The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  Clearly, President Cannon believed what he taught, passionately so, but his manner was not one of coercion. Rather, he was one who practiced tolerance and who radiated a Christ-like, unconditional love, which was not encumbered by prescribed expectations. He appeared to follow the Prophet Joseph Smith’s formula for inducing righteous behavior. He taught correct principles but permitted men and women to govern themselves, as their wisdom permitted.

  The lesson Katrina would need to learn, if she were ever to succeed in following President Cannon’s good-natured admonition to “bring Tom into the church,” was that her love for Tom also had to be unconditional, and not tied to the hope that someday, somehow, he would embrace her faith. Without Tom’s ultimate acceptance of her Mormon religion, Katrina had no hope of an eternal marriage to this man she loved so passionately. It was a circumstance she had gone into knowingly and willingly, but that made it no less of a concern to her. For now, in the first blush of their marriage and in their early years together, it was something she could live with. The heartache and concern that Tom’s failure to embrace the gospel might eventually bring, Katrina had not yet imagined.

  By early afternoon the great ship was clear of landfall, and on the high seas. Assigned to First Seating for dinner, their table accommodations were immediately adjacent to the Captain’s table, and Tom could not help but reflect on the continuing irony the trip provided, as opposed to that of the earlier trip they had taken in the opposite direction. The ship’s First Officer did indeed look at Tom, as had the First Officer on the Antioch, but in the present circumstance, with the utmost courtesy, and with a note, delivered by the steward, which invited “Mr. and Mrs. Callahan to dine with the Captain tomorrow evening.”

  Seated at their table were two other couples, one going to Europe for the first time and a French couple, returning from an extended visit to America. Conversation started immediately, with the Frenchman taking the lead.

  “Ah, Monsieur Callahan, what brings you to Europe?”

  “Purely pleasure, Mr. Benoit.”

  “Then be certain to see Paris, Monsieur Callahan. One cannot consider their visit to Europe complete without having the pleasure of touring the world’s most beautiful city.”

  Tom smiled and Katrina entered the conversation. “It is certainly at the top of our list of places to visit, Mr. Benoit. Any particular recommendations?”

  “Every place in Paris is wonderful, Mademoiselle. The new Eiffel Tower is a remarkable piece of engineering, the tallest structure in the world and destined to become a great landmark.”

  “So we’ve heard.”

  “What type of business are you in, Monsieur Callahan?” Benoit asked.

  “Financial. Banking, actually,” Tom replied, still a little self-conscious to be saying so.

  Benoit coughed and raised his glass. “A toast then, since I thought all bankers were old, crotchety types,” he laughed.

  Tom accepted the toast, replying, “Too many of those, Mr. Benoit. Thought they could use some young blood.”

  “And so they can. So then, financially speaking, what do you think of the trouble in Cuba and the Philippines? The Spanish seem to be stretching their legs a bit once again.”

  “Not certain, Mr. Benoit, but I understand our government is aware of the situation and keeping an eye on things.”

  “Oh, you can be sure of that, Monsieur Callahan. It seems the American government keeps its eye and its nose, in everybody’s business. France has often been required to push the ‘camel’s nose out of the tent,’ so to speak.”

  “I was under the impression that France is a long-time ally of the Americans.”

  “So we are. So we are. But then one needs to be careful with nosy relatives too. Well, given the events of the past few weeks, the Spanish require a keen eye, it would seem. Regular hot spot down there—in Cuba, I mean.”

  Apart from the two occasions when Tom and Katrina were invited to dine with the Captain, their dinner hour was usually spent verbally jousting with the gregarious Frenchman, who in the end, invited them to be sure to call on him when they arrived in Paris.

  One evening, following their first invitation to dine with the Captain, Tom approached a delicate subject with Katrina in the late hours in their cabin.

  “What do you think of the Captain, Katie?”

  “How do you mean, Thomas?”

  “I mean he’s, well, he’s educated and knows about a lot of things, don’t you think?”

  Katrina smiled at Tom and came to stand in front of him, reaching up to kiss his lips. “And you don’t?”

  “Well, not as much.”

  “How old do you think he is, Thomas?” she asked, continuing to smile at him, and playing with his hair.

  “Forty-five, maybe.”

  “Twice as old as you, perhaps?” she teased.

  Tom laughed and pulled her close, nuzzling his face in her hair until she too, started laughing. “I’ve time to learn, you’re trying to tell me, Mrs. Callahan?”

  “I think that would be the thrust of my message, Mr. Callahan.”

  “And at eighteen, you’d be my teacher?” he asked.

  “Thomas, life has already taught both of us much more than many people our age. Maybe we should just let it come as it will.”

  “Aye. Well, I’m only a poor ignorant country lad from Ireland, but with your help . . . ,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her forehead.

  “Thomas, a country lad, maybe; from Ireland, certainly; but poor, hardly,” Katrina laughed.

  “Right again, Mrs. Callahan,” he said.

  Tom spent the final hours of approach to Cork pacing the forward most deck space on the ship. Spying land, he put his arm around Katrina and began to tell her of his homeland. During his time in America and Alaska, Tom had put aside his memories of Tipperary, but upon sighting the southwestern tip of Ireland, he instinctively knew that no matter where he lived, Ireland would always be his home.

  During their week in Ireland, Tom told his mother that Uncle John had left a will with instructions that his sister, who was also Tom’s mother, was to be taken care of by the proceeds from Uncle John’s estate. Tom had at first thought of building his mother a new home, but Katrina wisely advised that after a lifetime in one house and community, should the middle-aged Mrs. Callahan suddenly change her financial status, she would most likely lose all her friends and become unhappy in the process. Tom never advised his mother of his personal status, preferring her to think the money had come from Uncle John, as indeed, Tom felt it had.

  Their stay in Ireland, then England, with two weeks in London and a train trip through Scotland, was highlighted by an impromptu dinner in Stirling, Scotland, with the young missionary David O. McKay, a man who enthralled Katrina by his warmth and civility. After dinner, D.O. asked Tom if he would meet him the following morning for a brief excursion. Tom agreed, and shortly after dawn the next day, Tom waited as Elder McKay and his companion walked toward him on the street where they had agreed to meet.

  “Morning, Tom,” D.O. said.

  “And to you, D.O. So, what’s so important that an extra hour of sleep was lost?” he grinned.

  “I want to show you something, Tom. Last night I sensed that you are perhaps, well, the word might be uncomfortable with your new status in life. I thought of something I recently came across that has meant a good deal to me. I wanted you to see it.”

  “Lead on, Mr. McKay. It’s your party.”

  A ten minute walk through the streets of Stirling brought the three men to a stone church, still under construction. “Neither Catholic nor Mormon, D.O.,” Tom teased.

  “That’s right, Tom. But informative nonetheless. Look at the inscription over the entrance.”

  Tom stepped closer to the newly carved stone, in which was engraved the motto: “What e’re Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.”

  After reading the inscription, Tom turned back to D.O., who stood, smiling at his Irish friend.

  “This
applies to me?” Tom asked.

  “You’re not who you were when we met, Tom. But as you’ve said to me on at least two occasions, there are those who think you have a purpose in Salt Lake City. Given the significant change in your circumstances, I thought perhaps this little homily might apply and that it would give you something to consider. I know that when I first read it a few weeks ago, its effect on me was profound.”

  “I see,” Tom replied. “It probably applies to all of us, doesn’t it?”

  D.O. smiled, looking up again at the inscription. “It does indeed, Mr. Callahan. I hope it will be of some use to you as it already has to me.”

  Tom locked eyes with David O. McKay for a moment, each man feeling the growing bond of friendship, the product of a chance meeting on statehood day in front of an unruly horse in downtown Salt Lake City. “Thank you, D.O. I’ll look forward to your return to Utah and seeing what ‘part’ we’ll each be given to ‘act,’” Tom laughed.

  “Aye,” McKay responded. “So will I.”

  A short North Sea ferry crossing to Norway and visits to all of Katrina’s relatives, followed by another ferry ride into Denmark, brought the Callahans to continental Europe. In what seemed short order, four months had passed, with Berlin, Munich, Salsburg, including the salt mines of southern Germany, Rome, and then Madrid, all explored and relieved of numerous artifacts Katrina found “absolutely essential” for their new home. Finally, the Callahans found themselves in Paris, the “City of Lights.”

  Originally intending to spend a full month in Paris, a telegram from Robert Thurston, received while they were in Madrid, forced a change in plans. No emergency existed, but Robert advised that several prominent western mine owners and operators were planning a meeting of some significance in Denver in April, and if Tom could shorten his trip by just a little bit, he could be on hand to meet them. Thurston thought they might like to meet the Chairman of the Board of Utah Trust Bank, particularly since several of them had expressed an interest in doing business with the new entity. Up against the well-established Zion’s Bank and other older institutions, Utah Trust Bank would need to put on an impressive face.

  News of the disastrous sinking of the American battleship USS Maine in Havana harbor reached them while on the train from Madrid to Paris, and the newspapers were speculating that war between the United States and Spain would be the inevitable result.

  Tom cabled Robert that he agreed the meeting was important and that in light of world events, they would cut several weeks off their itinerary and return home in time for the April meeting in Denver.

  One other change was revealed on the train from Madrid to Paris. When Tom suggested that Katrina consider enrolling in the university when they got back to Salt Lake, she smiled and told him she probably wouldn’t have time.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’ll be busy with the new house and practice with the choir, . . . and with the baby.”

  “The baby!” he said.

  “Yes,” she smiled.

  For most of the rest of the trip to Paris, Tom gazed out the window of the train, contemplating his new role as father and the burden it would place upon him. Not much time was spent considering how his father had treated him, but a definite decision was made to avoid some of the same mistakes.

  Paris, once they arrived after months of traveling and seeing one city after another, was everything Mr. Benoit had described. How the citizens had fallen in love with their city was easy to understand. The Seine, the magnificent Eiffel Tower, resplendent in its night lighting presentation, and the Louvre, all provided a wonderful conclusion to a wonderful honeymoon in Europe.

  One week before their scheduled departure, at Katrina’s request, Tom had somewhat reluctantly booked seats for a presentation of Puccini’s opera, La Bohème. Tom’s exposure to opera was limited to his attendance once at a performance in Limerick, when he was a boy. He had not been overly impressed, but he nevertheless, agreed to go, “for you,” he had told Katrina.

  Sitting in box seats to the side of the stage, Katrina watched as the first act progressed and Tom edged ever closer to the railing separating him from the actors below, who were almost within reach of their seats. At the point where Mimi and Rudolfo discover they have fallen in love, language translation from the Italian was not necessary. Katrina watched both the performance and Tom. He sat, totally enthralled by the music and the emotion being portrayed on stage. As the lovers’ duet reached a crescendo, Katrina saw tears roll down her husband’s cheeks, something she had not witnessed in their brief life together. Seated in their private box, Katrina looped her arm through Tom’s and laid her head softly on his shoulder. Without looking away from the stage, Tom reached to take Katrina’s hand, fully absorbed by the beauty and power of the music and the depth and intensity of the love story.

  At that moment, Katrina felt in her soul that Thomas Callahan was capable of being touched by the Spirit, and that one day, he would embrace the restored gospel. For years to come, that moment would provide the hope and strength she would need to sustain her in an otherwise fulfilling marriage, which lacked only that one ingredient.

  That Tom was open to a discussion of what he had felt during the performance was as surprising as his open display of emotion. Back in their hotel room, preparing to go to bed, Tom raised the subject.

  “I truly don’t understand it, Katrina. The music seemed to reach inside of me.”

  “I understand, Thomas,” she replied. “Why do you think that is?” she said, removing her jewelry and stepping to the door to set their shoes in the hallway for the night steward.

  “Katrina,” Tom said, “I have discovered so many confusing things about myself this past year, it’s hard to understand. The northern lights in Alaska left me enthralled. The music tonight seemed, well, it just seemed to strike a chord in my heart. It’s all beyond understanding, really. I come from such a small place in Ireland, have no education, and have always seen myself as, well, sort of a ruffian.” He smiled quickly at her, “Sort of like what your father judged me to be,” he laughed.

  “I’m very confused. It’s like I’m two people. Usually I’m someone who brooks no interference. I feel hard, even mean. Other times, such as tonight, things move me. Sitting there, listening to that music, I had the feeling there is more to life than just living. Does that make any sense?”

  Katrina came and sat next to him on the edge of the bed, kissing his cheek and stroking the wisp of dark hair that always eluded Tom’s control. “It’s the Spirit, Thomas.”

  “The Spirit?”

  “Thomas, the Holy Spirit confirms the truth—in all forms. When we hear beautiful music, listen to enlightened thoughts, or hear the words of the Prophet,” she smiled again, remembering their good-natured banter about the Prophet and the Pope, “the Spirit testifies to us, Thomas. It’s as though God is saying, ‘Listen, for I have provided this beauty for your pleasure. It is of me.’ Can you understand that?”

  “I understand what you told me long ago, that if I put myself in God’s hands, he would protect me,” he laughed, laying her gently back on the bed. “He has given me the opportunity to spend my life with you, Katie, m’darlin’, and that, at least for the moment, is sufficient truth for me.”

  Katrina smiled at him as he bent to kiss her. She reached up to embrace him, closed her eyes, and silently thanked God for the second chance she had to live and to love.

  In the morning as they prepared to leave, the hotel concierge delivered a telegram to their room. Katrina opened the sealed envelope and called out, “It’s from Anders.”

  “I suppose he wants us to come home and get busy.”

  Katrina did not reply and Tom stepped out of the bathroom facility, his face lathered in preparation for his morning shave. Katrina held the telegram in one hand, her other hand covering her mouth, her head slowly shaking left and right. She quietly handed the telegram to Tom.

  America at war with Spain. Stop. Utah Battal
ion formed and bound for Cuba. Stop. I will accompany Sisters of the Holy Cross to provide maintenance for the medical station. Anders.

  “Thomas?” Katrina said, her eyes filled with fear.

  Tom pulled her to him and held her close for a moment. “It’s time to go home, Katie. Maybe we can arrive before Anders leaves.”

  Chapter 4

  US Army Hospital

  June 1898

  The recruiters had lied. War was ugly.

  Twenty-three-year-old Anders Hansen sat hunched over on a log next to a crackling fire. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders and stared into the leaping flames that were licking at the fresh scrub brush tossed moments earlier onto the dying embers. Even in the tropical summer, high in the mountains, the Cuban evenings carried a chill that worked its way to the bone.

  Anders was in Cuba serving as a hospital engineer—part of a medical contingent from Salt Lake City. The nursing sisters of Holy Cross Hospital had quickly responded to the request of the United States government to provide hospital facilities in what was projected to be a brief war against Spain.1

  In the latest chapter in a never-ending ritual, repeated several times each century, thousands of young men across America had responded to their nation’s call and pledged their allegiance to the patriotic cause described by zealous military recruiters. Their impassioned rhetoric of God, country, and duty, supported by the daily nationalistic editorials published by William Randolph Hearst’s newspapers, served to move yet another generation of hot-blooded young men to enlist in this latest cause. They had been convinced that if they didn’t hurry, they would miss the honor and prestige that attached themselves to the members of a military force embarked on a righteous crusade.