by Gordon Ryan
“Thomas, you have a new son, born last night at 11:48, December 31, 1899, and a beautiful new daughter, born this morning at 12:17, January 1, 1900. Katrina has given birth to twins—a century apart,” she laughed, the first happy sound of the evening.
Tom looked at both of his friends and smiled his recognition of the event and his relief that all was now going well. “Some New Year’s Eve, eh, Father?”
“A beautiful start to a new century, Thomas. Just beautiful.”
“How long will it take Katrina to regain her strength?” Tom asked.
“Go home, Thomas, and get some sleep. She’ll be conscious when you return this evening. We’ll talk more later.”
“Thank you, Sister,” he said, reaching across the table for her hand. “Thank you for everything.” Tom stood, shook Father Scanlan’s hand, and departed the room.
After Father Scanlan had poured himself another cup of coffee and retaken his seat, he said, “There’s more, isn’t there, Sister?”
“Aye. It’s unlikely, Father, that Katrina Callahan will be having any additional children. When I explained to Dr. Carmady that she’d lost her first child during a breech birth, under primitive conditions in Mexico, he said he was surprised that she’d been able to have little PJ without difficulty.”
Father Scanlan nodded his understanding. “And will you tell Thomas?”
Sister Mary hesitated for a moment. “I’ll speak with Katrina first,” she said.
In the morning, when Tom returned to the hospital, Sister Mary escorted him to the door of Katrina’s room, opened it, and ushered him inside. “Ten minutes, Thomas. That’s all.”
“Right, Sister.” He walked to the side of the bed where Katrina lay, one child tucked up under each arm beside her. He could see that she was still exhausted, but her color was better.
“Oh, Thomas, aren’t they beautiful?” Katrina whispered.
“Aye.”
“Thomas, I’d like you to meet your second son and Irish namesake, Thomas Matthew Callahan III.”
Tom’s eyes widened, and he peeked inside the blanket that Katrina pulled aside to reveal a dark-haired, sleeping baby.
“And your new daughter,” Katrina beamed, as Tom leaned over her to the far side of the bed. “Teresa Moira Callahan.” When Katrina pulled back the blanket, the tiny, fair-haired infant screwed up her face. She blinked her small, unfocused eyes, and her bottom lip quivered.
Tom was silent as he looked back and forth between the two helpless infants, now added to the growing family the Lord had placed under his protection. His gaze finally fell upon Katrina who had watched his face as he observed his two new children. PJ was now sixteen months old, and the coming of the twins had nearly doubled the size of their family. Tom reached out and stroked the side of Katrina’s face, loving her with his eyes.
“You don’t mind, Thomas? Calling our daughter Teresa, I mean? She was my friend.”
“I understand,” he said, bending over to lightly kiss her forehead. “And Sister Mary will be pleased at ‘Moira,’ too.” Tom looked once more at each infant, kissed Katrina again, and lifted a strand of hair away from her eyes. The thought of the horrible possibilities of the previous evening was foremost in his mind. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and buried his face in the blankets at Katrina’s side.
“I’m so sorry, Katie, that I wasn’t able to be there for you,” he stammered, “to provide the blessing you needed. Oh, God, please forgive me.”
Katrina remained silent and stroked her husband’s hair as he poured out his grief, sobbing into the bedclothes.
“I love you, Katie. I do so love you.”
Tom had not gone straight home from the hospital after the births, but had walked for several hours down the length of Brigham Street and then back home through the lower Avenues. Walking alone, that time of night, Tom was stopped by the police department foot patrolman with whom, once he was identified, he had shared a few moments. Emotionally ragged, he had spent the time pondering his life and his relationship with Katrina, his growing fatherly duties, and the place of religion in their marriage. His thoughts ran wild, and he was filled alternately with a sense of well-being and anxiety that bordered on despair. He raged inwardly at the idea of having to call on Geoffrey Masterton to pray for Katrina, assisted by his houseman. He considered such options as offering Katie a divorce, renouncing his Catholic faith, and even surrendering and joining the Mormon church. By four o’clock in the morning he had dismissed each of these thoughts and found himself standing, cold and emotionally spent, in front of Robert Thurston’s home.
Robert answered the door wearing his robe, his hair disheveled.
“Tom, is Katrina all right?” he asked.
Tom stepped inside, brushing past Robert as Alice came down the stairs, tying her dressing robe around her as she descended. Tom walked, as if in a daze, into the living room and sat down in the darkness. Alice turned on the light and stood close to her husband, the fear showing in her eyes.
“Tom?” Robert said, hesitantly.
Tom looked up at his two friends, waiting fearfully for the impending news. “Katrina’s all right. And the twins are both well.”
“Thank God,” Alice exhaled, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Katrina hemorrhaged, badly,” Tom continued, now staring at the floor. “She nearly ...” He looked up again, holding Robert’s eyes as he spoke. “Geoffrey Masterton and Henry, our butler, gave a priesthood blessing to her. Robert, our butler gave my wife a blessing while I watched, helpless.” Tom stood, his hands outstretched toward Robert. “Why can’t this God you all love show me? Show me something!” he pleaded.
Chapter 11
News of the mine disaster at Winter Quarters Coal Mine, near Helper, Utah, in May of the new year, swept through the Salt Lake community like a wind roaring out of the canyons.
The afternoon of the day following the explosion, Anders recognized Reed Smoot when he came through the door of the bank. The thirty-eight-year-old friend of the Richards family had been sustained as the newest member of the Council of the Twelve Apostles at the just concluded April general conference, and Anders wondered what the newly appointed church leader might want.
“Elder Smoot. How nice to see you in Utah Trust Bank,” Anders greeted him.
“Thank you, Brother Hansen. I actually came to see you, if you have a moment?”
“Certainly,” Anders said, quickly scanning the lobby. “Jean, will you watch the front please, for a few minutes?” he asked one of the tellers.
“Of course, Mr. Hansen.”
“Brother Smoot, let’s step into our conference room. We can have a bit of privacy in there.”
Seated at the oblong table, Anders waited for Smoot to initiate the conversation.
“So, how are you and Sarah doing?” he asked, smiling.
“She’s made me a very happy man, Brother Smoot.”
“Yes, I can see that. And you’ve done wonders for her, too, Anders,” Smoot said. The Apostle adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward. “Of course you’ve heard about the mining disaster down in Helper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“An awful thing. I’ve been instructed by President Snow to attend along with several of the Brethren to conduct a general funeral service. I’ll be driving down tomorrow. I stopped in to ask if you could possibly accompany me. We’d be gone two or three days.”
Anders rested his arm on the table and nodded his head thoughtfully. “Well, I could talk with Robert about ...”
“You’re wondering why I’d like you to come along. All I can say really is that I’d like to talk with you about a few important things and thought this might provide the opportunity and the time. It has nothing to do with the mine episode or the bank.”
“I see,” Anders replied. “Well, then, Brother Smoot, I guess I’m up for a brief visit to Southern Utah.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow morning about nine. Be sure to dress warml
y,” he laughed. “I’ve just purchased a new Packard and it’s apt to be a bit chilly in the mountains.”
“All right, sir. Thank you for the invitation.”
Smoot stood and his expression became serious. “The visit itself, Brother Hansen, will be quite sorrowful. First reports indicate nearly two hundred miners are dead. We will be in a dire situation down there.”
“I understand, sir. I’ll be ready at nine.”
Later that day, Sarah greeted Anders with a kiss and a lingering hug when he arrived home.
“When I think of all the time we wasted, waiting nearly a year to get married ...” he joked as she walked back toward the kitchen.
“I had a visit from Reed Smoot today, Sarah,” Anders said while hanging up his overcoat. “He’s asked me to go down to Helper with him. He’s been assigned to conduct a funeral for the miners.”
“Why does he need you?” she called from the kitchen.
Anders entered the kitchen and sat at the table. “I don’t know. He said he just wanted to talk to me. It has nothing to do with the mine incident.”
Sarah stirred the pot of soup, then came to sit at the table. “He’s one of the Twelve now, Anders. Do you think he could be calling you on a mission or a church assignment?”
Anders shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so, Sarah. More likely, if that were the reason, he’d have me come to his office in a more formal setting. I just don’t know.”
“Father says Brother Smoot will likely stand for political office in the near future. Maybe it’s about that.”
“I don’t know how I could help him there, either,” Anders said. “Well, some dinner would be great and then maybe we can walk over to Tom and Katrina’s. He’s got a good sense about these things.”
“That’s great. I’d love seeing the twins.”
“But first,” he said, pulling her to him, “another kiss from the cook is overdue.”
By the time Smoot had driven the forty miles to Provo, Anders had a much better understanding of the reason he’d been invited to make the trip. The open-carriage Packard rumbled along the main road smoothly at about twenty-five to thirty miles an hour, although Smoot seemed unsure of the controls.
“That’s a pretty big step, Brother Smoot,” Anders said, shaking his head. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but what brings you to the conclusion that I’m electable?”
“Anders, the story of your heroic efforts in Cuba is well known. You have that certain demeanor that allows people to trust you. A presence—a confidence if you will. I trusted you immediately, or I’d never have permitted you to continue to see Sarah,” he laughed. “Although, Brother Richards may have had something to say about that also. But seriously, Anders, running for Utah’s congressional seat will be a hard job. If elected, filling it will be even harder. How soon could you complete your law apprenticeship?”
“Well, Tom’s course will be much longer, since he can’t attend as frequently, but I think it will take only another year or so to complete my degree and law training.”
“That’s fine. It’s not necessary, of course, but a handy credential for lawmakers. Now you’ll want to talk this over with Sarah, of course, because if you’re elected, you’d have to move to Washington D.C. She might be concerned about leaving her family.”
Anders nodded. “She’s quite a levelheaded woman,”
he laughed, “but of course, you’d know that already. I appreciate your confidence, Brother Smoot. It’s just that I really hadn’t thought of my future in terms of political office.”
“Anders, Utah needs dedicated leaders who understand the church’s position. There are opposing views on most things we believe in, and we need to assure our support is strong. Since statehood, the First Presidency has made a concerted effort to withdraw from government issues and to expand the Lord’s missionary work throughout the world. That’s why the Brethren have begun to counsel new members to remain in their own countries and build up the church there. Still, we need to be sure that everything we have worked so hard to achieve in these valleys is not dissolved by several years of unopposed Gentile leadership. We need to accommodate one another, to be sure, but each perspective should be viewed in light of how it will impact other perspectives. I trust your instincts, and I believe our people will, too.”
“Again, sir, I’m flattered. I would like to discuss it with Sarah, and my sister and her husband. Then, of course, I’d like to pray about it.”
Smoot looked across at Anders and smiled. “That’s the right path, Anders. And I’m sure you’ll find the answer. Now,” he said, pulling off the main road and crossing to a smaller, rougher road, “it’s a long, slow climb up into the mountains. Might as well lay your head back and take a nap.”
“Maybe I will, sir, but the countryside is quite beautiful at the moment,” Anders said as they entered the canyon.
“Ever get homesick for Norway?” Smoot asked.
“Yah. And the fjords. But the mountains here are a constant reminder of home. And Sarah is here,” he smiled.
Tom, Katrina, Sarah, and Anders sat in the parlor following dinner. Katrina was discreetly nursing three-week-old Teresa while Tommy slept in a cradle at her feet. The discussion of Katrina’s health had by Sister Mary and Katrina had resulted in Katrina promising to tell Thomas, “when the time is right.” Sister Mary had raised her eyebrows, hesitant to let the issue slip away, but in the end, she had agreed that it was Katrina’s decision.
“He must know, my child. Your life could very well be at risk, and I’m quite certain that Thomas values your health more than he does a larger family.”
“I promise,” Katrina had said, but as yet, the issue had remained unspoken between husband and wife.
Anders was shaking his head as he recounted his trip with Elder Smoot. “Tom, the scene was almost unbearable. Literally hundreds of children stood with their mothers, brothers, and sisters while rows and rows of coffins lay stretched out in the field. All those children without fathers,” Anders said. “You can’t imagine the sorrow.”
“A tough thing, Andy,” Tom said.
Sarah sat next to Anders and linked her arm in his while he spoke.
“It’s not just tough, Tom. I think it’s criminal, and so does Brother Smoot. The safety conditions in those mines are appalling. If something happens, the miners literally have no chance to get out. Tom, I don’t mean any offense, but as one of the owners, can’t you do something about it?”
Tom nodded. “We’ve discussed it, Andy, and the owners agree in principle. UTB has only an eighteen percent interest in Winter Quarters. We are one of the three largest shareholders though.”
“Tom, you know in principle sounds good, but it doesn’t result in any action.”
“I know, Andy. I’ll bring it up again, and the newspaper accounts will likely force the Board’s hand. We’ll have to take some action. We’ve already decided to compensate the miners’ families with approximately a year’s salary.”
“Well, that will be appreciated and needed, I’m sure. So,” Anders said, his face brightening, “what is the family consensus on the other matter up for decision?”
Katrina leaned down and tucked the blanket tighter around little Tommy and continued to nurse Teresa. She gave Anders a bright smile and nodded in the affirmative. Tom saw her signal and also turned toward Anders. “I’d be proud, Andy.”
“Well, then I guess the final support has to come from the most important person, eh?” he said, patting his wife’s knee. “What does the lovely Mrs. Hansen have to say?” he asked.
Sarah looked at Tom and Katrina then turned to face Anders. “Whither thou goest, I go. Thy people shall be my people,” she said. “I think I left something out there,” she laughed, embarrassed. “But, you do understand, don’t you, darling? I will support you in all that you do in righteousness.”
Anders kissed Sarah lightly and patted her hand. “Well, that settles it. Now starts the hard part. Brother Smoot advised me of this as wel
l. I need to get a campaign manager and to start raising some funds. I thought I might find both right in my own family,” he laughed out loud. “Ever managed a political campaign, Tom?” Anders said.
“Is that an offer or an honor, and how much is it going to cost me?” Tom said, straight-faced.
“Tom, all joking aside. I’d be honored if you would side with me in this run for office, but you should know about one important issue and where I stand.”
Tom nodded his head again. “From where I sit, Mr. Would-Be-Congressman, the hot topic is mine safety. You can hammer that subject all you like, Congressman Hansen. I’ll support you.”
“Thank you, Tom. Thank you very much.”
Chapter 12
In the years 1900 to 1906, Katrina filled two volumes of her personal journal. Her periodic jottings were those of a woman who loved her family and was superficially happy, but who was spiritually unfulfilled. Giving birth to the twins had nearly proved fatal, yet in the experience she had drawn closer to God. Though she had never discussed it with Tom, she kept in constant remembrance the priesthood blessing she had received at the hands of Brother Masterton and Henry. She knew it had preserved her life. That and a hundred other daily occurrences had bolstered her faith in the priesthood and the gospel she had so happily embraced as a young woman in Norway.
There were times, while singing in the Tabernacle Choir, attending church, or reading the Book of Mormon, that her testimony burned within her. What she had verbalized only to her sister-in-law, Sarah Hansen, was her sadness that Thomas was as yet unable or unwilling to embrace the truths she cherished. He was a good man—a loving husband and kind father, to say nothing of his performance as a generous provider. After two years of marriage, and without formal declaration, they had reached an accord with regard to Mormonism. He never stood in the way of her activity in her church and in fact sometimes attended with her. He gave his approval to the children being raised in his wife’s faith. Yet they remained unequally yoked in the matter, and Katrina’s heart often ached to have Tom join with her in worship and attend the temple with her. For her, it was all they were lacking in their life together, but it was something for which, privately, Katrina could not help constantly yearning.
