anders Hansen first entered his shop, Stitch and Andy began a friendship and an association that would last for many years, although neither party could have predicted so.

  “I am told that you tool leather and personalize it. Is that correct?” Andy asked.

  “I do. What is it you was lookin’ for?”

  “I need a large traveling trunk. One with a leather top or sidebar. I’d like the name ‘Callahan’ engraved into the leather. Can you do that?”

  “I can. Stitch is my name. And your name?”

  “Anders Hansen, Stitch. Just call me Andy.”

  “I will, Andy. I will. Put that name down in writin’ so I can be sure it’s right. Callahan, you say?”

  “That’s right, Stitch. C-a-l-l-a-h-a-n.”

  “I can do that. What kind of trunk you lookin’ for, Andy?”

  “Well, I thought maybe we could pick one out together, so you can be sure you can work on the leather. Have you got time to go with me to the shops in town to find a trunk?”