Read Online Destiny - The Callahans #1 by Gordon Ryan - Free Book Online

their new life as
Americans. Citizenship was some time off, and in fact where the
Hansens were heading, citizenship was at present, denied, even to
those born in Utah.
    On the final afternoon of their voyage, after
the ship had been intercepted by the immigration authorities,
Anders Hansen had found Tom on the middle deck, where the Irishman
had been watching the first-class passengers being boarded on the
launch that would take them to Ellis Island. Anders said his
good-byes, thanking Tom once again for having rescued him from his
three assailants. He handed Tom a small, wrapped parcel and said he
hoped they’d have the chance to meet again someday. Then, wishing
Tom the best of luck in New York, he quickly moved down the
stairway to rejoin his family. Unwrapping the parcel, Tom felt a
twinge of pain as he read Katrina’s short note.
    “Thomas, this book is my most prized
possession. I pray that you will come to understand its meaning and
the truth it contains. The Lord’s blessings be with you, Thomas.
Till the end of the year, Sincerely, Katrina.”
    Now, waiting in line for his turn to become
an American, with the Book of Mormon tucked into his hip pocket,
Tom’s final look at Katrina was as she adjusted her bonnet,
preparing for the windy harbor ride to New York City and the train
west. She didn’t see him as they parted, but the sweet sorrow of
which William Shakespeare had written, centuries earlier, was as
present in Tom Callahan’s heart as it was the day the Bard penned
the words.
    “Name?” the gruff voice called, breaking
Tom’s reverie.
    “Thomas Matthew Callahan,” Tom replied,
Katrina’s departing vision firmly etched in his mind.
    “Mick, is it?” the man grinned, looking up at
Tom.
    “Thomas . . . Matthew . . . Callahan,” Tom
repeated slowly, drawing out each name, his eyes firm in the man’s
face.
    Slightly cowed by Tom’s stare, the man
assumed an officious posture, harrumphed, and returned to his
paperwork, beginning the tedious process of filling out the forms
to admit another hopeful, ignorant, immigrant.
    “The Irish are all ‘Micks’ here,” he spat
out. “Get used to it.”
     
    Never had Tom seen anything to match New York
City. On the one occasion when his father had taken him on a buying
trip to Dublin, Tom thought there could be no larger city and no
more people clustered in one place. New York City quickly dispelled
that illusion.
    For two days, Tom had walked the streets of
New York and had not passed the same place twice. If the map he’d
found in the park was right, he’d barely scratched the edge of the
city, remaining well within the confines of lower Manhattan.
    Spending the first two nights sleeping on the
ground in Battery Park, near the south end of Manhattan, Tom
quickly came to discover just how many people were without homes or
employment, and the enormity of the task he faced trying to break
through that mass of humanity. By the morning of the third day,
he’d found day work in the fresh vegetable market, partly because
of the lessons his father had drummed into him had provided a
knowledge of fruits and vegetables, and partly because the floor
boss at the market was also Irish.
    Finding living accommodations proved harder.
Given his memory of crowded conditions back in Tipperary, he hadn’t
expected fancy, but he found himself surprised by the squalor of
the flop house and the stench of the mattress he was provided for
fifteen cents a night. He quickly learned from the other tenants
not to leave anything of value around during his time away, which
didn’t prove much of a problem, since he wore most of his clothes
on his back, and carried his shoulder kit with the rest, every
place he went.
    Within a week his routine had been
established. He rose at three o’clock to be at the marketplace long
before dawn. Finishing his work by noon, he spent the rest of the
day looking for work more likely to provide the kind of money he
would need to fund his trek to