by Gordon Ryan
“You boys know where we can find John Callahan?” Armitage asked.
Again, the older of the two just pointed toward the main house, further up the dirt road.
Their thirst quenched and some of the road dust brushed off their clothes, the two young men walked the short distance remaining to the main house. A pretty young woman, about eighteen, sat on the covered porch that surrounded the house, a verandah overhanging all four sides that provided some welcome shade. She was wearing a light colored, sleeveless dress and no shoes, and she had a bowl in her lap and was rocking slowly in her chair as she shelled peas. She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun, trying to see who was approaching as the two elders reached the house.
“Good morning,” Elder Armitage said. “Might we find a John Callahan hereabouts?”
“Shouldn’t expect him till about dinner time,” the young woman said.
“I see. And Mrs. Callahan?”
The woman looked up the road for a minute, past the elders, and then looked back at Elder Armitage. “Mrs. Callahan died two years ago. I’m John Callahan’s daughter, Emily. Can I be of some assistance?”
Armitage glanced at PJ who nodded. “If you’d be so kind, ma’am, we’d like to stay nearby and wait for your father. We just want to talk to him for a few minutes if possible.”
Continuing to shell the peas, Emily watched Elder Armitage intently as he spoke. Finally, she put the bowl aside and walked to the corner of the porch, looking down at the Elders who remained in the dirt yard in front of the house.
“If you hike over that rise,” she pointed, again shading her eyes from the sun’s glare, “and continue on about eight miles to the water well, it’s likely you’ll find him. Dad’s out repairing it right about now.” She turned and smiled at George Armitage. “Or, you could have a seat over on the shady side of the house, and I’ll fetch you a cool drink and a couple of Lamington’s. He’ll be back after a while.”
George Armitage’s face lit up, and he turned to PJ. “Seems an easy choice to me, Elder. How about you?” he laughed.
One of the first things Elder Callahan had learned to appreciate after arriving in New Zealand was the moist, coconut sprinkled cake that the Kiwi’s called “Lamington’s.”
“You’re senior, Elder,” PJ grinned. “I’d really rather walk another eight miles, but I guess I better follow your lead.”
The elders stepped up onto the porch, and walked around to the shady side of the building, where they took seats in a couple of weathered, wooden chairs set against the house.
The young woman returned in a few minutes with a tray that held two glasses of a red-colored punch and a large plate of Lamington’s.
“This is kind of you, Miss Callahan. We very much appreciate your hospitality,” Armitage said.
“I would say, sir, that you have the advantage,” Emily smiled brightly.
Armitage choked slightly on the first Lamington he was tasting and quickly coughed, to clear his throat.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Callahan. I completely forgot my manners. I am Elder George Armitage, and this is my companion, Elder Patrick Callahan. We usually go by our church title, ‘Elder.’”
At the name Callahan, Emily turned a steady gaze upon PJ for the first time since the two men had arrived. “Callahan, is it, then?” she smiled.
“Aye. PJ Callahan,” PJ replied, affecting an Irish brogue.
“Would you be knowing my father?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, ma’am. We are missionaries from The church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’ve been walking through the countryside, meeting people, and telling them about our religion.”
Emily nodded her head. “You’re the two. I thought as much when I saw you approach. Word had it that you were headed this way.”
Armitage smiled and wiped his lips to clear the remaining Lamington crumbs. “We’ve learned it’s a pretty fair ‘bush telegraph’ in this part of the South Island,” he said.
“If it’s my father you’re after, you’d do just as well to finish your cake and be on your way,” she said, no indication of anger in her voice. “Dad’d be the last one to listen to two missionaries, I’m afraid.” She pronounced it “mishun-ries.”
“And would that make you the first?” Armitage grinned.
Without responding, Emily walked around to the front of the house, retrieved her bowl and a new bag of peas, and returned to where the elders were seated. She pulled one of the chairs from the wall and sat down, adjusting the bowl in her lap.
“A little conversation never hurt anyone, Mr., uh, Armitage,” she smiled. “Now Elder Armitage here has a Pomy accent, Elder Callahan, but yours is rather American, I should think, or Canadian, in spite of your attempt at the Irish,” she said.
“I’m afraid you’ve got me,” PJ laughed. “American, with an Irish heritage.”
“How do you like New Zealand lamb, Elder Callahan?”
PJ exhaled. “The way I’ve had it cooked here in South Island, Miss Callahan, I like it just fine.”
“Good. We’ll be having lamb stew, with new peas of course,” she laughed, gesturing to the bowl in her lap. “I suppose Dad won’t be having any objections to a couple more plates on the table.”
“That’s very kind of you, Miss Callahan. Very kind, indeed,” George Armitage said.
“And you, Elder Armitage, you’re from ...?”
“Yorkshire, ma’am. Huddersfield, to be exact.”
“As I thought, another POM,” she said, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in mock disdain. “Well, a good dose of South Island cooking will fix that.”
Emily Callahan had the table set, candles in place, and a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen that brought both elders closer to the kitchen door from their meandering around the house. John Callahan’s arrival, shortly before Emily called the men to dinner, barely gave the elders time to introduce themselves before he went to wash up.
Not to question his daughter’s invitation to the two men, John Callahan quietly accepted his two guests and as all sat down to dinner, he sat quietly for a moment while Emily completed the serving then took her seat at his side.
“We’ve heard a couple of mishunries were covering the countryside. You are welcome in my home, gentlemen. I’ve no need for religion, mind you, but you are welcome nonetheless. I’d be pleased if you’d say grace. It’s rare enough we take such pains.”
“Certainly, Mr. Callahan. Thank you for the privilege.”
Elder Armitage expressed gratitude for the food, and light conversation commenced while the meal was consumed. PJ noticed that Emily continued to watch George whenever his companion was preoccupied with his meal or turned to converse with her father. She busied herself with up and down chores otherwise, and PJ didn’t think that his senior companion had any idea that the lovely young woman had taken an interest.
“We don’t see many Callahan’s around these parts,” John said. “Where did you say your family came from originally?”
“I was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, Mr. Callahan, but my father comes from Ireland. Tipperary to be more precise.”
John nodded. “Yep, there’d be plenty of Callahan’s from that neck of Ireland, topped only by the Ryans I should think. Do you know your grandparents’ names?” he asked, reaching for another bread roll.
“Yes, sir. I believe Dad has a complete genealogy of the family. My grandfather was also Thomas Matthew Callahan, and his wife was Margaret Donohue. They both died some years ago.”
John halted instantly, his butter knife stuck in his bread roll. “And your father’s name again?”
“Thomas, sir. Thomas Matthew Callahan,” PJ said, aware of the look of surprise on Mr. Callahan’s face.
“Son, do you by any chance have a picture of your father?” the elder Callahan asked.
“I do, sir, and my mother as well.”
John Callahan stood and came around the table to take the picture from PJ then moved closer to the lig
ht fixture attached to the wall.
“By all the saints, man,” John exclaimed.
“Sir?” PJ questioned.
“You’re the oldest you say?”
“Yes, sir. I have a younger brother and sister, Thomas and Teresa, twins they are, and my youngest brother, Benjamin, died when he was just seven.”
“Elder Callahan ...” John smiled, “unless the coincidence of these events is misleading us, I believe that I would be your Uncle John—your father’s oldest brother. And you would be my nephew.” He reached his arm around Emily and pulled her close. “And Emily here, would be your cousin.”
“Sir, I don’t ... I don’t actually know what to say.”
“Well, I do, son. Welcome to your New Zealand home.”
Chapter 9
The night before their ship sailed for New Zealand, with a four-day stop scheduled in Hawaii where Katrina had told Tom she wanted to visit the new temple under construction, Tom and Katrina attended the opera in San Francisco. They were staying in the same hotel they had used the week they were married. October, 1897, seemed so long ago and Katrina actually blanched as they spoke of their impending twentieth anniversary, now just months away.
Tess had accompanied them to San Francisco and was looking forward to the trip to New Zealand, but she had been invited to spend two days in Half Moon Bay with one of her sorority sisters, and was planning to join her parents at the dock the morning of their departure.
“Twenty years. It can’t be, Thomas,” she teased.
“Aye, but it can, and it is, Katie m’darlin’,” he insisted. “That would make you, let’s see ...”
“Thomas, stop it right now,” she laughed as they rode in the taxi back to the hotel.
“But, Katie, you don’t look any different than when we were last here,” he soft-peddled, kissing the back of her hand.
“You know, Thomas, my father may have been right about the Irish. One can never be sure that they’re telling the truth, can one?”
“Why, Katie, I’m astonished that you’d doubt me on something so important,” he said, his face set in a mock scowl.
“Thomas Matthew Callahan, I have my oldest son on a mission in New Zealand, my youngest son in the United States Marine Corps, heading for a war zone at the moment, and my only daughter intent on attending acting school in New York City. Now you tell me, sir, does that sound like a young girl to you?”
“Ah, Katie, you missed the point,” he countered, teasing, “it’s not how old the children are, it’s how old we act. And as for me, I feel no older than they are. And that’s the truth of it.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Callahan, and I’ll keep plucking those small, silver hairs that have been insidiously appearing on the side of your head,” she said, reaching to run her fingers through his hair.
“Nothing a few days in the Hawaiian sun can’t cure, I’m told. Plus a long ocean voyage into the South Pacific.”
“Three weeks. That is a long voyage. Are you getting excited, Thomas?”
“About what, Mrs. Callahan?” Tom said with a leer.
Trying not to smile, Katrina gave him a disgusted look and hit him lightly on the shoulder with her fist. “Thomas, really!”
Tom laughed and pulled her close, kissing her cheek. “Katie, it’s been twenty-five years since I’ve seen John. I don’t know what we’ll have in common.”
“Rubbish. You’re brothers, Thomas. You’ll grab him and wrap your arms around him. That’s what you’ll do, and the twenty-five years will be gone, just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.
“I wish I had your confidence,” Tom replied.
“Mr. Callahan, sometimes you are a complete mystery to me,” Katrina laughed. “I don’t know a living soul with more confidence. It’ll work out fine. You’ll see.”
“PJ was excited to find his uncle, wasn’t he?” Tom said.
“That was really something—running into your brother in a far-off place like that. I keep thinking what a surprise it must have been when they finally made the connection.”
“I remember before I left Ireland,” Tom continued, “that we’d heard a rumor John had taken a ship for New Zealand or Australia, but not one letter ever came during those next few years. And then Mor never said anything about where he was after I came to America.”
“Maybe he never wrote to them, Thomas. It wouldn’t be all that unusual. Surely they would have told you where he was if they had known.”
“I suppose. In a few weeks we’ll have the chance to find out, I guess.”
They exited the taxi and entered the hotel, where they checked for messages and then took the elevator to their room. While Tom was getting undressed and into bed, Katrina slipped out of her dress, removed her jewelry, and put on her nightgown. She then sat in front of the mirror and let her hair down. She never went to bed without brushing it, and Tom had never tired of watching her nightly ritual.
“Have you thought about Tess, Katie?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve never been comfortable with the interest she’s taken in drama. Ever since that fawning critic at the Tribune took a liking to her and gave her such rave reviews, she’s had her head in the clouds. I really don’t approve of this acting bit.”
Katrina rose from the dressing table and came to the bed. Sitting down, she removed her slippers and slid under the covers. “Well, you told her she’d have to wait till next year, so she’ll be almost twenty before she goes. I think she’ll do all right.”
“What do you mean? You approve of this nonsense?”
“No, I didn’t say I approved. I said, she’ll do all right. She’s a fine young woman, Thomas. We can be proud of her.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been to New York, and I can tell you it’s no place for a nineteen-year-old, single girl,” Tom said.
“We’ve got six months to figure it out, Thomas. Perhaps you can arrange somewhere for her to stay. With, or under the supervision of, some of your banking friends.”
“That’s all we need. Some rich banker’s kid chasing after her.”
Katrina laughed. “She is a rich banker’s kid, Mr. Callahan.”
“Well, if I can find a way out of it, I will,” he stated, half-heartedly. “And I’ll need your support,” he added.
“You have it,” she said, reaching to turn out the light. “But she is her father’s daughter. You won’t find it so easy to dissuade her.”
They lay there in the dark for several minutes, each lost in thought.
“Katie,” Tom voiced tentatively, “Do you realize we’ve been married more than half our lives?” After a moment, he asked, “Have I been a good husband to you?”
“Oh, Thomas, you Irish larrikin,” she laughed softly, “you’ve made my life one whirlwind of excitement and adventure. I do so love you, Mr. Callahan.”
He turned over on his side and laced his fingers through her hair, pulling in short, gentle tugs at her golden tresses. “I’ve nearly completed reading Jesus the Christ,” he added.
“And?”
“It’s so much to think about, Katie. And it’s so different from what I’ve been taught.”
“It’s between you and the Savior, Thomas. No one else.”
“That’s what Elder Talmage says, basically.”
“You’ll know what’s right,” she said. “Just know that I love you and that tomorrow we’re off on another adventure. Our little family has taken on a true international flair, Thomas. There’s no telling what the next three months will bring.”
“It seems so unfair, Katie. Here we’re off on an extended vacation to Hawaii and New Zealand, and Tommy is, he’s ...”
“Have you written to him?”
“No.”
“Well, I write to him twice a week,” Katrina said, “and I tell him that we both love him.”
“Do you think he understands that?”
“Whether he does or not, he needs you to tell him, Thomas. Robert was
right, you know. As much as it frightens me, Tommy has an uncertain future. We have to face that.”
“But to write to him now, Katie, after all that’s gone by—he’d just think I was doing it because I thought he might ... he, well, you know, he might be injured, or worse.”
“And what do you suppose he’ll think if you don’t write?”
“I know, Katie, I know.”
On February 8, 1918, Private First Class Thomas Callahan and Private First Class Francis Borello stood to the front of their respective platoons with the small cadre of drill instructors, as the 98th Company, 2nd Recruit Battalion formed up for their graduation. Tommy had seen two complete platoons through their training and had gained an even greater appreciation for the noncommissioned officers with whom he served. And, he admitted to himself, he had gained a measure of pride in the work he had done. Ninety-seven Marines that he had personally trained, in two platoons, proudly wore the uniform and claimed the title United States Marine. Tommy had been part of their indoctrination, from the “sheep-shearing,” to the polishing of brass for the graduation ceremony.
