Destiny - The Callahans #1 (4 page)

By all the saints, it’s her brother
,
he thought.

He was about Tom’s age, and unmistakably the
man he’d seen walking with the young lady on the quay in Cork. Tom
had chosen the right side, a decision that now filled him with an
immense sense of satisfaction.

“Hansen,” the man said. “Anders Hansen, and
highly grateful to you, sir, for your intervention.” He spoke with
a decidedly proper British accent but something about the tone
eluded Tom. Not British, he thought, but well-schooled in
English.

“And where might ye be from, Mr. Hansen?” Tom
asked.

“My family is from Norway, sir, uh, Mr.
Callahan, was it?”

“That’s right. Tom Callahan. Here, let’s see
if we can clean up some of the blood before your mother goes over
the side with shock,” Tom said, reaching for the handkerchief in
Anders’ pocket and handing it to him. “Seems the lads,” Tom said,
nodding toward the direction the three had departed, “were out for
a bit of your money. It’s kind of late to be up on deck all
alone.”

As Anders wiped gingerly at the blood under
his nose, he began to grin—a response to Tom’s being there alone
also. “Aye, well, the Irish are used to being alone, even in a
crowd,” Tom laughed.

“Mr. Callahan, this Norwegian is most
thankful you chose tonight for your solitary stroll. And how might
I repay your kindness, sir?”

A broad grin crossed Tom’s face. “We’ll come
to some agreement, Anders Hansen. Indeed, we will. Tell me a bit
about your family,” Tom said, leading the way back toward the port
side railing and the rising moon, now well above the ocean and
reflecting off the waves that stood between the
Antioch
and
America. “Now would ye be having a sister, Mr. Anders Hansen?” Tom
laughed.

And would she be interested in a formal
introduction to a handsome, young, Irish lad
?

The following evening, the one-week
anniversary of the
Antioch
’s departure, Tom invaded the
crew’s quarters, and by exercising a bit of subterfuge, cajoled one
of the crew to let him use the shower facilities. It felt good to
remove a week’s accumulation of salt spray and the Cork dust left
over from his forced march through the southern tip of Ireland.

Dressed in the one good shirt he owned and
the better of his two pair of trousers, Tom climbed the stairs to
the upper decks. He was careful to avoid the crew members who were
likely to forcibly remind him that steerage passengers were not
allowed on deck until after nine p.m. Anders had said seven-thirty,
and no crewman, nor three for that matter, were about to deter this
Irishman, who was headed for a formal introduction to the vision
that nightly danced in his head.

That thoughts of Katrina continued to occupy
his mind confused Tom. For most of his life, at least since girls
had become of interest, Tom found he could take them or leave them.
In fact, when Molly O’Reardon, the one girl with whom he had formed
a close attachment, advised him she intended to marry Patrick Lynn,
Tom had casually wished her all the best and gone his way. Molly
had bristled at the ease with which Tom had said good-bye. Of
course when Tom told his mother about Molly, she had said that one
day, he’d not find it so easy to move on, but that required the
right girl, she’d counseled. Now, not only had Tom schemed to find
ways to meet this unnamed woman, he found himself thinking about
her during the rest of his waking hours.

Standing port beam, forward of the mid and
upper deck passenger dining area, Tom leaned against the rail and
fidgeted with one of the buttons on his shirt. It was loose and
about to fall off. When he looked up from his inspection of the
dangling button, she was standing not two feet in front of him, a
slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Good evening, Mr. Callahan,” Anders said.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce my sister,
Katrina Hansen. Katrina,” Anders said, turning to face her, “may I
introduce my new friend and rescuer, Thomas Callahan.”

She’s already figured it out, Andy. But
it’s worth the humiliation. She’s the prettiest thing a man could
imagine
.

Tom smiled the broad grin of a man caught
with his hand in the cookie jar. Katrina had obviously figured out
that she had been set up, and that her brother was in cahoots with
the man who had tried to ignore formal courtesies only two days
before. Still, she didn’t seem anxious to depart on this occasion,
as she had on his last attempt. Perhaps Paddy O’Rourke was
right.

I didn’t listen to ya before, Paddy, but
this time . . .

“So, it’s off to Utah, then,” Tom laughed,
bringing a bright smile to Katrina’s face, which started Tom’s
heart to thumping once again. He felt as if the tongue in his mouth
was beginning to swell larger than the container God had given
it.

“Yes, Mr. Callahan,” Katrina responded, her
demeanor courteous but hesitant. “And it’s still New York for
you?”

New York’s dead, Katie. I’m for Utah, if
you’ll just give me the sign
.

“Aye, that it is,” Tom replied, shaking his
head slightly, as if to indicate that his destination, not matching
hers, was fast becoming a disappointment to his plans.

Sensing the attraction between his sister and
his new friend, and not quite knowing what to make of it, Anders
interrupted: “So, Mr. Callahan, what takes you to New York?”

Tom was taken aback—a condition in which he
had seldom found himself when it came to verbally explaining his
position. It was the Tom Callahan’s of the world that had given
rise to the Irish myth that if one kissed the Blarney Stone, in
Blarney Castle near Cork, one would quickly develop a silver tongue
and never be at a loss for words. In this instance, not having even
considered for himself what he intended to do in New York, Tom
stumbled. Raising his arms in mock ignorance, Tom replied, using
the phrase his mother had frequently used as her children asked
foolish questions, “Trust in the Lord’s good graces.”

Anders raised his eyebrows while Katrina
continued to observe this new associate of Anders. Earlier in the
day, she had been required to listen patiently for most of the
morning while Anders described in detail the assault he’d endured
at the hands of several British wharf rats and how he might have
lost his money and even his life, had it not been for the
intervention of one Thomas Callahan. She just had to meet him,
Anders had cajoled, and finally, with little else to do on board
ship, Katrina had given in to her brother, only to discover that
the one and only Tom Callahan was in fact the same brash, young
Irishman who’d so brazenly approached her two days earlier. Only
her diary knew that for the balance of that day, and since, Tom had
occupied her thoughts.

“Well, sir,” Katrina said, “if that is indeed
your plan, then you shall be in good hands, although I have it on
good authority that the Lord’s servants now reside in Utah.” She
smiled brightly, pleased with her newfound knowledge and, not yet
seventeen, unaware of the impropriety of flaunting it, especially
with regard to religion.

“Aye? And would the Pope be knowin’ about
that?” Tom teased.

“He’ll be aware soon enough, Mr. Callahan,”
she replied, slightly miffed at his taunting tone.

“Thomas,” Anders said, intentionally changing
the subject from religion, “I’ve spoken to my father about your
actions last night.”

“Aye?”

“Well, he may wish to speak with you about
the possibility of temporary employment once we arrive in New
York,” Anders added.

“I thought you were going on immediately to
Utah,” Tom said.

“Yes, we are, but we have a shipment of
equipment coming after us, and Poppa thought perhaps you could see
to its transfer to rail for forwarding to Utah. Would you be
interested?”

Tom looked at Katrina briefly, smiling before
answering. “Aye. That I would,” he replied, not taking his eyes off
Katrina as he spoke.

Embarrassed, Katrina turned to Anders. “We’d
best be off to dinner, Anders. It’s nearly time for first
seating.”

Anders shook Tom’s hand again. “Thank you,
Thomas. Perhaps we’ll be seeing you on the morrow. I’ll tell Poppa
you’re interested in speaking with him about the job.”

“Good, Anders,” Tom replied. “And Katrina
Hansen,” he said, raising his fingers to the brim of his cap, “it
was indeed a pleasure to be
formally
introduced to you this
evening. Perhaps we, too, shall meet again.”

The following morning, Tom carefully evaded
the crew members and snuck onto the upper deck, where he found
Katrina sitting on one of the deck recliners and reading. When his
shadow fell on her book, she looked up and smiled. He nodded toward
the deck chair next to her and, sensing no objection, assumed the
seat.

“We’re halfway there,” he said.

“You’re halfway there,” she replied. “We have
another two thousand miles by train, with even less opportunity to
move about.”

“Aye. Still, if Utah is as lovely as you say,
it’s a trip worth taking.”

“Oh, yes, indeed. It’s the land of our
people—our new home.”

“Your
people
?” Tom asked. “You mean
many Norwegians have settled there?”

Katrina laughed and turned the book she was
reading for Tom to read the title. “No, not Norwegians. Mormons.
This is the Book of Mormon.”

Tom reached for the book, quickly flipping
through its pages. “What’s a Mormon?” he asked. He took no interest
in the book and set it down on the small table between their deck
chairs. He was grateful, however, for any excuse to speak to
her.

Katrina smiled brightly and turned toward him
in her seat, excitement radiating from her face. “Elder Stromberg
told me I’d have an opportunity to teach the gospel. I didn’t know
it would be so soon,” she laughed. “A Mormon, Mr. Callahan—”

“Just call me Tom,” he said.

Katrina furrowed her brow.

“We have been formally introduced,” he said.
“By your brother, no less.”

Katrina allowed a smile to cross her face.
“How about a compromise? May I call you Thomas?” she offered.

You can call me anything you want, lass.
Just keep calling me.

“I’ve heard Andy call you Klinka, but I’ll
call you Katrina and we’ll remain on a semi-formal basis, if that
will make you more comfortable,” he replied.

Katrina furrowed her brow again. His
vocabulary and accent have improved and he doesn’t sound so . . .
so “country,” she thought to herself. “Yes, Thomas, I think that
will be acceptable. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, a Mormon. Might I
presume you are Catholic, Mr. Calla . . . , Thomas?” she
smiled.

“Aye, that ye may.”

“What would you say if I told you the true
church has been restored to the earth?” she said brightly, her
enthusiasm returning.

“I didn’t know it had been lost,” he
laughed.

Katrina pursed her lips and retrieved the
book from the small table next to her. “Mr. Callahan, this is not a
laughing matter. You asked me a question, and I am trying to offer
an honest answer. I can assure you, sir, I take my religion very
seriously, and if it is not your intention to listen with equal
seriousness, then I am wasting my time.”

“Whoa, lass,” Tom raised his hands. “I think
we’ve jumped off the deep end. This older gentleman, Elder
Strummer, I think you said, did he take such offense at your
questions when he taught you his religion?”

Katrina laughed out loud. “Elder
Stromberg
,” she said. “And actually, he’s not much older
than you. But you’re right, Thomas,” she said, her demeanor
softening. “I apologize for my abruptness. After all, I’m sure you
have heard nothing about the marvelous works that the Lord has
brought forth in this century. Mormonism, Thomas, is the Lord’s
true religion, restored to the earth through a prophet.”

“You mean like Moses?” he asked, trying to
keep a straight face.

“Well, somewhat. A prophet is someone who
talks with God, Thomas. We have such a man at the head of our
church today. Isn’t that wonderful news? Someone who talks directly
with God.”

Tom leaned back in his chair, reaching for
the book again, being careful not to stifle what he perceived as
Katrina’s determination to tell him about the Mormons. “You mean
like the Holy Father?”

“Well, I’m sure he means well, Thomas, but he
doesn’t have the authority to speak for God.”

Tom’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he
continued to thumb through the book, looking up occasionally at
Katrina. “Who gives this authority?” he asked. “I’ve always thought
the Pope could talk to God and the priests could as well. In fact
my mother always told me to pray to God and my prayers would be
answered.”

“Oh, yes, they will, Thomas,” Katrina
responded with glee, leaning forward and nodding her head to
confirm his statement.

“But you just said that a person needs
authority to speak with God.”

“Well, I didn’t mean exactly that, Thomas. I
meant, oh, it’s so simple, yet so confusing. A Prophet, like
President Woodruff, is ordained to the priesthood and is called of
God to preside over his church.”

“Like the Pope,” Tom repeated, enjoying
watching Katrina’s animated expressions and listening to her
enthusiastic explanations.

“No. Oh, Thomas, I want so to tell you what’s
right, but I feel I don’t have the knowledge to do so.”

Tom smiled and leaned toward Katrina. With
both of them sitting sideways on their deck chairs, their faces
were only inches apart as the conversation became more animated. A
delicate lavender fragrance filled Tom’s nostrils as he took in her
scent, and he admired again the way her blonde hair framed her
lovely, young face.

“Perhaps I could read a bit in this book and
we could talk more about it later,” Tom suggested.