Destiny - The Callahans #1 (15 page)

“We’re in,” Harold shouted at the sound of
the shotgun blasts. He grabbed Katrina, lifted her off the ground
and swung her around in circles as the crowd added to the
celebration, now at its peak throughout the length of Main Street,
from South Temple to First South.

“Katrina Hansen,” Harold said, putting her
down and looking at her intently, a smile fixed across his face.
“This is a momentous day. My father’s law firm will be pleased, our
citizens will be pleased, and it’s a time for new beginnings. Now
the Prophet will be able to listen to the Lord again and follow His
counsel.

“What do you mean, Harold?” Katrina
asked.

“Oh, just the political necessities. You
know, the Manifesto. Nothing to worry about. The church knows what
it’s doing, and now that we’ve been granted statehood, the Prophet
will see the right thing to do. But let’s talk about us.”

“Us?” she asked.

“Yes, us. For nearly six months we have been
seeing each other, Katrina, and on this first day of our new
statehood, I want you to know how I feel about you. I want to ask
you, Katrina, to consider becoming my wife.”

The suddenness and the business-like way
Harold had declared his proposal left Katrina startled, in spite of
the fact that for months she had known how Harold felt and that he
was just being patient. It came as no surprise, other than his
timing and his direct approach. He waited silently as she
considered his question.

“Harold,” she stammered, “I’m honored, but
today is so hectic, and this is all so sudden.”

“Katrina, you know how I feel. I know you
do.”

She nodded slightly, acknowledging his
comments. “Please try to be patient just a bit longer, Harold. I, .
. . I will pray about it, Harold. I know it’s right to do so.”

It was Harold’s turn to nod. “Yes, it is.
Katrina, try to find your feelings for me. I know I can make you
happy.”

The crowd began to move as one toward the
telegraph office, wanting to read the message that had been
received, and Katrina found herself pleased to not have to deal
with the question as they were swept along. Harold did not broach
the subject again until later that evening, as he took Katrina
home.

“I do not think it unfair to request your
considered response, Katrina, over the next week. I think we know
each other well enough for that.”

“I agree, Harold. I’m truly sorry that I
don’t know my own mind, but so much has happened with leaving my
country, my new schooling, and—”

“I know,” Harold responded. “Just think about
it, please.”

“I will, Harold. I promise.”

January 4, 1896

Dear Nana,

Oh, I am in trouble now, Nana. If I ever needed your
advice, I need it now. Harold has asked me to marry him. I like
him, perhaps I even love him, and I can see what a good husband he
would be, but oh, Nana, I don’t know what to do!

Jeg elske du,

Trina

Walking east on South Temple, Tom easily
spied Holy Cross Hospital. Approaching the large complex, with new
wings under construction, Tom was a little intimidated. He walked
along the west side of the main building, then stood for several
minutes across the street on First South, looking at the imposing
gothic structure and admiring the large number of trees and
well-kept grounds. There was an extensive rose garden, pruned back
for the winter, exactly as his mother had done to her rose
bushes.

Twenty-eight years after Brigham Young and
the first pioneers had settled in, two Catholic nursing sisters
from the Order of the Sisters of the Holy Cross arrived in the Salt
Lake Valley. In October of 1875, they opened their small hospital,
a twelve-bed facility located west of the present site. Several
years later, in a foresighted move, they instituted a health
insurance program for the local miners. For the payment of one
dollar a week, while in good health, Holy Cross Hospital would
provide in return, full hospital and medical care during any
subsequent illness or injury. Sister M. Holy Cross, a Welsh woman,
was assisted by Sister M. Bartholomew, the two of them comprising
the original nursing staff. Over the following years, other nursing
sisters arrived to join the growing cadre of caring nurses, and
local young women were trained specifically as nurses, without
being required to take holy orders.

Tom walked up the front steps and through the
large, double doors, stepping into the vestibule. He continued
through a second set of doors and entered a large foyer, fully
twelve feet across. On the right side, the door to a small chapel
was open, and Tom noticed several people seated in the pews, some
on their knees in prayer. A nursing sister walked by, smiling at
Tom as she paused to address him.

“May I be of assistance, sir?”

Tom removed his cap, and flashed his
disarming smile. “Yes, thank you. I am seeking a Sister Mary Theo .
. . Uh, Sister Mary . . .”

The sister laughed politely. “You must mean
Sister Mary Theophane,” she said, pronouncing it Theo-fane. “Please
wait here a moment, and I’ll see if I can find her.”

Tom stood in the hallway, able to see in both
east and west directions down the long corridors which made up the
first floor of the hospital facility. Several minutes passed, and
Tom walked to a small bench situated against the north wall of the
entryway. The foyer and hallways were carpeted and the waiting area
in which he was seated was beautifully appointed with fine
furnishings. Everything was neat and clean.

He continued to sit nervously as his message
was delivered to Sister Mary. Two nursing sisters walked by, their
crisply starched habits rustling as they walked, and smiling at him
in passing. After several minutes, a Sister dressed in a black
habit approached from the east end of the hall, smiling brightly as
she neared Tom’s seat. He rose, turning his cap in his hands as she
stopped directly in front of him.

“Good morning, I’m Sister Mary Theophane,”
she said. “How may I help, my son?”

Sister Mary Theophane, the person Father
O’Leary had suggested Tom seek once he arrived in Utah, was a tall
and handsome woman. Her manner was direct and she seemed genuinely
friendly. Tom was put immediately at ease as he began to explain
his purpose in calling on her.

In 1854, fifteen-year-old Moira Molloy had
left Waterford, Ireland, joining in Cork with two dozen prospective
postulants, and several priests, newly ordained from the seminary.
All were intent on a new life in America, in service to their Lord.
Among the young priests, straight out of All Hallows Seminary in
Dublin, was one Father Patrick James O’Leary, from County Kerry,
with whom Sister Mary Theophane would serve for the following
twenty years.

The Sisters of Holy Cross, in Notre Dame,
Indiana, trained Moira Molloy to be a nursing sister. Adopting the
name of Sister Mary Theophane, Moira quickly lost herself in the
work of nursing and care-giving, and from that point, never looked
back. She had found her life’s work.

Father P. J. O’Leary was assigned to a nearby
parish. An early illness, requiring hospitalization, placed him in
the care of Sister Mary, and that became the basis of a forty-year
friendship between the two Catholic ministrants—one a nurse and the
other a priest.

Sister Mary served from 1862 until 1865 with
several sisters from the congregation at Mound City Hospital,
Cairo, Illinois, caring for soldiers wounded during the Civil War.
Her completion of that task left her with vivid memories of the
horrors of war and an excellent knowledge of emergency nursing
care.

When, in 1875, the request went out from
Bishop Lawrence Scanlan of the church of Saint Mary Magdalene in
Salt Lake City, for several sisters to establish a hospital, Sister
Mary Theophane was not long in following Sister M. Holy Cross to
the assignment. By the time Tom arrived in Utah, Sister Mary had
been a nursing sister for over forty years, eighteen of them at
Holy Cross Hospital in Salt Lake City, and she was serving as chief
administrator of the facility—probably the finest in Salt Lake
City.

“Good morning, Sister. I’m Thomas Callahan. I
believe we have a mutual friend in New York, and when he learned I
was coming to Utah, he asked me to look you up. Father P. J.
O’Leary.”

A bright smile lit up Sister Mary’s face. She
turned, looking behind her, and took Tom’s arm. “Let’s have a seat
in the parlor,” she said, walking toward a large, well appointed
room just off the vestibule, opposite the chapel. She motioned for
Tom to be seated on one of the couches, and she took the seat
opposite, in an overstuffed chair.

“Ah, Father O’Leary. Now did he tell you how
long an association we have?” she said, intentionally slipping a
bit of her Irish brogue into the speech.

“He said you came over from Ireland together
some years ago,” Tom replied. Sister Mary was an impressive woman,
with intelligent, piercing eyes. She was dressed in full habit, and
small wisps of graying hair escaped the closeness of her headdress.
Tom guessed she was in her late fifties, but her skin was
remarkably wrinkle free, except right around her eyes, where there
were some crinkly laugh lines.

“Some years ago, indeed,” she laughed. “And
how is the dear Father?”

Tom’s face stiffened, and he lowered his
eyes. Without him saying anything, Sister Mary knew the answer to
her question. She bowed her head slightly and crossed herself, then
raised her eyes and asked, “How long has the dear Father been at
rest?”

“He died shortly before I left New York,
Sister. It was a heart attack, in September, I believe.”

“Such a kind-hearted man he was, Mr.
Callahan, but I’m certain if you knew him, you’d be aware of that.”
Her face brightened again, and she resumed her smile. “What
assistance can I provide to you, Mr. Callahan?”

“Well, Sister, I’m planning to locate here in
Salt Lake, and I was hoping that you could direct me to a good
boarding house, and perhaps give me an idea about employment in the
area.”

Sister Mary thought for a moment, then leaned
forward. “Mr. Callahan, do you know anything of building
maintenance, especially heating systems?”

“I do, Sister,” he nodded.

Sister Mary began to stand, and Tom rose as
well, his cap still clutched in his hands.

“Well, then, Thomas . . . May I call you
Thomas? Let me show you around the hospital. Perhaps we can help
each other,” she offered.

Later that evening, Tom sat alone in one
corner of the hospital cafeteria, finishing his meal. He could
scarcely believe his good fortune. A bed in a room in the basement
of the building had been made up with fresh sheets and blankets
provided by Sister Mary. And he had employment. He ate slowly,
considering his next move. Sister Mary had named him maintenance
man at the hospital, and he not only had a place to stay, but meals
were included in his wages, and Sister Jude, in charge of the
kitchen, had instantly taken him under her wing. All in all, it had
been a profitable first day in Salt Lake City.

While Sister Mary presented a kind and
considerate demeanor throughout Tom’s indoctrination, his stroll
with her through the hospital facilities made it evident that she
was in tight control of every aspect of the hospital’s operation.
She imposed particularly stringent rules for the management of the
nursing sisters. Tom had taken note of the requirements for the
staff that were posted on the nurses’ bulletin board. The rules
left little room for personal interpretation. The posting read:

Values and Priorities

• Daily sweep and mop the floors of your ward, dust
  the patients’ furniture and window sills.
  

• Maintain an even temperature in your ward by
  bringing in a scuttle of coal for the day’s business.
  

• Light is important to observe the patients’
  condition. Therefore, each day fill kerosene lamps, clean chimneys,
  and trim wicks. Wash the windows once a week.
  

• The nurse’s notes are important in aiding the
  physician’s work. Make your pens carefully, you may whittle nibs to
  your individual taste.
  

• Each nurse on day duty will report every day at 7
  A.M. and leave at 8 P.M. except on the Sabbath on which day you
  will be off from 12 noon to 2 P.M.
  

• Graduate nurses in good standing with the director
  of nurses will be given an evening off each week for courting
  purposes or two evenings a week if you regularly go to church.
  

• Each nurse should lay aside from each pay day a
  goodly sum of her earnings for her benefits during her declining
  years so that she will not become a burden. For example, if you
  earn $30 a month, you should set aside $15.
  

• Any nurse who smokes, uses liquor in any form, gets
  her hair done at a beauty shop or frequents dance halls will give
  the director of nurses good reason to suspect her worth,
  intentions, and integrity.
  

• The nurse who performs her labors and serves her
  patients and doctors faithfully and without fault for a period of
  five years will be given an increase by the hospital administration
  of five cents a day providing there are no hospital debts that are
  outstanding.
  

Reading the list, Tom was grateful he had not
the inclination to become a nurse and felt somewhat sorry for those
who had. Now that he had met with Sister Mary, it was first things
first, he thought. And, following procurement of a job and lodging,
there was only one thing remaining. Katrina Hansen. For the first
time in some months, life looked good.

For the first ten days at Holy Cross, each
evening after work, Tom either walked down the hill toward the
Temple Square or took the trolley that ran along First South toward
town, intent on finding out as much as he could about the community
and hoping to find a lead on where the Hansens might have located.
It would not have been difficult to find the Hansens in Salt Lake
City, but Tom had not confided his plans in anyone. He wanted to go
about that part of his quest in his own way.