The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  “Dad,” PJ said, “this—”

  “Tommy,” the man said, reaching out his hand and grabbing Tom by the forearm. “By all the saints, man, it’s good to see you. Who could have guessed that we would meet, two runaway Irish lads, halfway around the world, twenty-five years later?”

  Though their greeting was a bit more reserved than those PJ had presented to his mother and sister, it was nonetheless evident that Tom and his older brother, John, were pleased to see each other.

  Luggage was loaded onto the sheep station’s town truck, driven by one of the station hands, while the family loaded into two other vehicles, one driven by John and the other by PJ. The entourage immediately started the trip back to Shenandoah Station.

  Tom and Katrina rode with John and Emily, the men in front and the women in the backseat. Tess, PJ, and Elder Onekawa, his Maori missionary companion for the final three days of PJ’s mission, rode together in the second car. The drive took several hours. With John in the right-hand driver’s seat and cars whipping by on “the wrong side of the road,” it took the Americans time to get used to the backward driving convention. Katrina, in fact, gasped when John made his first turn into what she thought was the wrong lane.

  “We do things differently here,” he laughed.

  The vehicles began the gentle climb up the eastern slope of the Southern Alps, toward the higher sheep country and the increasingly magnificent scenery that unfolded with each mile. Tess and PJ talked the whole while, reacquainting themselves with current news, including recent communications from Corporal Thomas Callahan, United States Marine Corps.

  “Tommy’s actually in France, then?” PJ asked.

  “That was what his last letter said, sent from New York just before they left,” Teresa answered.

  “I hope this war ends soon,” PJ said, “Uncle John has suffered too much already.”

  “Did he fight, too?”

  PJ shook his head as the car rounded a curve on the mountain road. “He lost both his sons, Tess. One at Gallipoli in 1915, and the other the next year in France. Neither one was twenty yet.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Tess exclaimed. “Does Mom or Dad know?”

  “I don’t see how. Uncle John hasn’t written to Dad, I don’t think. He’ll probably tell them while they’re here though.”

  “How did his wife take it, PJ?”

  Again, PJ shook his head slowly. “She passed away six months after her second son was killed. Uncle John said she died of a broken heart.”

  “Oh, how sad,” Tess said.

  “So, what do you think of New Zealand, Tess?” PJ asked, changing the subject.

  “It’s remarkable, PJ. Truly remarkable. A person could get lost in these mountains,” she said.

  After a drive of several hours, the cars crested a rise in the road and descended into a broad valley that opened up before them. Farther on, they came to the entrance road to Shenandoah Station. In John’s car, the conversation had been primarily about John and Tom’s flight from Ireland so many years prior. When John heard of Tom’s adventure in Alaska and of their Uncle John’s death during the blizzard, he turned sad.

  “Uncle John was the only reason I stayed in Ireland as long as I did, Tom. You know Da named me after him, back when they were still friends. Uncle John tried to get me to understand Da, but it was no use. Before John left for America, there were a few times when I thought he was going to kill Da himself, for the way he treated Mor.”

  “He seemed happy in Alaska,” Tom said.

  “It sounds as though the year in the wilds did wonders for you, too, baby brother,” John said, once again light-hearted.

  “Aye,” Tom laughed back, “it seems all those years we thought the little folk hid their gold in County Kerry, they were actually stashing it in Alaska.”

  “You’d be right there, Mate,” John laughed loudly. “Well, here she be—Shenandoah Station. Not as big as some, but bigger’n others.”

  “Why ‘Shenandoah,’ John?” Katrina asked.

  “We named it for Margaret’s childhood home, in the Shenandoah Mountains, toward the top of the South Island. Margaret pulled me out of the doldrums and made something of me,” he said. “For the first couple of years I was here, I was drinking, gambling, and getting thrown in jail. For some fool reason, Margaret saw beyond that. But she was no fool,” he laughed again. “She let me fall in love with her, and then told me to get lost unless I straightened out. Her Pa liked to have killed me once, when I came out to his place drunk.”

  “What happened?” Katrina asked, her eyes bright.

  “Margaret stepped between us and stood nose-to-nose with her Pa. She said, ‘I’m going to marry this man, Pa, if he doesn’t kill himself first.’ I stood behind her and smiled over her shoulder at him, kind of smug. Then she turned and looked at me, her hands on her hips. She said, ‘I want you off my father’s land, John Callahan, and I don’t want to see you again until you’re determined to remain sober. I will not marry an Irish drunkard. If you come back sober within one year, can show me you’ve got one hundred pounds in the bank, and you’ve had a job for most of that year, then, I’ll marry you.’”

  “Wow,” Katrina exclaimed, “that’s some woman.”

  “Aye,” John said, turning his car into the entrance road and pulling to the side of the road and stopping. “From here you can see the main house, down there in the valley. The first time we walked these hills, Margaret and me, she said we’d build our sheep station right here. And we did. And it was a heaven on earth, Tom, until the war came.”

  “Aye,” Tom replied. “It seems few are going to escape unharmed.”

  John looked over at Tom, sitting on the left-hand passenger side of the car, with Katrina and Emily in the back seat. “Both boys, Tom,” he shook his head. “Both of ’em, killed by this bloody war. The Brits used us like cannon fodder at Gallipoli. It was an outright slaughter, with Kiwi’s and Aussies, even our Maori boys, carrying the can for the bloody Brits.”

  “John, I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” Tom said.

  John nodded his head, sitting motionless, holding the steering wheel in both hands. PJ had pulled his car to a stop behind, just off the road and was waiting for John to continue.

  “And then Margaret just gave up. She just died, Tom. I guess her heart was broken by the loss of her sons. She’s a victim of this bloody war every bit as much as the boys—and the thousands of other Kiwi boys that are never gonna come home.”

  Emily reached from the back seat and laid her hand on her father’s shoulder.

  “If it weren’t for Emily,” he said, turning slightly to smile at his daughter, “I don’t know if I’d have made it.” John exhaled forcefully and pointed off in the distance. “There’s part of the flock. Did you know we’ve got nigh on twenty million sheep in New Zealand? And nearly a million of ’em think they’re people!” John laughed loudly before anyone else got the joke, and as quickly as it had disappeared, his joyous mood returned. He started the car down the incline toward the main house, driving past a large flock of sheep.

  “Watch this, Katrina,” John cried. He repeatedly pressed his hand on the car’s horn button and the sheep immediately bolted in all directions, running full tilt to escape the surprising sound.

  “Never fails,” he laughed. “Sheep’r dumber than a rock.”

  “Even dumber than an Irishman?” Tom laughed.

  “Well, I dunno know about that, Tom,” John smiled.

  Nearly three weeks passed while John hosted his brother and his family. The bond that John and Tom had shared during their childhood, united in purpose against their abusive father, returned almost instantly, as Katrina had predicted.

  At night, as they lay in their room, Tom and Katrina talked of the reunion as if the twenty-five years had simply evaporated. Katrina’s one fear, having come face-to-face with John’s loss of both sons to the war, was that Tommy would, by now, be in France facing similar danger.

  With most of his family
gone, John’s plan—to sell Shenandoah Station and return to Ireland for his final years—seemed sad to Tom, whose life in Utah had provided much more happiness than John had been able to obtain in New Zealand.

  Still, as John had explained it, New Zealand had been a wonderful home. The thing was, those he loved and cared for, other than Emily, were gone. With tears in her eyes she had told her dad she wanted to remain in New Zealand. He knew she would eventually marry, and he would be left alone on the station. The last thing he wanted, as he explained it to Tom, was that Emily not marry so that she could stay and care for him as he got older. It was not a happy prospect either way one looked at it. At least in Ireland he had brothers and sisters and lots of family still living. Besides, though he couldn’t explain it, something was drawing him back to the old sod.

  Toward the end of the first week of their visit, Teresa and PJ, who was now officially released from his mission, established the routine of saddling a couple of Uncle John’s horses and riding off into the hills to watch the sunset from a promontory overlooking a small valley to the west of Shenandoah Station. That other valley, Uncle John said, contained another twenty thousand acres of prime grazing land and ran adjacent to Shenandoah’s western edge. Some years earlier, John had taken an option to buy the land, when its owner had retired and moved back to Christchurch. But that was before the war and during a time when John thought that his boys would marry and participate in the station. Soon, the option to buy would expire, and, according to the owner, others had expressed recent interest in the property.

  Three days before their scheduled departure date, brother and sister cantered their horses over the hills, scattering sheep before them. With the horses nibbling at clumps of dried grass, they sat in the saddle, close enough to talk softly while watching the sun set behind the western peaks of the Southern Alps. To the southwest they could just make out the top of Mt. Cook, which at nearly four thousand meters is New Zealand’s highest peak. A three-day trip right after PJ’s mission release had taken the two families down to Queenstown, circling Mt. Cook and the ever-present snowcapped peaks of the rugged range. Southwestern New Zealand, with its rocky fjords, was a perfect likeness of the west coast of Norway—something that delighted Katrina enormously.

  This evening, as had become their custom, they sat their horses silently, but Tess watched PJ closely, her mind racing with the thoughts that had been ruminating in her head for the past several days. PJ had not spoken openly, but Tess, in quiet and confident understanding of her older brother, had reached certain conclusions about PJ and his feelings for New Zealand. She stared at him for awhile, the breeze blowing her hair across her face and the horses sniffing the southerly wind.

  Eventually, PJ looked toward Tess, his smile acknowledging that her stare had finally aroused his curiosity.

  “Well, baby sister, let’s have it,” he laughed.

  “Yes, I think Dad will understand,” she said, calmly.

  “What do you mean?” PJ asked.

  “I mean, big brother, that Mom and Dad will not be pleased with your decision, but they’ll understand.”

  “What decision?” he smiled, beginning to comprehend.

  “You know very well what decision, Patrick James. You’ve chosen to stay in this beautiful country, haven’t you?”

  PJ watched the last tip of the sun disappear behind the mountains to the west and nodded. “I don’t know as I’ve admitted it to myself yet. I know how much Dad has wanted me to come into the bank, but—”

  “Dad has plans or hopes for all of us, PJ. But he also loves us, and knows we need to find our own way. That’s why he agreed to let me go to New York next year.”

  “And Mom?” PJ asked.

  Teresa laughed. “She wants her grandchildren near home.”

  PJ nodded again. “New York’s closer than New Zealand.”

  “Aye, as Dad would say,” Teresa said, bursting out laughing. “Truly, PJ, this is a magnificent country. I can understand why you have fallen in love with it. What will you do here?”

  “Ah, the big question. That part of my plan will be the weak point in my discussion with Dad. All of this, Tess,” he said, sweeping his arm across the vast expanse that rolled before them toward the western mountains. “All this is Uncle John’s sheep station, and over that rise, into the next valley, is another twenty thousand acres just waiting to be bought. Uncle John says it can be one of the most productive sheep stations in all of New Zealand.”

  “Have you learned about sheep ranching?” Teresa asked.

  PJ smiled. “Only about the smell,” he said. “But Uncle John said he’d stay on through the next year, and my earlier companion, I told you about him, George Armitage, has worked sheep ranches in Yorkshire. He intends to stay in New Zealand also. I think Emily has taken a liking to him, and I think I could get him to come out and work the station with me. I could learn, Tess."

  “It seems a great opportunity, PJ. But it’s a long way from Salt Lake.”

  “Will you support me when I talk to them?”

  “Of course, PJ. If it weren’t for you, Tommy would have broken my neck a dozen times over the years,” she laughed.

  By the following morning when PJ asked to speak with Tom, Teresa had already spoken with their mother, and Katrina, as dutiful mother and intermediary, had already briefed her husband. Tom could tell it was difficult for PJ, coming hat in hand to his father, but he didn’t make it easy for his nervous son.

  “So,” Tom said, after PJ had finished his presentation, “you want me to loan you the down payment to buy Shenandoah Station from your Uncle John, so you can get married, have children, and live eight thousand miles from your mother? Is that correct?”

  “Dad,” Tess interrupted.

  “You be silent, Tess,” Tom said firmly. Katrina and Tess sat in the room as the two men discussed the financial arrangements that would enable PJ to remain in New Zealand and to acquire ownership of John Callahan’s sheep station. “What makes you think you can make a go of it here, PJ?” Tom asked.

  “Dad, first of all, I’ve said nothing about getting married.”

  “We can all assume that will come in due course, son,” Tom smiled. “There’s bound to be a young woman in New Zealand at least half as pretty as your mother.”

  “Well, Dad, Uncle John has done very well with the sheep station until his sons went away to war. It’s good land, I’m told. I’ve asked around a bit, during the last part of my mission. Most folks in the South Island know about Shenandoah Station. Uncle John’s agreed to stay for a year, cousin Emily wants to stay on in New Zealand, and George Armitage will likely come in on the deal. He knows sheep too. A lot of people are willing to help, Dad. And if you’re honest, you’ll remember that you didn’t know much about mining or banking. I’m a Callahan, remember,” he laughed, playing to his father’s pride.

  “I see. You’ve gained a bit of wisdom on your mission ‘down under,’ Mr. Callahan. Katie, would you like to inform your son, or should I?”

  “You’re doing just fine, Thomas,” Katrina smiled.

  “Tell me what, Dad?” PJ asked.

  “Tess, even though you’re the youngest, I’m going to allow you to remain while I explain something to PJ. Perhaps it’s time to tell you both about certain plans your mother and I made some years ago for the financial security of our children. I must ask, however, that you keep what I’m going to tell you to yourselves until we’re able to inform Tommy. Is that agreed?”

  Tess nodded and PJ remained silent.

  “PJ, in their ever-present feminine wisdom, your mother and your sister somehow came to a knowledge of what was in your mind. They both quickly saw how you love this place. And” Tom said, looking toward his son, “I must admit, I saw nothing other than how beautiful it is, but I understand, PJ. It’s your right to find your own way in the world—to seek out and establish your domain. I admire you for that, son, truly,” Tom nodded. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t want you so far away, a
nd when your children start appearing, I can see I’ll spend half my life on a boat bringing your mother down here to see them. But I do understand.

  “Many years ago, when you were each very young, your mother and I put some money in trust for our children, to be accessed only when you were of an age to use it responsibly. We both feel that you are now entitled to that money, PJ. It should assure that you can get started here in New Zealand without having to scrape by for so many years with a high mortgage over your head, and of course, Uncle John will have the money he needs to return to Ireland and establish himself. Tess, I don’t mean to be harsh, but I think that you—”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” she smiled, “I’m not ready yet, I know that. Just keep investing my share, and pay my bills in New York,” she laughed.

  “You might not have anything left after that, Tess,” Tom said.

  “What are we talking about, Dad?” PJ asked, “I never heard of any money.”

  “I know. That was the idea,” Tom said. “PJ, and you, too, Tess,” Tom grew solemn, “your trust accounts, the last time I checked, had just over three million dollars in liquid assets, and about one and a half million in UTB stock holdings.”

  “Dad, I can’t possibly—”

  “PJ,” Katrina spoke up, “you’re not accepting anything. Your father has very wisely provided for each of us, including me, I might add, should anything happen to him. These funds are not gifts to you, or me, for that matter. It’s our money that he invested many years ago for our security. You need feel no reservation about accepting control of your own trust fund. You have most certainly become a man and will have the means to establish your future. It’s no different than your father coming back from Alaska laden with gold and sharing it with me, even if he didn’t tell me until after we were married,” she said, with a look toward Tom.