The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

“Seby, listen, Mom asked me to call and invite you to Dad’s baptism on the fifth of next month. Do you think you can come?”

  “Absolutely. I ­wouldn’t miss it. What time?”

  “Eleven, in the Tabernacle. Elder McKay will perform the baptism.”

  “Fine. That will be just fine. Will there be many people?”

  “No, just a few hundred close friends and business associates who have been badgering Dad about the church for over twenty years,” she laughed.

  “It will be an honor to be there,” Seby said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  A few seconds of silence ensued.

  “Seby, I, uh, about the night you took me home from the hospital ... I think I made a fool of myself. I’m very sorry.”

  “Not to me, you didn’t, Teresa. But, please, take no further thought. I understand your excitement, that is, joy over your mother’s recovery. I’m sorry that ­you’re sorry,” he said, wincing at his choice of words.

  “Thank you, Seby. Can we keep this between us, please?”

  “You have my word, Señorita. I’ll see you on the fifth.”

  “On the fifth, then.” Teresa paused for a moment, waiting to see if Seby would hang up the telephone receiver. When both parties remained silent, but still on the line, Teresa spoke again.

  “Seby, are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not really that sorry.”

  “Good,” he said, a small laugh escaping. “Good-bye, Teresa.”

  Chapter 2

  May, 1923

  New York City

  You are cordially invited

  to attend the graduation ceremony of the

  United States Naval Academy,

  Annapolis, Maryland,

  to be held on the Fifth of June,

  in the year of our Lord,

  Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-Three,

  at ten o’clock a.m.

  Following the ceremony,

  you are invited to witness the commissioning of

  Second Lieutenant Thomas Matthew Callahan III

  United States Marine Corps.

  Teresa Callahan put the invitation and the handwritten note from her brother Tommy back into the envelope, slid her chair away from the mirrored table, and walked out of her dressing room. Stepping on stage and standing behind the thick, drawn curtain, she lifted the peephole flap and placed her eye against the soft material and peered out at the rapidly filling house. There, seated in the third row, center aisle, sat five immaculately dressed naval officers. Well, she thought, smiling to herself, almost naval officers. Her invitation had said that the actual commissioning ­wouldn’t occur until after the graduation. But there he was, her brother Tommy and four of his classmates, come all the way from Annapolis to New York to see her debut as the lead actress in a Broadway musical.

  Teresa literally tingled with excitement and jitters as she waited for the curtain to go up. It was her first leading role. Prior to now, she had spent three mostly discouraging years, paying her dues by going from audition to audition, winning only bit parts, but in such popular musicals as Jerome Kern’s Hitchy Koo, then Sally, and finally, the Ziegfeld Follies of 1921. Having gained a reputation for being a talented singer and dancer and for being dependable, she got her first big break when she was named understudy to one of Broadway’s foremost leading ladies. When the actress developed pneumonia, Teresa finally got her chance to shine, and positive reviews had brought her to this current role as the lead in a George M. Cohan musical. She had worked hard and felt that if she succeeded this time, her career was set. At least that’s what her agent was telling her, and she was determined to make the most of the opportunity.

  Finally the house lights dimmed, the orchestra began playing the overture, and the moment arrived. All of twenty-three years old and with her heart in her throat, Teresa Callahan, who had chosen to retain her real name as her stage name, listened closely for her pitch from the orchestra and waited for the curtain to rise.

  The knock on her dressing room door after the final act was just one more noise in a cacophony of backstage sounds. The door opened and the stage director stuck his head in.

  “Miss Callahan, the fleet’s in,” he announced in a prissy manner.

  Teresa looked toward the door and as the stage director stepped back, a man in a bright white naval uniform with gold trim filled the doorway. The man quickly stepped into the tiny room, followed by four similarly attired young men.

  “Tommy!” Tess squealed, bolting from her chair and throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Tommy, it’s so good to see you.”

  “And to think, only three years ago you were just a budding ingénue?” he laughed. “I have five votes all lined up for actress of the year,” he added.

  Teresa released Tommy’s neck and stood back, seeking to regain her dignity in front of his classmates.

  “Tess, may I introduce First Classmen Hendrick Wilson, Merrill Twining, and Todd Eastman, and my roommate, Sam Fuqua. Gentlemen,” he said, bowing slightly with exaggerated formality, “may I introduce my sister, the newest star on Broadway, Teresa Callahan.”

  Tess felt her cheeks growing warm, and she began to blush. “Tommy, stop it,” she laughed. “I’m very pleased to meet you, gentlemen. Thank you for coming to the play.”

  “Tess, can you join us?” Tommy said. “­We’re going to the 21 Club for a late dinner.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Tommy. We have a cast party tonight. We always get together on opening night and wait for the early morning reviews. But I’ll be down next Tuesday for your graduation,” she smiled brightly.

  “You’d better be,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  Midshipman Eastman smiled and took a step forward. “Will all of the female cast members be at the party?” he asked.

  Teresa laughed. “I’m afraid so, Todd. But in that uniform, in New York City, at the 21 Club, I don’t think ­you’re going to have a problem,” she laughed.

  “You won’t reconsider, Tess?” Tommy asked as they began to depart the dressing room.

  “Oh, I wish I could, Tommy. I really do. What girl ­wouldn’t want to go out with five dashing naval officers?” she said. “But I’ve just got to go with the cast. And it’s a private party,” she said, glancing at Todd. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to invite each of you, although I’d love to. You understand, I hope.”

  “I do, Tess,” Tommy said, giving a quick nod. “It’s their loss, Sis. You’ll all sit around reading some literary fob’s review, and four other New York girls, five actually,” he laughed, “will have a great time tonight.”

  “I’ll bet they will,” she laughed in reply. “Thank you all for coming, and I’ll see you on Tuesday at Annapolis.”

  Grinning and stumbling over each other to shake Teresa’s hand, the four midshipmen and Tommy departed her dressing room, and Teresa closed the door. She took her seat at the dressing table again, thinking that they probably would have more fun than she would at the cast party. Tommy had looked great and as for Todd, well ...

  The second knock on the door was perfunctory, as the door immediately opened and a female member of the cast leaned in. “You comin’, Teresa? ­We’re ready to go.”

  “I’ll be right along, Betty. Go ahead and I’ll follow. I’ll be right behind, don’t worry.”

  “Okay. Don’t be late,” she called out, leaving the door slightly open as she departed.

  Teresa turned back to her mirror and finished arranging her hair in a simple chignon, rolled neatly at the back of her head. She looked at herself for a moment in the dressing mirror, wondering again if she should simply take the easy route and cut her hair short in one of the new, fashionable “bobs” and use a wig for her stage performances. In every way, except for her dark hair—inherited from Tom—Teresa looked much as her mother had at her age. She had large green eyes, a petite, finely shaped nose, and a pretty mouth that showed off her white teeth to advantage when she smiled. And from her mother,
she had inherited an impressive singing voice, enhanced by nearly ten years of training under one of Salt Lake’s finest voice coaches.

  After removing her stage makeup, Teresa added a touch of lipstick and placed a dab of perfume on her throat and in the crook of her elbows. As she recapped the bottle, she sensed, rather than heard, someone in the doorway and turned, thinking that one of the cast had returned to tell her to hurry.

  “I’ll be right ...”

  The dark-haired, olive-skinned man standing in the doorway took her by surprise, and for a moment she didn’t recognize him. He was wearing a dark gray, double-breasted suit, with light gray spats over his highly polished, black leather shoes. Her first impression was of a well-tailored, wealthy Italian, many of whom were frequently backstage. Then it dawned on her, and she smiled broadly.

  “As I live and breathe, Sebastian Stromberg! ­You’re a long way from Salt Lake City.”

  Instantly, she thought of the night, or rather the early morning, when she had impetuously kissed him on the front steps of her home in Salt Lake City. They had had a few flirtatious encounters after that, but her departure for New York the next fall had put an end to any further development in what had appeared to be a mutual attraction. Now, he was standing in her dressing room door, and she suddenly felt strangely foolish.

  Leaving the door ajar, Seby stepped into her room, his arms clasped behind his back.

  “I am,” he smiled. “And your performance, Señorita Callahan, was well worth the trip,” he said, reaching out to hand her a bouquet of two dozen yellow roses. “Please allow me to present these flowers as a small token of my appreciation for your excellent performance this evening.”

  “Oh my, Seby, you ­shouldn’t have,” she said, taking the flowers from him.

  “Yes, I should,” he said immediately. “Was that Tommy and his friends I saw going down the hallway?” he asked, inclining his head toward the doorway.

  “Yes, it was. They stopped in to say hello. ­They’re going to the 21 Club. You could catch them if you—”

  Seby shook his head. “No, thank you, Señorita. I think I shall return to my hotel this evening.”

  “So, what brings you to New York?” she asked.

  “Business. I’m buying some property in Mexico.”

  “Are you leaving Utah?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. My ranch in Utah is my home now. But I still have interests in Mexico. Well,” he said, turning toward the door, “I just wanted to congratulate you on your performance. It was, as I said earlier, excellent and most enjoyable.”

  Teresa stepped to the door as Seby was leaving. “Will you be in New York long?” she asked. Why did I say that? she thought. Good grief, he’s going to think ...

  “For a couple of days—through the weekend at least. Before I left Utah, your father informed me of Tommy’s graduation next week, and I’ve made arrangements for a car to drive down to Annapolis. I believe your parents will also be there.”

  “Yes,” she brightened, “they will. And I’m going, too,” she added.

  Seby hesitated for a moment and then looked into Teresa’s eyes. “Would it be presumptuous to offer you a ride to Annapolis? That is, if you haven’t made other plans.”

  “No, actually with rehearsals and all, I haven’t even had time to think about it,” Teresa lied, knowing she had a train ticket to Washington, D.C., with a connection to Annapolis in her purse. “That’s very thoughtful. Are you sure it ­wouldn’t be an imposition?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Señorita. Where may I call for you?”

  “Just down the street, actually. I have a suite at the Carlton.”

  “Wonderful,” he smiled. “I’m at the Waldorf, as your father suggested. An excellent hotel. Perhaps, then—if ­you’re not busy, of course—” he said with formality, “we could ... have dinner some evening this weekend.”

  “Oh my,” she stalled. “We have two shows on Saturday but only a matinee on Sunday. Would Sunday evening suit?” she asked.

  “If it is convenient, I shall call for you at eight, at the Carlton.”

  “That would be nice, Seby. Very nice.”

  “Until then, Señorita Callahan,” Seby said, bowing slightly.

  “Tess, Seby. Please call me Tess.”

  “As you wish, Señorita,” he smiled pleasantly. “Tess it shall be.”

  “Would you look at these reviews, Thomas?” Katrina said, folding the newspaper to the literary page and handing it to Tom. “You’d think she was Fanny Brice or one of Ziegfeld’s leading ladies,” Katrina beamed.

  The landscape rolled rapidly by as the train crossed through the western Pennsylvania countryside. Katrina had accompanied Tom on a business trip to Chicago, and they were on the way to attend Tommy’s graduation in Maryland and to spend a few days in New York to see Teresa’s play. Tom had tried to talk Katrina into taking one of the new commercial airplane flights, but she’d have none of it. Seby had even offered to fly them in his newly acquired Ryan B-1 prototype aircraft, a four-seat mono-wing, and Tom had smiled at the way Katrina adeptly declined the offer, saying she ­couldn’t possibly miss Tabernacle Choir practice and that it would be unreasonable to ask Seby to delay his departure. When Seby had knowingly winked at Tom as he left the house, Tom had barely been able to contain his mirth. So Tom and Katrina had taken the train again, and after several days on the road, with a three-day stop in Chicago, they were now finally nearing Washington, D.C.

  “If it hadn’t been for that fawning critic at the Tribune several years ago, we ­wouldn’t have to travel all the way to New York to see our daughter anyway,” Tom groused. “There’re plenty of good theaters in Salt Lake City, or in San Francisco for that matter.”

  “Oh, Thomas, you old stick-in-the-mud. Your daughter’s a hit on Broadway, in New ... York ... City, and you just can’t stand it. You’ve been waiting for her to flop and come crawling home to Utah, haven’t you?” she laughed, pulling at her husband’s sleeve.

  “Well, somewhere closer than New York. I know that town, Katie. It’s no place for a proper young woman,” he blustered.

  “You were familiar with New York over thirty years ago, Thomas. Since then your visits have been to first-class banks, and even more first-class hotels. Besides, Tess knows how to take care of herself, and she is a proper young woman.”

  “That’s just what I mean. She has no place there.”

  “I was surprised,” Katrina continued, “when she called us in Chicago and said that Seby had paid her a backstage visit and would be driving her to Annapolis. Do you think she’s regaining an interest in him?”

  “Humph. At least she’d be in Utah,” Tom said.

  Sebastian Stromberg handled the rented Dusenberg capably as he steered it along the two-lane, rural roadway in the eastern Pennsylvania countryside, just north of Philadelphia. He drove at a moderate pace—a bit too slowly for Teresa’s taste. She’d become somewhat restless and had developed a love of speed—the result of associating with the theater crowd and a couple of hedonistic young men she had dated during the three years she’d lived in New York.

  Obtaining her father’s permission to attend the prestigious acting school had been hard, and without her mother’s support, it would probably have been impossible—that is without overtly defying his wishes and going off on her own. Teresa had been grateful to her mother for making it pos­sible to get her way without the necessity of disobeying her father and incurring his wrath.

  Once in New York, she had found work hard to come by, and when she did land a small part, the schedule was demanding. She was surprised, in the midst of so many people, to find herself frequently homesick, and on at least two occasions, she had packed her bags, ready to admit her failure, call it quits, and head back to Utah. On each occasion, some bit-part had been forthcoming, and she had determined to stay “just a while longer.” Finally, after having been in the chorus of three successful musical productions, and then watching from offstage as an unde
rstudy to the leading actress, her big break had come, and along with it, her temporary downfall.

  When Faye Haberstein, a well-established Broadway actress who was starring in Joel Tripland’s Roses of Summer, had come down with pneumonia, Teresa, on a three-hour notice, had been required to step in. During her first two performances the audience didn’t include any critics from the trade papers. Thoroughly frightened, she had performed unsteadily, but on the third evening, when two of New York’s biggest literary critics were in attendance, she had performed smoothly and confidently. So well in fact, that in lauding Teresa’s performance, critic Lawrence Overshaw wrote: “It is too bad that Miss Haberstein doesn’t have mononucleosis instead of pneumonia.” Unfortunately, Miss Haberstein found the inference insulting, and upon her return from her illness, she insisted her understudy be fired immediately. A new understudy, less qualified by all accounts, was appointed in Teresa’s place.

  Certain her career was over, Teresa had once again packed her bags. She was in the midst of doing so when she responded impatiently to a knock on her apartment door, presuming that one more theater reporter wanted to get her response to the firing. Instead, the immensely successful Broadway producer and composer Aaron Copeland smiled back at her angry stare, and within two minutes, had offered her a supporting role in his latest, forthcoming musical. That had led to her starring in the Cohen production in which she was currently appearing.

  None of this had been the subject of their conversation as Seby and Teresa drove the hundred or so miles from New York to Annapolis. Rather, they had discussed the state of cattle ranching in Utah, the financial dealings of Utah Trust Bank, and Seby’s love for his Hidden Valley Ranch. Seby had shown little interest in Teresa’s life in the big city. His comment was that New York was best left to New Yorkers.