The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  “Mr. Hansen,” Brother Smoot spoke for the first time during the evening, “what are your plans now that you’ve returned?”

  Anders looked directly at Reed Smoot, segueing his thoughts to the unexpected question. “Well, sir, I will take a position with my brother-in-law’s bank, and attend the university to study the law.”

  “Your brother-in-law works in a bank?”

  “Yes, sir. Thomas Callahan, sir. He is the owner and chairman of Utah Trust Bank.”

  “Of course,” Smoot acknowledged. “I know Thomas Callahan. Fine young man. And the law, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Very good,” he said, standing. “Albert, I’ll take my leave now. I’ve stayed far longer than I intended. Althea, thank you for your hospitality, and Mr. Hansen,” he said, stepping toward Anders’s chair, from which Anders rose, “it has been an honor to meet you, sir. You have been privileged to partake,” he said, grasping Anders hand in both of his, “of a witness from the Lord, the likes of which most mortals will not experience in a lifetime. Take it to heart, son, and learn from it. These were two fine men who came to your aid. Whether in this life or from the spirit world, they came to assist you. For the rest of your life, Mr. Hansen, you will have the solemn duty to extend similar assistance to those in need.”

  Brother Smoot looked into Anders’s eyes and smiled at him. “We’ll be seeing one another, Mr. Hansen,” he said. “Sarah,” he called, reaching for her hand as everyone but the sleeping boy took to their feet, “you’ve understood this all along, haven’t you?” She remained silent, her eyes speaking volumes. Brother Smoot patted her hand, then took his coat from the hall rack. With a brief nod to the family, he opened the front door and departed.

  “Well,” Anders said, “I, too, must be going. Thank you for allowing me to visit with you this evening.”

  Albert Richards walked with Anders to the door, Mrs. Richards at his side. “Young man, you have been a blessing to our house this evening. You are forever welcome in our home, Anders, if I may call you that, and we both hope you will take advantage of our invitation.”

  “Thank you, sir. That is most considerate. But actually, it is I who should be thankful to you, for the two sons you raised and trained in the gospel. Except for them ...” he paused.

  “I understand,” Richards said.

  “Good night, sir,” Anders said. Sarah stepped forward and handed Anders his overcoat. She stood only a couple of inches shorter than Anders.

  “Mr. Hansen ... Anders, I ...” She looked into his eyes for a long moment as her parents stood quietly alongside. Without warning, she raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then turned quickly and disappeared into the next room.

  Mrs. Richards looked shocked. “She was very close to Anthony and Fletcher, Mr. Hansen. Please excuse her. She is not usually such a forward person,” she explained.

  Anders buttoned his coat, his hosts observing his single-handed dexterity, and then he took Mrs. Richards’s hand.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you both for your kindness.” With one final glimpse toward the room where Sarah had gone, Anders stepped through the front door and walked down the path into the night.

  His mind reeled with the events of the evening, and he inwardly chafed at the fear he had felt when first confronted with the actual fulfillment of his promise to Tony. But Brother Smoot had said it to Sarah. “You knew, didn’t you?” he had said.

  And Anders knew even more. As surely as if he had been tapped on the shoulder, the still small voice spoke to him. The message was suddenly as clear as if Tony, once again, had delivered it in spirit.

  The walk up South Temple, the only sound a soft wind rustling through the few leaves remaining on the trees, was peaceful to Anders and gave time for thought. Quietly climbing the stairs toward his room, Anders was startled by Katrina opening the door to her bedroom, her robe wrapped around her as she smiled at him.

  “Anders, I’m so glad you’re home. I was worried. Tom told me about …” she started.

  “Klinka,” he kissed her in passing. “There’s no need to worry, little sister. Oh, and you should know one other thing. I’m going to marry Sarah Richards,” he said casually, walking toward his room.

  “What? Anders, what do you …”

  “Good night, Klinka,” he smiled, closing his door.

  Katrina stood in the hallway for several moments, half-in and half-out of her room. Tempted to barge into Anders’s room, she decided instead to return to her bed. She shed her robe and slid between the covers. “Thomas! Wake up, Thomas!”

  “Ummm?”

  “Thomas, Anders said he’s going to marry Sarah Richards.”

  “Ummm,” Tom said, rolling over on his side to face her. “I wouldn’t bet against him,” he yawned, fluffing his pillow and closing his eyes.

  “Thomaaas!”

  Tuesday afternoon, Tom, Anders, and Robert Thurston walked several blocks to the office of Gerald Evanston, Attorney-at-Law. Having obtained Robert’s support for the would-be students, they now explained the proposition to Evanston. Wholeheartedly in support, Gerald Evanston quickly agreed to the proposition, acquiring in the process a retainer from Utah Trust Bank, first stock options on future UTB joint ventures, and two able and willing apprentices. The only stipulation that Tom placed on their apprenticeship was that their assignments and their law training be related to the nature of the business UTB intended to pursue. All parties were pleased with the arrangement, and Tom hosted the newly formed group at a celebratory luncheon.

  Anders Hansen, having slept but little during the previous two nights, drifted mentally during lunch and privately celebrated his own personal conspiracy. With the aid of his sister, Katrina, who was as yet unaware of the forthcoming request, Anders intended to pull out all the stops in arranging the courtship of his future bride. Sarah Camellia Richards had been chosen.

  Anders, however, was not the only one who had forgone sleep the previous evening. Following Anders’s departure from the Richards’s home, Althea Richards had gone to her daughter’s bedroom intent on advising her daughter of the impropriety of having kissed Mr. Hansen after barely meeting him. As soon as she entered her daughter’s bedroom, the mother was greeted by a smile from her daughter, who patted the side of her bed for her mother to sit.

  “It’s all right, Momma,” the beautiful young woman said, her tears gone and her eyes bright.

  “But, Sarah, it’s not proper for a young lady—”

  “Momma, I’m going to marry Anders Hansen. The Lord told me so tonight.”

  “But, Sarah …” her mother exclaimed, her eyes now wide and her mouth open.

  Young Sarah just smiled and hugged her mother. “It’s all right, Mother, truly. You tell Daddy. The Lord will tell Mr. Hansen.”

  December brought heavy snows to the Salt Lake Valley, and also the first major row between Tom and Katrina. It had begun innocently enough, from Tom’s point of view. The baby had kept Katrina up nearly all night with an earache, and Tom had slept soundly through the whole, miserable time of it, as she walked the floor, trying in vain to comfort the wailing PJ and get him back to sleep.

  Tom got up in the morning to find an exhausted Katrina dozing in a chair with the baby asleep on her lap. When he awakened her, she was tired and irritable. And when he suggested that it might be well to hire a children’s nurse to help care for PJ, he had been astonished by her reaction.

  “You don’t think I’m capable of taking care of my baby?” she had asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said. “It’s a lot of work to keep up the house. I just thought it might be easier on you to have someone who could help.”

  “Have I neglected the house in some way?” she asked.

  “No,” Tom laughed. “It’s been fine, only ...”

  “Only what?” she demanded, glaring at him. Struggling unsuccessfully during the night to comfort PJ and get him to stop crying, Katrina had grown as frustrated as she was tired
. She had yearned to have Tom’s support and thought several times of waking him, not that he would have known any better than she what to do. It had also occurred to her during the long hours that if he had held the priesthood and was the kind of father she wished him to be, he might have given PJ a proper blessing.

  “Nothing,” Tom said. “I don’t have any complaints.”

  “Complaints! Well, I hope not. I work hard to keep the house up and take care of PJ. It’s not easy, you know.”

  “I know that. That’s why I suggested we hire someone to help with PJ,” he said, wondering why she was so angry.

  “I’ll not have some other woman caring for my baby,” she said.

  “Katrina, that’s not what I’m suggesting. It’s just that you’re always so tired. Half the time when I reach for you in bed, you’re not there. Besides, it’s not like we can’t afford it. Why don’t you see if there’s someone you can bring in.”

  “That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it?”

  “What is?” he asked, now completely perplexed.

  “Just throw money at the problem,” she said, irritated for the first time since their marriage by his insensitivity to her feelings. She was thoroughly exhausted and feeling overwhelmed and strangely alone, and this unshaven man, standing there in his wrinkled pajamas and provoking her, was suddenly a stranger to her.

  “Oh, I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, turning away.

  “Katrina! I don’t understand you,” Tom said.

  “Obviously!” she said, gathering up PJ and walking away.

  The disagreement had not immediately gone away. Tom hadn’t known what to say to smooth things over, and Katrina had remained aloof and moody until the next day. They never really resolved the problem, but Tom finally cornered his wife and took her in his arms. At first she resisted his holding her, but she finally relented, and they both ended up saying they were sorry, though Tom didn’t know for sure what he had done wrong.

  In an effort toward conciliation, a week later Katrina did hire a cook who would also help out with light housekeeping and who, together with their houseman, Henry, filled out the Callahans’ small household staff.

  Katrina’s stubbornness was a wonder to Tom and helped him understand the strength that had enabled his petite and generally even-tempered wife to survive her ordeal in the Mexican jungle when she had cared for a dead woman’s baby and eventually found her own way to safety. Katie, I don’t always understand ye, lass, he had later thought, but you’re sure some kind of woman.

  A week before Christmas, Katrina was in the nursery, giving young PJ his morning bath and talking with her middle sister, Sophie. Henry, whose duties had grown over the past year of his employment to range from carriage-man, to butler, to occasional baby-sitter, ascended the stairs and knocked lightly on the doorjamb.

  “Excuse me, madam, but a gentleman has arrived and has asked to see you.”

  “Do you know who he is?” she asked, as PJ splashed her with warm, soapy water.

  “He is an older gentleman, Mrs. Callahan. He said his name is Magnus Stromberg.”

  Katrina was stunned. Her thoughts raced wildly. Hadn’t Magnus been killed in Mexico with Harold? she thought.

  “Henry, please tell the gentleman I am, uh ... I am involved at the moment. I will join him in the parlor, presently.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ten minutes later, having straightened her hair and removed the apron she had adopted as protection from PJ’s bathroom antics, Katrina descended the stairs and entered the front parlor. The elderly gentleman, into his early seventies, Katrina surmised, rose, smiled, and nodded his head in acknowledgment.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Sister Callahan.” He remained standing as Katrina took a seat opposite.

  “I must admit, sir, it was, well, it was a shock to hear the name again. I thought ...”

  “Certainly,” he said, resuming his seat. “Sister Callahan, I am Magnus Stromberg, senior. Magnus was my son, and young Harold was my only grandson. I know,” he smiled and nodded his head, “not the size of most Mormon families of that era. My wife died a few years after we entered the Valley, and, in spite of the advice of the Brethren, I could never bring myself to ...”

  Katrina sat with her hands folded in her lap, beginning to understand. “I’m certain they were hard times, Mr. Stromberg. But I don’t recall having met you, sir. Were you ...”

  Again, Stromberg nodded his head. “We would not have had that opportunity during your brief ...” he hesitated, “during your brief stay in Salt Lake following your marriage to Harold.”

  “Yes,” she acknowledged, “we did depart the Valley within several months of our marriage.”

  “Sister Callahan, during those months and in fact for the past several years, I have been serving as a mission president in the southeastern United States. I was slow to learn of your marriage, and due perhaps to strained communications between my son, Magnus, and myself, was quite unaware, until after your departure, of the new colony in Mexico. President Cannon wrote to me and explained.” The elderly gentleman sat forward on the edge of his seat and looked earnestly at Katrina.

  “Sister Callahan ... Katrina, if I may call you that. I have come to formally extend my sincere and humble apology for the treatment you received at the hands of my family. I can offer no excuse,” he shook his head. “Our free agency, a gift from our Lord, has always provided for choice, however opposed that choice may be to the will of the Lord. President Cannon has explained to me the circumstances under which you followed your husband, my grandson,” he smiled sadly, “to Mexico with the intent of restoring the ‘Principle.’ It was appalling and quite unchristian for them to have misled you by such a deception. I was pleased to see how understanding Brother Cannon was, and even more pleased, my dear,” he smiled kindly, his face drawn and wrinkled, “to learn of your testimony and subsequent good fortune.

  “Katrina, the Stromberg name has been prominent in this Valley since three months after Brother Brigham led us west. When my mission was concluded last summer, I returned to our ranch. Perhaps you didn’t know, but we run cattle on several thousand acres located just beyond Hidden Valley, about twenty miles south, near Draper. It was there, just a few weeks ago, that I learned of your presence in Salt Lake City.

  “I have prided myself that the Strombergs have always stood among the faithful members of the church. This action on the part of my son has blemished our family name, but that is not what is important. What I believe is important, is that you can find it in your heart to forgive an old man, whose progeny have gravely offended you, and, if I understand correctly, placed you in danger of your life. Sister Callahan,” he said, lowering his head, “I apologize for the injuries you have suffered. If there is anything, anything ...”

  Katrina rose from her chair and moved to sit next to the old gentleman. Taking his hand from his lap and holding it tightly, she said, “Brother Stromberg, perhaps you will never know how grateful I am for your visit and for your obvious concern. I would like you to know that I am now well and happy. The Lord has provided a wonderful husband, and as you have indicated, President Cannon has assured me that I may retain my church membership. As for your grandson...” she stopped mid-sentence, glancing toward the stairs.

  “Upstairs,” she said, raising her eyes toward the stairwell, “is my firstborn ...” she stopped, thoughts of the loss of her first child, Harold’s son who died in childbirth, rushing to her mind “... is my son, barely four months old. I will teach him, Brother Stromberg, of the Lord’s love, of the correct principles, and of his duty to God, as I’m certain you did your children. But the time will come, sir, when he will grow into manhood, and then, as you have said, he will exercise his agency. We can only hope, Brother Stromberg, that our children will have listened and learned.”

  Magnus Stromberg patted Katrina’s hand, and looked into her eyes. “For one so young, Sister Callahan, you have learned much,” he said.


  “Perhaps, sir. But what I have learned is that young or old is more a matter of experience, than of years.”

  “Hmmm,” he nodded. “Truly the Lord has blessed you, and I would like to leave my blessing with you as well. God’s good graces on your family, Katrina Callahan,” he said, standing. “And now I must go, and leave you to your chores. Thank you again for seeing me. My heart is lighter as a result.”

  “And mine, Brother Stromberg,” Katrina smiled. “Are you back in Salt Lake permanently then?” she asked, also standing.

  He laughed. “Well, the cattle business is certainly keeping me busy, after being gone for so long, but I suppose the Lord will tell me what He has in store for me, in His good time,” he said.

  They walked toward the front door, and he reached for her hand at the entrance. “Katrina, if it will ease your mind further, it is my firm belief that young Harold was only following his father’s direction. I know the boy had a strong testimony, and, according to his mission president, he served with distinction in Scandinavia. Now, that does not excuse his actions, but his father was adamant about the political expediency of the Manifesto. That was the source of our strained relationship as I tried to redirect him to understand the will of the Lord.”

  “Thank you, Brother Stromberg. I know Harold tried to be a good member of the church. In fact, you may not be aware, but he was the one who taught and baptized my family in Norway. But events just ... they, just overtook him, I believe.”

  “I understand. Then perhaps,” the older man smiled kindly, nodding his head, “in your family’s membership, some good did indeed come from his short life. A good day to you, Sister Callahan.”