Destiny - The Callahans #1 (19 page)

“Well, . . . the President . . . the
Manifesto. I mean, I’ve supposed there will be some kind of
declaration of the church’s intent, but perhaps only an informal
understanding is to be given.”

President Cannon looked away then moved back
to his desk. Taking his seat, he leaned back in his chair and
folded his hands comfortably on his ample stomach. Stromberg
followed him from the window and stood in front of the desk.

“President?” Stromberg asked, leaning forward
and seeking confirmation of his assessment.

President Cannon leaned forward. “I mean no
offense, Brother Stromberg, but you are mistaken. President
Woodruff intends to do nothing more than what the Lord has already
given him to understand. There is to be no modification of the
principles stated in the Manifesto.”

Stromberg was stunned. Embarrassed by the
reprimand and confused by President Cannon’s refusal to acknowledge
what needed to be done, Stromberg was for the moment
speechless.

“Magnus,” Cannon said, rising and coming
around to the front of his desk to stand next to the attorney, “we
are following the will of the Lord. He has spoken and President
Woodruff has declared the direction the church must take. There is
to be no announcement to the contrary.”

“And the rest of us—those families who have
already left for Mexico and exile?”

Cannon smiled. “They’re not in exile, Magnus.
They’ve formed another branch of the church and are furthering the
process of expansion that Brother Brigham initiated so long ago.
They are fully in accord with the Manifesto and intend to remain
so.”

“But I thought . . .” Stromberg began.

President Cannon assumed a serious
expression, stepped forward, and placed his hands on Stromberg’s
shoulders. Looking tenderly into his friend’s eyes, he said,
“President Woodruff has been shown what would have befallen the
church had we not ceased the practice, and the Lord is the author
of that revelation.”

Stromberg was not convinced. “Perhaps I need
to see the President and discuss the matter. It seems so clear what
has happened. The way has been opened to put things right. We
needn’t let the government dictate how we live our religion.”

Cannon’s eyes grew stern and his voice firm.
“There is no need to steady the ark, Magnus. It is in good
hands.”

Stromberg turned and headed for the door,
pausing in the opening just long enough to smile back at his
longtime friend and say, “Let us not part in anger, President. I
have only the best feelings for you. And, please, give my regards
to young Frank. I hope his senatorial bid goes well.”

“Thank you, Magnus. And a good day to
you.”

25 April 1896

Dear Nana,

I never imagined getting married without you here.
Today I will marry Harold Stromberg and will leave Poppa’s house. I
am very frightened, Nana, but excited too.

Harold’s father, Magnus Stromberg, seems a nice man,
and has kindly welcomed me into his family. Our two families had a
formal dinner at the Stromberg home on Wednesday. Mother and Father
Stromberg, (that’s what they want me to call them, Nana) gave me a
lovely china set for a wedding present. Harold has obtained a nice
house not too far from Poppa’s.

It is only four-thirty in the morning, Nana, and the
household is fast asleep. In six hours, at ten-thirty on this
Saturday morning, I will enter the Lord’s temple and receive my
endowments, and when I leave, I will be Mrs. Harold Cumberland
Stromberg. Harold is a good man, Nana, and I know he will care for
me. I will do all I can to make him a good wife.

Be with me, Nana.

Jeg elske du,

Trina

PS. I do love Harold, and I know he loves me.

As the horse trudged slowly up South Temple
Street, Tom let her have her head. The clear, springtime night sky
was blanketed with stars, made more bright by the absence of the
moon. It was dark, but the mare had no trouble finding her way. She
had become as used to these early morning deliveries of food as Tom
had.

“Seven families will eat better tomorrow,
Sister,” Tom said.

“They will, indeed. And how are you eating,
Thomas?”

“Sister?” he asked.

Sister Mary Theophane remained quiet, waiting
for Tom to answer her query.

“I’m eating fine, Sister. And I’m feeling
fine.”

She raised her eyebrows, and looked at him a
moment longer, exercising the skill that enabled her to entice a
person to talk freely without her having to probe for
information.

Tom raised his hands in his defense, holding
on to the reins in the process. “Really, Sister.”

“And food for the soul, Thomas?”

“Ah, c’mon, Sister. I’m doin’ the best I
can.”

“I know you are, Thomas. But have you given
any further thought to what we discussed on St. Patrick’s Day?”

Leaning forward with his elbows resting on
his knees, Tom clicked his tongue at the mare and slapped the
reins, urging her up the hill. “I’d rather not love someone, Sister
Mary, who doesn’t love me.”

“That’s an understandable feeling,” she said.
“But, Thomas, if we were all able—”

“Sister, someone’s walking up ahead,” Tom
interrupted, as the horse continued to plod along. In the early
morning mist, Tom could make out what looked like a man and a child
walking at a brisk pace in the shadow of the trees on the side of
the road. As the buggy pulled even, they turned, the man taking
care to keep the young boy away from the road and out of the path
of the horse.

“May we be of some assistance, sir,” Sister
Mary offered.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” the man responded, “but
we’re not far from where we’re going.”

Tom thought there was something familiar
about the man.

“D.O.?”

The man approached the buggy, smiling as he
recognized Tom. “Mr. Callahan? A most unusual time and place to
meet, I’d say.”

“Can we help you, D.O.?”

“Well, this young lad here came to roust me
out of bed. His uncle is ill. I’m just going to see if I can be of
some assistance.”

Sister Mary looked at Tom. “I’m sorry,
Sister. D.O., this is Sister Mary Theophane from Holy Cross
Hospital. Sister, this is David McKay, a friend I met on the day I
arrived in Salt Lake.”

D.O. removed his hat. “My pleasure to meet
you, Sister.”

“Mr. McKay, if we wouldn’t be intruding, lift
the young lad up and we’ll give you a ride to your friend’s
home.”

“Thank you, Sister, that would be most kind.
He lives about four blocks up the hill, and half block down Eighth
East.”

Lifting the boy up and climbing aboard
himself, D.O. sat down on the backseat of the surrey. “Have you
settled in well, Tom?” he asked.

“Well,” Tom laughed, “Sister Mary was just
asking me the same thing, in a different way. I guess I could say
I’m comfortable. I’ve been worse,” he laughed again.

“We’ll have to get together for that dinner I
spoke of.”

“I’d like that, D.O. South on Eighth East,
you said?”

“Yes. About halfway down the block, on the
right side.”

Tom reined in the mare in front of the only
house on the street showing any lights. “Hurry, Brother McKay,” the
young lad said as he hopped down from the surrey. “Uncle Robert’s
bad sick.”

“Let’s go see what we can do,” D.O. offered,
taking the young boy’s hand, stopping only to thank Sister Mary and
Tom for the ride.

Sister Mary spoke up. “Mr. McKay, might I be
of some assistance, please? I am a trained nurse.”

D.O. paused for a moment, then said, “That
would be very helpful, Sister.” He stepped back to the buggy and
offered his hand as she descended from the seat. Sister Mary looked
briefly at Tom, who waved her on. “I’ll just stay here with the
mare, Sister. You go ahead with D.O.”

Inside the house, a young woman in her late
twenties sat by the bedside of a man who was perspiring and
writhing in pain. The young woman had been wiping the man’s face
with a wet cloth, but she stood when D.O. appeared. The man on the
bed looked to be in agony. He raised one hand in greeting but said
nothing as he continued to roll from side to side, groaning as he
did so. The young woman gave D.O. a questioning look as she glanced
quickly back and forth between McKay and Sister Mary.

“Sister Thurston,” D.O. said, “this is Sister
Mary from Holy Cross Hospital. She was kind enough to pick us up
and give us a ride. She’s a nurse at the hospital and asked if she
could help. Sister Mary, these are the Thurstons, Robert and
Alice.” D.O. bent over Robert to see if he could determine what was
wrong with his friend.

Alice Thurston’s face was pinched with worry,
and she said to D.O., “He’s been like this since bedtime last
night. He’s got a fever too. I haven’t known what to do.”

Sister Mary stepped to the other side of the
bed and leaned over Robert. “May I?” she asked as she put her hand
to his forehead then reached for his wrist to take his pulse. Her
professional demeanor was evident.

“What seems to be the complaint, Mr.
Thurston?” she asked.

Robert Thurston tried to rise, his desire to
be courteous outweighing his discomfort. Sister Mary smiled, and
gently pressed his shoulder down against the bed. “Perhaps it would
be best if you remained at rest, Mr. Thurston. Where is the pain?”
she asked.

“In his lower abdomen,” his wife responded
for him. “He’s been sick to his stomach almost all night too.”

Sister Mary looked at his midsection, covered
by the bed clothes. “May I?” she asked again, placing her hand
lightly on the blanket. Robert nodded, gritting his teeth.

Sister Mary turned back the covers, allowing
Robert a modicum of privacy as she did so. Pressing gently on his
lower abdomen, she watched his face as she released the pressure.
He grimaced and groaned out loud.

“Ummm,” she murmured, glancing over at D.O.
Tom had come into the house and was standing in the doorway to the
bedroom, watching the situation develop. “He needs a doctor to
confirm, Mr. McKay, but I believe Mr. Thurston has appendicitis and
should immediately be taken to a hospital. We are very close to
Holy Cross, and I know Doctor Benedict, a fine surgeon, is
remaining overnight to observe a very ill patient. He is an
excellent doctor, and has performed other appendectomies.”

D.O. turned to look at Alice Thurston, whose
concern had increased as she listened to Sister Mary’s diagnosis.
Alice looked to D.O. for direction.

“Holy Cross will be excellent, Sister. May I
have a few moments with Brother Thurston? And then, Tom,” he said,
turning toward the door, “perhaps you could help me get Robert into
the buggy.”

Sister Mary rose from the bedside and exited
the room, motioning Tom to come with her and closing the door
behind them. D.O. and Alice remained in the room with Robert.

Tom was curious at the delay. “Sister?”

“I believe Mr. McKay is going to give a
priesthood blessing to his friend. I don’t think it will take
long,” she smiled.

“A priesthood blessing? Is D.O. a
priest?”

“Not as you understand it, Thomas, but as I
told you, I’ve been here nearly twenty years. I’ll explain later.
Let’s get a few blankets and have the buggy ready.”

“Right, Sister.”

Later, as dawn began to lighten the hallway
through the hospital windows, D.O. and Tom were sitting with Alice
Thurston outside the surgery as Doctor Benedict walked toward them,
a tired smile fixed on his face. “He’ll be fine now, Mrs. Thurston.
He just needs a few days to rest, and he’ll be fine.”

“May I see him, Doctor, please?” she
asked.

“Of course. He’s still sleeping, but you may
go in and sit with him if you wish.”

Sister Mary took Alice by the arm, and
together they entered the room where Robert Thurston was recovering
from his overnight surgery.

“D.O., I know just where we need to go,” Tom
offered. McKay glanced at the young lad sleeping on one of the
benches in the corridor. “He’ll be fine,” Tom said. “The sisters
will watch out for him, won’t you, Sister,” he said, as Sister
Josephine walked by and smiled her assurance.

Down the hallway and down one flight of
stairs, D.O. found himself escorted into the large kitchen of Holy
Cross Hospital.

“If you think Robert got good care upstairs,
D.O., you’ll be amazed at what Sister Jude performs regularly down
here,” he laughed. “Ready for a bite of breakfast?”

Sitting together in one corner of the
kitchen, Tom and David finished eating their breakfast but sat for
a while longer to talk.

Tom said that he couldn’t understand the
Mormons’ reluctance to drink a good, hot cup of coffee.

“It’s what gets me going in the morning,” Tom
explained.

“Yep,” D.O. nodded, “and many others,
too.”

Changing the subject, D.O. said, “You
mentioned in the buggy earlier that, ‘you’ve been worse,’ I believe
were your words. Things not going well for you in Salt Lake?”

Tom took another sip of his coffee. “It’s not
Salt Lake that’s the problem, D.O. It’s fine living here. I’ve just
had some personal concerns.”

“An affair of the heart, I take it,” D.O.
said, smiling knowingly.

“Maybe you are a priest, after all,” Tom
joked.

“Excuse me?”

“Sister Mary said you were going to give a
blessing of some sort to Mr. Thurston. Now I find you also deal in
treating personal problems. Maybe you really are a priest,” Tom
grinned.

D.O. tilted his head back and began to laugh
loudly. The sound echoed in the hospital kitchen, and he quickly
stifled it, glancing over at Sister Jude and her helper who had
looked up from their work. “You could say that, Tom,” he said
quietly, “but it will take some time to explain it to you. I’d love
to have the opportunity, but for now, how can I help?”