Destiny - The Callahans #1 (12 page)

The arrival of September didn’t provide any
relief from the summer heat in Salt Lake, and Katrina, used to the
early advent of winter in Norway, found it enjoyable to be able to
continue the outdoor activities associated with pleasant weather.
True to his word, Andy met with Harold Stromberg, and as he later
explained to Katrina, found that Harold was almost as shocked by
Mr. Hansen’s behavior as Katrina had been. Andy arranged a meeting
for the two, unknown to Lars Hansen, and to her pleasure, Katrina
found herself liking the newly returned missionary.

“Klinka, please hurry. We’re going to miss
the train,” Andy called out as he passed her room, bounding down
the stairs, and causing Mr. Hansen to look up from his
newspaper.

“Going out, Anders?” Lars asked.

“Ya, Poppa. Klinka and I are going to Saltair
to swim,” Andy replied.

“I wish that girl would become serious for
once and see young Harold again,” Lars said, exasperation in his
voice.

“You know Klinka, Poppa. Headstrong, just
like—” Seeing his father’s stern look, Anders thought better of his
comment.

“The Poppa has a responsibility to see his
daughters are properly watched over, Anders, and married into a
fine family. You’d do well to learn that before you think about
becoming a father yourself.”

“Ya, Poppa,” Andy answered, waiting
impatiently for Katrina to come down the stairs.

“Ready, Anders,” Katrina said, walking toward
her father and giving him a kiss on top of his balding head, and
then rubbing it into his bare spot, a habit Mr. Hansen tolerated as
a show of affection from his daughter.

“See you watch your sister, Anders,” Lars
warned, “and don’t let any of the rowdies get you in trouble. I’ve
been reading about the growing troubles at this Saltair. It might
not be safe to go out there, if someone doesn’t put a stop to
it.”

“It’s fine, Poppa,” Anders said. “The papers
exaggerate everything. Besides, some of Klinka’s friends will be
there too,” he continued, winking at Katrina from behind her
father’s back.

Closing the front door, Andy took Katrina by
the arm as they headed off down the street toward the trolley stop.
“Klinka’s friends will be there too,” Katrina mimicked. “You should
have said, ‘one special friend,’ right, Anders?”

“Don’t be giving me a hard time, little
sister. We just might see someone else at Saltair, mightn’t we?” he
teased.

“Is Harold . . .”

“He just might be,” Andy laughed as the
trolley arrived.

“This would be so much easier if you’d just
tell Poppa you’re seeing Harold. He’d turn the house upside down to
help you if he knew.”

“Please, Anders, I don’t want Poppa to know,
at least until I know how I feel. I like Harold, of course, but I
still want to keep this between us. Harold agrees to that, why
can’t you?”

“I have agreed, in case you didn’t notice,
little sister. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Katrina smiled, tugging at his arm as they
sat side by side on the trolley seat. “Ya, you’re here, Anders, but
so will Martha Young be.” Andy remained silent in the face of
Katrina’s teasing him about Martha.

After leaving the trolley and entering the
Union Pacific Rail depot, Andy left Katrina by herself while he
went to buy tickets for the excursion train to Saltair. The station
was crowded with Saturday revelers, and trains ran every fifteen
minutes to accommodate the crowds.

Saltair had become the most enjoyable
attraction in the Salt Lake Valley, for young and old. Situated on
the southern shore of the Great Salt Lake, a large Moorish style
building, with onion-domed towers, housed an enormous dance
pavilion, rides, and bathing facilities for swimmers, and weekend
visitors now often numbered in the thousands.

The first time Katrina and Andy had gone to
Saltair, she had been amazed by the thousands jammed into the dance
pavilion. In that crowd, she was also astonished when Harold
Stromberg suddenly appeared. Andy’s knowing smile made it evident
to Katrina that Harold’s arrival was no coincidence. Still, she had
thanked Andy on the train ride home for his efforts in arranging
the meeting. Today, she had done the same thing for Andy, by
inviting Martha Young to meet them at Saltair.

When Andy returned with the tickets, he was
accompanied by Harold, but this time, Katrina was not
surprised.

“Good morning, Katrina,” Harold said,
removing his hat.

“Good morning, Harold,” she smiled.

Each weekend now, for four weeks, Andy and
Katrina had gone off together to a prearranged meeting where Harold
had joined them for the day’s outing. Katrina’s feelings for Harold
were beginning to concern her. Everything Andy had said that night,
after Poppa had humiliated her was true. Harold was smart, he came
from a well-respected family, and his education toward becoming a
lawyer was just getting under way at the university. He supported
himself by working afternoons in his father’s law firm, and his
future seemed secure. He treated Katrina with the utmost respect
and courtesy, and he had even agreed, although he was reluctant to
deceive Mr. Hansen, to meet with Katrina in secret until she
determined to tell her father that she was seeing Harold.

Harold Stromberg was everything a girl could
hope for, something that was confirmed by the way other young women
looked to him in the places he and Katrina went. Some of the local
girls were resentful of the new immigrant girl, who seemed to have
the inside track on the eligible Harold. Katrina knew he could
shift his attentions to any of a dozen girls, yet he seemed content
to wait until she found her way, or decided how her feelings were
developing.

Given Katrina’s beauty and the feelings he
had for her, Harold was willing to be patient. He sensed also that
if he pushed her for a commitment, she’d run. As for Katrina,
herself, she still didn’t know whether she’d run toward, or away,
from Harold Stromberg.

“What’s it to be today, Katrina? Rides,
swimming, or just sunning outside?” Harold asked, smiling.

“Oh, yes! All of that,” Katrina answered,
laughing, “and dancing tonight, please.”

“The young lady’s got an iron constitution,”
Harold said to Andy.

“And an iron fist when she’s mad,” her
brother quipped. “C’mon, let’s get a seat on the train, or we’ll
have to stand all the way.”

The last train back from Saltair ran at
midnight, but Lars Hansen had strictly instructed Andy that he was
to have his sister in the house before midnight, so they took the
ten forty-five train back to the station, Harold accompanying them
and parting company as Katrina and Andy prepared to board the
trolley toward their home. Harold politely kissed Katrina’s hand,
the first gesture of affection he had made toward her. It was
sufficient to make her blush and get a little light-headed. She
recognized the boldness of his growing interest, and it both
thrilled and concerned her.

“Katrina,” he said, “I hope your day was as
enjoyable as mine, and I’d like to think we could have many more
together. Would you consider coming to church with my family
tomorrow and having dinner with us afterward?”

“Thank you, Harold, but I’d better not. I
should help my mother with the dinner for our family. Some other
time, perhaps.”

Harold smiled and released her hand. “I hope
so, Katrina. God kvell,” he said in Norwegian.

“Tusan tak, Harold,” she replied.

As the trolley rolled east on South Temple,
Andy stared at Katrina until she responded. “What?” she asked.

“He may not wait until next year, you
know.”

“Next year?” she said, feigning ignorance of
his intent.

“Ya, next year, when your promise to wait for
Tom is over.”

“Oh, Anders, I don’t know what to do. I like
Harold, really I do. But I still think of Tom. You like Tom, too,
you know you do.”

“Ya, I like Tom Callahan, but we may never
see him again.”

Katrina was silent, looking out the open air
trolley window as they passed Temple Square and admiring the
magnificent six-spired temple, gleaming white with the newness of
its completion just two years before. She thought of how much she
desired to be married in the temple, something Harold offered, but
that Tom . . . “I know, Anders,” she said, plaintively. “But he did
ask, and I did promise. I must wait.”

“Ya, I suppose you must.”

Katrina turned back to look at Andy, taking
his arm again and leaning her head on his shoulder. “God has given
me such a wonderful brother, Anders. Thank you for
understanding.”

“It’s Harold’s understanding that should
concern you, Klinka.”

“Ya,” she replied, looking again out the
window.

21 September, 1895

Dear Nana,

Today we spent the day at Saltair, the bathing place
I told you about. Anders and I met Harold Stromberg and Martha
Young for the day. Anders thinks Martha Young is wonderful, but
just between you and me, Nana, she is not for him.

As for me, well, Harold is really a good man. He is
considerate and patient, and has not made me feel embarrassed over
the time Poppa announced him as the suitable candidate. The truth
is, Nana, he is in every way a suitable candidate, and offers much
more than the life I think Thomas could, but still, Nana, you
understand, I know. In my heart, I still think of Thomas. Perhaps
it’s just a dream, since I haven’t seen him and we can’t write,
but, still, I promised to wait.

What if he comes, Nana, and I don’t feel the same?
What if I come to love Harold and Thomas has come all this way
because I promised to wait? What if Thomas doesn’t come, Nana?

Jeg elske du.

Trina

By early November, the New York, Baltimore,
& Ohio rail repair crew had worked its way to Omaha, making
faster time than anticipated. Tom thoroughly enjoyed the trip,
seeing parts of America that he had only read about or seen in
magazine pictures. The only negative aspect of the trip was the
assistant crew leader, a disagreeable Englishman named Max Tooney,
who had taken a dislike to Tom and made it his mission to make life
miserable for the young Irishman. Still, the crew all worked hard
when rail repair was in progress, so Tom ignored the intentional
taunting about Irish “Paddy’s” and “hooligans,” and chalked it up
to what he privately considered a bloody, ignorant “Brit.” Only
when Tom’s name had appeared on the galley roster short of his
normal rotation had he complained, and on that occasion, he was
told by Tooney he could take it or leave it. The crew could do
without him, anyway, Tooney had said.

Tom swallowed his pride on that occasion and
accepted the additional galley assignment, aided by the knowledge
that the cook liked him and thanked him for being one of the crew
who didn’t complain about the cooking.

As the crew started the southerly run from
Omaha to Kansas City, snow began to fall and soon a full-fledged
prairie blizzard encompassed the train. Finding the narrow
passageway between two hills drifted-in with snow, the train came
to a stop while crew were assigned to clear the track ahead. As
shovels flew, and the rails began to be cleared, Tooney sent Tom up
the hill to a nearby grove of trees to obtain additional firewood
for the potbellied stove in the crew quarters. He did so on the
pretense that they might be snowed in farther up the track and have
to remain overnight on the prairie, where no wood could be
obtained.

In a stand of dead trees, located several
hundred yards uphill from the train, Tom swung his ax in the
snowstorm, felling several smaller trees, allowing the physical
exertion to dispel his anger as well as keep him warm. There was
plenty of firewood on board in the coal tender behind the engine,
and Tom felt Tooney had once again used his authority to push him
into an unnecessary, extra assignment. Not until Tom heard the
engine make steam did he realize that Tooney intended to leave him
on the prairie, somewhere between Nebraska and Missouri.

Dropping his ax and shouting for them not to
leave him, Tom began bounding his way through the waist deep
snowdrifts, down the hill to where the train was slowly gathering
steam and beginning to make slow headway uphill, against the newly
cleared track.

Stumbling every few feet, Tom realized that
if he didn’t reach the last railcar before it crested the top and
began to pick up speed down the far side, he’d likely freeze to
death. His clothing was soaked with perspiration and melting snow,
and he was gasping for breath. Nearing the railroad right-of-way,
Tom was blocked by the bank of snow the crew had piled up as they
cleared the tracks. Stumbling and slipping, he fought to clamber
over the top, then sliding down the other side, he sprawled
headlong in the snow next to the tracks, just as the last car
crawled by. He scrambled to his feet and began running behind the
train, down the middle of the newly cleared tracks. The blowing
snow blinded him, and he strained to catch hold of the ladder on
the back of the flatcar used to transport extra rails, which was
the last car on the train. Finally, just before his strength gave
out entirely and the last railcar rolled over the top of the grade,
he was able to grab the railing on the rear steps, and with a
strength summoned from desperation, he pulled himself up onto the
bed of the car and lay there, gasping for breath and shaking with
rage, as the train gathered speed and rolled down the far side of
the hill.

Exhausted, he lay there for a minute, until
he began to lose the feeling in his face and hands and feet. The
wind kicked up by the speed of the train made it even colder, and
his wet clothing began to freeze.

Tom knew he was in a desperate situation. He
needed to traverse the flatbed railcar to reach the crew
compartment, one car ahead.