Other conflicts are more personal. Twenty years into their marriage, Tom and Katrina Callahan have not yet resolved their religious differences. While Tom stubbornly clings to his Catholic roots, Katrina yearns for spiritual unity and a temple marriage. And when a tragedy befalls their family, it brings with it a stern test of the love that binds Tom and Katrina to each other and to their children.

Set against turbulent, turn-of-the-century events in both Utah and world history, and filled with vivid historical scenes as well as tender emotion, Spirit of Union: Conflict takes the reader around the world and into the home and hearts of a beleaguered family.

Best-selling author Gordon Ryan has skillfully captured the flavor of an earlier day, but he has also crafted a moving story about the forces that can unite or destroy a family regardless of the age in which they live.

Twenty-three-year-old Anders Hansen sat hunched over on a log next to a crackling fire. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders and stared into the leaping flames that were licking at the fresh scrub brush tossed moments earlier onto the dying embers. Even in the tropical summer, high in the mountains, the Cuban evenings carried a chill that worked its way to the bone.

Anders was in Cuba serving as a hospital engineer - part of a medical contingent from Salt Lake City. The nursing sisters of Holy Cross Hospital had quickly responded to the request of the United States government to provide hospital facilities in what was projected to be a brief war against Spain.

In the latest chapter in a never-ending ritual, repeated several times each century, thousands of young men across America had responded to their nation's call and pledged their allegiance to the patriotic cause described by zealous military recruiters. Their impassioned rhetoric of God, country, and duty, supported by the daily nationalistic editorials published by William Randolph Hearst's newspapers, served to move yet another generation of hot-blooded young men to enlist in the cause. They had been convinced that if they didn't hurry, they would miss the honor and prestige that attached themselves to the members of a military force embarked on a righteous crusade.

Far from the comforts of home, the young recruits now found themselves in a state of shock after confronting the reality of war, and seated around the campfire, they sought some respite from the horror that had so quickly and totally encompassed their lives. Anders and the others had come to understand that to the man on the shooting or receiving end, a single bullet instantly dictated the scope of war. Too many troopers, killed or maimed in this "small conflict," had already crossed Anders' path as he performed the grungy work of helping the nursing sisters maintain and operate their hospital.

Before leaving Utah, he had almost been persuaded to join the Utah Battalion, led by Richard Young, grandson of the Mormon pioneer leader, Brigham Young. For the first time since the famous original "Mormon Battalion" had marched two thousand miles across the great American southwest in 1846-47, Church leaders had encouraged their young men to answer their government's call. Over eight hundred men from the Utah basin had answered the summons, and, on a bright day in April, 1898, the recruits had formed up in the square in downtown Salt Lake City. Bands were playing, flags were waving, and emotions were running high. But in the end, Anders' passion to join the multitude rallying to the flag had been outweighed by his earlier commitment to Sister Mary Theophane. He had promised that he would accompany her medical detachment to Cuba, continuing the service he had provided for the previous two years as hospital engineer. That commitment had allowed him to resist the enlistment contagion that swept through the other young men in that frenzied crowd.

The Utah Battalion, with most of their horses abandoned in Florida, had arrived in Cuba some weeks after the nursing staff had already established the field hospital, and there had been little contact between the two Utah groups. Occasionally, random patients from the Utah Battalion had passed through the field hospital, a hastily assembled facility consisting of multiple tents that housed surgery, patient wards, and kitchen facilities.

Hunkered down by the fire, Anders heard the approach of a single rider, cautiously slowing his mount as he descended the hill that overlooked the medical facility. Two of the troopers reached for their weapons, but came to attention instead when the firelight reflected off the approaching horseman. They recognized the uniform and familiar face of their commanding officer, First Volunteer Calvary Regiment, Colonel Leonard Wood.

One of the troopers moved to take Colonel Wood's horse, and, dismounting, the officer stepped to the fire. The troopers stood and saluted as he approached. He took a short cigar butt from his mouth, tossed it into the fire, and returned their salute.

"The head nursing Sister?" he asked, nodding toward the large tent.

Also on his feet, Anders replied, "Yes, Sir. Sister Mary is in the recovery tent."

Wood pulled his pocket watch from the waistband of his military-style jodhpurs and flipped open the cover.

"Humph," he snorted. "Well after midnight. She keeps longer hours than I do."

Anders remained silent as the colonel walked to the tent, pulled back the flap, and went inside where he gazing down the rows of wounded or seriously ill troopers. Two kerosene lanterns, one at each end of the tent, gave off a dull glow and a soft, hissing sound. Recognizing one of the troopers, Colonel Wood moved to the foot of his bed. The sick trooper had his eyes closed, but was sleeping fitfully. After a moment, the semi-conscious man awoke and opened his eyes. He started to lift his head from the pillow.

"Rest easy, Lieutenant," Colonel Wood said. Stepping to the side of the bed, he peered down at the sunburned, gaunt face of the young officer.

"Evening, Colonel," the man rasped.

"Just checking on the men, Lieutenant. They treating you well?" he asked, nodding toward the nurse's station at the rear of the tent.

"Just fine, sir. They look after us just fine."

"Excellent. Now you get some more rest, Lieutenant. We'll have need of your services shortly. Can't do the job without good officers," Wood declared.

"Sir, some of the men have been saying the unit is moving into action. I'm not really injured. Just a bit weak. I'd sure like the chance to return to the regiment."

"That's the spirit, son. But you rest while you can," he said, bending to pat the young man's arm. "We'll be needing you soon enough."

A nursing Sister quietly walked up behind Colonel Wood and lifted the chart at the foot of the patient's bed. She quickly scanned its contents.

"Evening, Sister," Wood said, removing his campaign hat.

"And a good evening to you, Colonel," she said, inclining her eyes toward the flap of the tent.
Wood nodded his silent assent and turned his attention back to the trooper. "Eat well, Lieutenant. You'll be sitting in the saddle and back on hardtack grub soon enough," he said. "I'll be back when I can."

"Thank you, Colonel," the Lieutenant said, trying once again to raise his head in a gesture of respect for his commanding officer.

"You'll be puttin' your head down now, lad, and closing your eyes," Sister Mary Theophane warned with a stern gaze.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, surrendering to his fatigue once again.

Sister Mary followed Colonel Wood out of the tent and closed the flap behind her as she stepped out into the darkness.

"And how is Lieutenant Watkins?" Wood asked. "He's part of the 71st New York and he comes from a good, upstate New York family."

Sister Mary gently shook her head. "They all come from good families, Colonel. I'm afraid he'll not be returning to duty. His temperature has been above one hundred for three days, and the dysentery has nearly dehydrated him. Colonel, I'm afraid your young Lieutenant might not make it."

The colonel nodded, twisting the end of his waxed mustache in contemplation. "War is not all strategy, field movement, or bravery, is it, Sister?" he asked.

"I wouldn't be knowing, Colonel. What I would know is that in the seven weeks we've been here, we've lost about nineteen of your troopers to battlefield wounds, and over six hundred to the diseases these boys can't seem to withstand."

"Yes. That's what I mean," Wood said, shaking his head. "Being able to adapt seems more important than having a good battle plan. The Spaniards might simply wait us out, thinking we'll die of one malady or another," he paused and looked at Sister Mary, "or go home."

"Is that being considered, Colonel?" Sister Mary asked, her interest brightening.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Sister. We'll take the fight to them first, I'm certain."

"More wounded, then?" she said.

Wood nodded again. "It appears so, Sister."

"Soon?"

He nodded again. "Tomorrow."

"Aye," she replied, sighing. "I'll get the Sisters ready."

"Better you get some sleep beforehand, Sister," he suggested.

"I can sleep when we go home, Colonel."

Wood replaced his campaign hat and tightened the leather strap under his chin. He offered Sister Mary a crisp salute. "Thank you, Sister. Without your assistance and that of your nursing sisters, many more of these boys wouldn't make it home to wives and mothers. God bless you."

"And you, Colonel, and all those under your command."

Colonel Wood started to leave, then hesitated for a moment. "Sister, I get the impression all this is not new to you."

It was Sister Mary's turn to nod. "In the last one, Colonel. In Pennsylvania," she said, looking past him toward the glowing campfire. After a moment's silence, she shifted her gaze to look at Wood again. "The difference then, was that Americans were killing each other."

The cavalry colonel gazed for a moment at the weary nun. "Thank you, Sister," he finally said, turning and walking back toward the fire to retrieve his horse. After mounting, he turned to face Sister Mary and politely raised his fingers to the brim of his hat. He then reined his horse around and rode up the hill he had descended, the light from the campfire reflecting off his broad back.

Anders rose from his place by the fire and walked toward Sister Mary. "Anything I can do, Sister?"

Sister Mary watched the departing horseman, silhouetted by the moonlight, until he crested the hilltop and disappeared into the night shadows. She turned to look at Anders and smiled weakly. "We can expect additional patients tomorrow, Mr. Hansen. Perhaps you should alert Stitch and the orderlies to have the ambulance wagon prepared, and I'll inform the Sisters."

"I see. Seems it never ends, does it, Sister? 'A bloody waste,' as Tom Callahan would say."

"Indeed," she said, turning and walking off into the darkness toward a small hill.

"Please, Sister," Anders counseled, "don't stray too far from the campsite."

Sister Mary Theophane raised her arm, slightly waving her hand in silent acknowledgment and continuing her climb toward the crest of the hill. Reaching the top and standing in a small copse of trees, she lifted her eyes to the brightness of the stars, struggling to control her fears and emotions.

"Mother Mary, give me of thy strength as we enter this valley of darkness," Sister Mary silently prayed. "You know the agony of this moment - caring for these poor wretched souls as they come face to face with their mortality. Bless the Sisters who will comfort and aid these needy men. Bless the officers who will lead them, and provide your blessed comfort for those who are frightened. Amen," she said softly, then crossed herself and remained still in the night. The glare from the campfire down the hill reflected off the trunks of the trees around her.

Trying to sort out her thoughts and mentally prepare for the morrow, an irony occurred to her. Here she stood, as she had thirty-five years before, awaiting the dawn of July 1st. Once again she was being called upon to minister to the wounded, the terrified, and God forbid, she crossed herself again, the dying. "Gettysburg," she whispered to herself. "Oh, dear God, not again."

Chapter One continues ...