The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  “Señorita, it was your mother who saved my life on that beach,” Seby interjected.

  Katrina shook her head, her hands folded in her lap. “No, no Sebastian. It was you who saved me. If you had not been there, I would have given up and ... I lived because I had to care for you. I am indebted to you, Sebastian, not you to me.”

  “Mom, what are you saying!” Tess shouted. “I can’t believe you were a polygamist. And you, Dad, you knew this too, didn’t you?” she accused.

  “I did, Tess,” he nodded. “And although I already loved your mother, I became very proud of her once I knew what she had endured.”

  “Si, Señorita, your mother is a very brave woman,” Seby added.

  “Oh, you all just don’t understand,” Tess screamed, running from the room.

  Katrina looked at Tom and quickly followed her daughter. Tom and Seby remained in the parlor until long after midnight, talking about the events of the past as well as future business opportunities in Utah.

  “Maybe we better turn in, Seby. It’s been a long and eventful evening,” Tom said.

  “Si, Señor. Perhaps in the morning I should return to the hotel?”

  “No, that’s not the answer.”

  “I think your daughter is not pleased with the story. I am sorry for her distress, but I know from my grandfather that Señora Callahan is an honorable and brave woman.”

  “Thank you, Seby, but Teresa’s just confused. She’s got her mother’s toughness. Don’t worry about her, she’ll be fine.”

  “Good night, Señor,” Seby said. “And, Señor, thank you for your hospitality and your concern. I apologize again for deceiving you upon my arrival at the bank.”

  “Think nothing of it, Seby. You had good reasons. Get a good sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Tom found Katrina already in bed and as he slid between the sheets, she turned over and moved close to him.

  “Oh, Thomas, I’m so ashamed about all of this. I’ve kept it hidden for so many years. Teresa is very angry. She told me she could never face her friends again, and hollered at me to leave her room.”

  “She’s not angry, Katie. She’s hurt, but she’ll come around.”

  “But, Thomas, such a shock all at once. How could I have not confided in her years ago?”

  “Aye. Perhaps we should have told her—told them all, long ago.”

  Katrina succumbed to another flood of tears—silent tears—as she lay in Tom’s arms.

  “It will be all right, Katie. I promise you. And, Katie—Sebastian has come back to you after all these years.”

  She raised her head and in the dim light from the waning moon, Tom could see a slight smile cross her tear-stained face. “I will never understand the workings of the Lord, Thomas.”

  “Nor I, Katie, but He’ll tell us what He wants us to know ... in His own good time.”

  Chapter 3

  Teresa did her best to keep her mount well separated from both Tom and Seby as they worked their horses in and out of the twists and turns of Red Butte Canyon. Her voice cold and aloof, she had told her father earlier in the morning that she would not be riding that day.

  “We have a guest, Tess. You will accompany us. It was your invitation, if you recall.”

  “Fine, but it won’t be pleasant,” she said, slamming her bedroom door.

  Tom noticed that almost no conversation ensued between Seby and Tess, but Seby rode beautifully. Tom’s good-natured reminder about Tess wanting to learn to ride Mexican style brought a terse rebuttal that she had decided she had no need for foreign riding instructions.

  Tom’s look of displeasure at her conduct did nothing to deter Teresa’s disdainful treatment of Seby throughout the day. Tom found it admirable that Seby was able to ignore her rude behavior and refrain from being equally caustic.

  Returning to the stables, Tom left the horses in Seby’s care and went to speak with the manager of the stable. Seby took the opportunity to ask for Teresa’s help.

  “Señorita Callahan, could I ask for your assistance with unsaddling the horses?” he smiled politely.

  Teresa gave him a disgusted look and instead of moving to assist, began dusting off her trousers. Finally, her personal grooming accomplished and Seby patiently waiting, she stood erect and glared at him.

  “We have stable hands for that task, Mr. Antonio, or whoever you’re calling yourself today. Besides, since you are obviously working to become my father’s lackey, I don’t want to stand in your way.”

  “Señorita, you have misjudged ...”

  “Mr. Antonio, or Cardenas, or Stromberg, or good grief, whoever you are, as far as I’m concerned, Monday will not arrive soon enough. Until then, please have the decency to avoid me whenever possible. You’ve brought quite enough disruption to my family for one weekend.”

  Holding the reins of the three horses, Seby held her stare. Teresa snorted a last humph, and spun on her heels to walk away.

  “Señorita Callahan,” Seby called out, his voice resonant and demanding. Teresa stopped and turned in her tracks, angry that he would have the insolence to speak to her in such a tone of voice.

  “Further communication between us is not necessary, but know one thing: According to my grandfather, your mother acted in the best interest of all concerned. But you are young and perhaps shouldn’t be expected to possess her strength and understanding. Good day, Señorita,” he said, turning his back.

  Seething, but at a loss as to know how to reply, Teresa watched him as he led the three horses further into the stable and began to unsaddle one of the mounts. Then she turned and stomped off.

  Tom passed Teresa as she headed for the car and turned his head to watch her bristle. Entering the stable, he saw Seby working with the horses.

  “Lucky she didn’t set the hay on fire,” Tom laughed.

  “Señor?” Seby questioned.

  “Nothing, Seby. Poor humor. Let me help you and we’ll get through quicker.”

  “Señor, if you please. I will finish with the horses. Please return to your home, and I will follow when I am finished.”

  “That’s quite a walk, Seby. You sure you don’t want to ride with us.”

  “Gracias, Señor. Por favor,” he smiled. “And, Señor. If you would be so kind as to have your houseman put my few things together in my bag and have it ready. I am most grateful for your hospitality and that of Señora Callahan, but I wish to cause no further distress in your household.”

  “But, Seby, you didn’t ...” Tom could see the pleading in the young lad’s eyes and nodded, understanding the request. “Seby, about two blocks west from our place and two blocks south, there is an excellent boarding house. Mrs. Wilson’s, it’s called. There’s a sign out front. I’ll arrange for a room there and have Henry deliver your things.”

  Seby brightened.

  “On one condition,” Tom said.

  “Señor?”

  “On condition that you promise to come back to my office at the bank on Monday morning at about nine o’clock, and that you make me a firm commitment that you will do just that. I have a couple of ideas I think might be of interest to you. Agreed?”

  “Si, Señor. Thank you for your understanding.”

  “I think I do understand, Seby. I’m sorry for my daughter’s behavior. She is completely out of place.”

  “No, Señor. It is I who is out of place.”

  Tom nodded his understanding. “Monday morning, Seby.”

  “Si, Señor Callahan. You have my word.”

  “That, Señor Stromberg, is good enough for me,” Tom said, leaving the stable.

  The ride home was accomplished in silence. Tess looked out the window, refusing to make contact with her father. When they turned into the driveway in front of the house, she quickly opened the car door, but before she could get out, Tom spoke to her.

  “Tess,” he said firmly.

  Her face was an angry mask and she stared straight ahead, listening resentfully.

  “I
t strikes me that a certain university woman has a lot to learn about life. You’ve been acting like a child, and, frankly, I’m embarrassed for you. What you learned last night may have come as a shock, but you’re in no position to judge your mother. She went through a very difficult time in Mexico. If she had been less of a woman, she wouldn’t have survived. But she did, and in the process saved the life of a helpless baby whose mother died during his birth.

  “As to how and why she was in Mexico and how she came to be in a plural marriage is not yours to question. She trusted a man who took advantage of her, and she suffered because of him. She’s never offered you anything but unconditional love, and if what your friends might think is more important to you than the feelings of your mother, well, ... I feel sorry for you. I suggest you go upstairs and think about how you are behaving.”

  Without looking at him, she said, “Is that all, Father?”

  “I hope not, Tess,” he said, exhaling in his frustration. “I sincerely hope not.”

  Tess got out of the car and started to leave, but hesitated. She turned back as Tom exited his side of the car and glared at him over the hood of the Pierce Arrow.

  “This unconditional love, Father. Is that the kind of love I’ve watched you withhold from Tommy since we returned from Norway—since Benjamin’s death—and since you drove Tommy to leave home?” she said, spitting the words out of her mouth.

  Teresa spun on her heels before Tom could respond and quickly entered the house, her angry attack on her father already bringing tears to her eyes.

  For nearly four years, the subject of that night on the Titanic had never been directly addressed in their home, but once Tommy had finished high school, his decision to attend college out of state had come to him easily and was not a surprise to Teresa. Only to her had he revealed his resentment and personal agony, and the two of them had often talked of his anguish.

  Tom watched Teresa disappear into the house, his chest aching from her stinging rebuke. The thought flashed through his mind that Tess and Tommy were nearly as old as he and his brother John had been when they had decided to leave Ireland. Forever!

  Magnus Stromberg Sr. bent painfully to slip on his white buckskin shoes, then lifted his tall, slender frame from the bench in the dressing area. He looked briefly in the mirror, adjusted his white tie, and straightened a wisp of hair that had fallen over his glasses. Nearly ninety, and newly called as second counselor in the Salt Lake Temple presidency, he still possessed a shock of thick, silvery hair. He stepped through the doorway, out into the open area, and walked the several steps to the temple administrative office, smiling pleasantly as he entered.

  “Good morning, President Stromberg,” a young man behind the desk said. “Two sealings this morning,” he added, handing the elderly man two sets of papers in manila folders. “The Debbins family, President, has specifically requested that you perform their sealing.”

  “I see,” Stromberg said. He opened the first folder and quickly read the particulars. Harrison Debbins was to be sealed to Alicia Evanston. Witnesses were also named. The ceremony was scheduled for eleven-thirty. He glanced at his pocket watch, which read eight-fifteen. As he started to open the second folder, the young man spoke again.

  “I almost forgot, President Stromberg. A sister came in earlier and asked to see you briefly, if you have time before the sealings. She’s waiting in the foyer, just outside your office.”

  Stromberg closed the second folder and looked down the hall toward his office door. A woman sat alone, dressed in white, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Thank you, son,” Stromberg said and turned toward his office. Some feet short of reaching the woman, Stromberg recognized her, and his face brightened as he approached.

  “Sister Callahan! What a pleasure to see you in the House of the Lord. Please, come into my office,” he said, extending his hand. “How can I be of assistance this morning?”

  “Good morning, President Stromberg. Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

  “Not at all, Sister Callahan. It’s my pleasure. In fact,” he smiled, “at eighty-nine, it’s indeed a pleasure to see a lovely young woman at any time,” he laughed. “Please, have a seat here,” he said, ushering her into his office and to a soft, woven cloth chair in front of his desk.

  “Thank you, President. I’ll try to make this brief, but it is ... perhaps I should start at the beginning.”

  Stromberg laughed again. “As good a place as any, usually.”

  “When I read of your calling to the Temple, I was so pleased, President,” Katrina smiled.

  “Sister Callahan, seeing you again makes me very happy. How have you been?” Stromberg said, resting against the back of his chair, his fingers interlaced and locked under his chin.

  “I’ve been well, President. I know I have not communicated since your kind note some years ago, following the death of my youngest son. It was most comforting.”

  His expression grew serious and he leaned forward, taking Katrina’s hand and holding it tenderly. “Sister Callahan, I was devastated by the news of your son’s death and that of your parents’. A tragic, tragic event,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You were very thoughtful to think of us at that time, President. Thank you.”

  “Is your family involved in one of this morning’s sealings?” he asked, picking up the folders.

  “No, President,” she said, “I came about another matter. When you visited with me, those several years ago, there was something I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how to, actually, and didn’t know if it would ever become, well ... become known.”

  President Stromberg sat quietly, a compassionate look gracing his face.

  “President, a young man recently came to Utah, to visit Thomas at the bank. He stayed at our home overnight and is now at a boarding house. He is a fine young man, President. A credit to his family. He is from Mexico, President Stromberg. His name is Sebastian Antonio Stromberg—Seby we call him—and he is your great-grandson,” she said, a slight glistening in her eyes.

  President Stromberg looked confused. He questioned Katrina with his eyes.

  “He’s Harold’s son, President. Born in Mexico to my friend Teresa Cardenas Stromberg. He came to America something over a year ago, escaping the Mexican Revolution.”

  The old man leaned back in his chair, removed his glasses, and with a fresh handkerchief taken from his vest pocket, wiped his eyes.

  “The President of the church himself called me to this position some months ago, Sister Callahan, and I told him I was far too old to be of service. He put his arms around me and said, ‘Brother Stromberg, your work is not finished.’ Evidently, that’s the case. Please, you must tell me this story, Sister Callahan.”

  “It will be my pleasure, President,” she nodded, patting his hand. “My great pleasure.”

  Chapter 4

  The two young men leaned against the granite pillars at the end of O’Connell Street Bridge, casually watching the people pass. One smartly dressed fellow across the street stopped at the corner, removed his bowler hat and picked at a piece of lint. Replacing his hat, he crossed the street toward the Four Courts Building, one of the most prominent public buildings in Dublin.

  “That’s him, PJ. I’ll go first, then you come along behind in about a minute. Be careful, now.”

  PJ stayed at the end of the bridge as his uncle, Seamus Callahan, darted between cars on the bridge and scurried off toward the impressive building two blocks down, its granite facade facing the River Liffey. When Seamus had disappeared from sight, PJ stepped off the footpath, finding his way among the light traffic on a Sunday morning and following after Seamus.

  Across the street, two men sat behind a window covered by sheer curtains on the second story of an office building from which one could see all activity on the O’Connell Street Bridge.

  “Patrick, I say it’s late to be lettin’ a new lad in,” the man said.

  “Aye, but this isn’t just some n
ew lad. He’s Seamus’ nephew, actually. They look more like brothers, don’t they?”

  “I still say it’s too late,” Patrick complained.

  “It’s my decision, Paddy, lad. He’ll not be told much. Do ye not know who his Da is?”

  Patrick shook his head.

  “He’s Seamus’ older brother, Thomas, gone from Ireland these past twenty-odd years. He’s a bleedin’ millionaire in America.”

  “Yer daft, man,” Patrick said.

  “Perhaps,” he replied, his eyes following young PJ as he, too, disappeared into the Four Courts Building. Robert Lynn, Commander of Central Brigade, slid his chair back from the window and stood. “But now we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

  “And if he is?” Patrick asked.

  “Patrick,” Lynn said, taking his friend by the shoulders. “Let me do the thinking, lad. If his Da is who we think he is, then the kid will find himself in a spot o’ trouble with the Brits. When word gets home to his Da, he’ll be here on the fastest steamship there is, even if he has to buy the bloody thing. But first, Patrick ...” Lynn said, taking his coat from the clothes hook and throwing it over his shoulder, “ ... Mr. Thomas Callahan, late of County Tipperary, will telegraph the American Ambassador in London, and the bloody Yank will jump through fire to reach His Majesty’s bloody Irish Office and demand young Callahan’s release,” he smiled.

  “Robert, how will that—”