by Fannie Flagg
“No. Don’t you dare. You don’t know men like I do. They want their wives to be perfect, so if you want this man, you get him first…then tell him.”
—
THE MORNING KATRINA’S LATEST letter arrived, Lordor ran to the pump, washed his hands and face, and combed his hair like he always did when he received a letter from her. He then sat down on his front porch stairs to read it. Dear God in heaven, she was coming! He jumped up and ran over to the big fire bell in the yard. Before long, everybody within five miles knew. When they heard the bell, the Knotts came over to the house with a wagonload of their homemade German beer and, as always, any excuse for Mr. Lindquist to play his fiddle was a good one in his book.
Later that afternoon, after the celebration was over, Birdie Swensen was up at the new cemetery, busy watering and pruning the four small willow trees her husband, Lars, had planted near the Swensen family plot. Still in a festive mood, Birdie began to hum a little Swedish tune as she moved from tree to tree. She had no idea that she was being observed.
April 1890
It was their day off. Katrina and Anna Lee were running across the heavy traffic on State Street, dodging in and out between the rushing horse-drawn trolleys and wagons as they whizzed by at breakneck speed. And, as usual, Katrina was terrified and was holding on to the back of Anna Lee’s jacket for dear life.
From the beginning, Katrina had been overwhelmed by the noise and the busy hustle and bustle of the city: the long, wide avenues lined with tall buildings; the smell of the stockyards; the loud rattle and bang that was Chicago. She had grown weary of the constant night and day loud clitter-clatter of wheels and the loud clip-clop of hooves galloping across the cobblestone streets. Everybody was in a hurry to get somewhere.
But her friend Anna Lee had taken to the city like a fish does to water. She loved the excitement in the air, the nightlife, the beer gardens, the hurly-burleys, dance halls, theaters, and twenty-four-hour entertainments, all the razzle-dazzle. Anna Lee had even smoked a cigarette once, and wore only the very latest style clothes.
Today, she was dragging a reluctant Katrina to a ladies’ clothing store to pick out a proper traveling outfit. “Do we have to go?” asked Katrina.
Anna Lee shouted over the noise of the street. “Yes, we do. You can’t go to Missouri looking like a parlor maid. It might not make any difference to the cows, but it will to him.” Suddenly, the driver of a trolley car coming up fast behind them clanged his bell so loudly that Katrina almost jumped out of her skin. Anna Lee just turned and blew the driver a kiss as he passed by. A lot of the men on the trolley car, who were wearing straw boater hats, leaned out of the windows and whistled at her as she lifted her skirt and showed them a tiny bit of her ankle. But that was Anna Lee.
Once inside Anna Lee’s favorite ladies’ dry goods store and after an hour of trying on clothes, Katrina was finally outfitted from head to toe in the latest fashion, including a brand-new fancy hat. And before she knew it, it was all wrapped up, and they were out the door and headed over to meet one of Anna Lee’s many boyfriends at the amusement park for a boat ride.
Although they were the exact same age, Katrina and Anna Lee were as different as night and day. Katrina was small and neat and quiet. Anna Lee was a big-busted gal with a head full of messy blond curls and red lips who loved to laugh and have fun. And, of course, Katrina adored her and would miss her terribly.
May 1890
My Dearest Miss Olsen,
We are pleased you will be staying with us. We have a nice upstairs bedroom, light and airy, with a mirror and a chest of drawers. You have my word that your privacy will be respected while you are here. My children have been instructed to never, under any circumstances, enter your room. My oldest girl has seen your photograph and does not believe that someone so pretty is coming to our home.
Miss Olsen, I hope I am not taking liberties, but I have heard that in Chicago, they are putting herrings in a tin can. If this is true and it is not too much of an inconvenience, could you please bring us one? I have enclosed one dollar to cover the cost, and I hope it is sufficient. We are inland here, and my husband and I miss our herring. But if there is no such thing as herring in a tin can, please use the dollar for a box of face powder or maybe a fashion magazine. I am looking so forward to having another lady to talk to. My closest neighbor, Mrs. Knott, is very nice, but is German and very brief in conversation.
Yours truly,
Mrs. Birdie Swensen
Three weeks later, Miss Katrina Olsen, along with all of her earthly possessions plus one tin can of herring, was sitting on a train headed down to southern Missouri. It was one thing to plan the trip, but to do it was another. After all the excitement of packing and saying goodbye, and now that she was actually on her way, the stark reality of what she was doing suddenly hit her. She wanted to get up, jump off the train, run back to Chicago, and beg for her old job back. Why had she quit? That was so foolish. Yes, she had made promises, and she desperately wanted to keep them, but this man who would be meeting the train was a complete stranger. What had she been thinking? How could she possibly do the things that Anna Lee said were expected of a wife?
And if she did run away, would Mr. Nordstrom make her pay all the money for the train ticket back? Oh, God, what had she done? And why hadn’t she written and told Mr. Nordstrom the whole truth about herself?
Now it was too late. Katrina stared out the train window at the dark gray skies and pouring rain. She had never felt so alone and desolate in her life. She took out her mother’s handkerchief and buried her face in it. She missed her mother. She missed Sweden.
The next morning, after a tear-filled and fitful night, she pulled up the shade of her compartment window and was greeted by a big, bright yellow sun. As the morning progressed, the train rattled through the farmlands and on down into Missouri. They passed fields of sunflowers, wheat, and rows of new corn as far as the eye could see.
As the day went on, the sunflowers seemed to be smiling right at her, and she found to her surprise that she was somehow cheered. She was, after all, a true farm girl. This vast open space with the golden wheat blowing in the wind, blue skies, and white puffy clouds seemed more like home to her. And later, as they passed by the small clusters of farmhouses along the way, she began to wonder about Lordor Nordstrom’s house. Would it have a real kitchen? Some land for a garden? She liked cows. Maybe he would let her keep some chickens, and if it worked out, Mrs. Knott had promised a pig. She loved little baby pigs.
By that night, Katrina was plagued with a new set of worries. What if Lordor Nordstrom didn’t like her at all and sent her back? What if she wasn’t as pretty as he had hoped or if he didn’t think she was strong enough to make a good farm wife? Now the thought of having to go back to Chicago seemed as scary as leaving had once been. She calmed herself by reading Lordor’s last two letters over and over again.
Dear Miss Olsen,
I am pleased the ticket and travel money arrived. I worry, now that plans have been made, you may be having some concern for what to expect of Missouri and me. I beg of you, please do not expect too much or you will surely be disappointed. I am just a simple farmer, and this is a simple place. I live in dread that you will find me and the life here too dull after the time you spent in Chicago. I am suddenly getting cold feet for you. But please be assured that if that does turn out to be true, you are under no obligation on my part to stay. I will respect your wishes in every way.
As for myself, I am pleased beyond belief that you will come at all. I have been reading as many books as I can and trying my best to generally improve myself before your arrival here. Please hurry. All the ladies around here are busy trying to improve me as well. By the time you get here, I may be over-improved and not much good for anything.
Your faithful servant,
Lordor Nordstrom
P.S. Don’t be surprised if those same ladies throw a square dance and box supper to try and impress you. They have been pulling m
e around the dance floor for weeks, polishing me up for that big occasion. How well I will do remains to be seen. Please let me know the exact time and date of your arrival.
Dear Miss Olsen,
I will be there to meet your train on June 16th and deliver you to the Swensen home. I will be wearing a red flower in my hat so you will not miss me on the platform. Also, I am enclosing Mrs. Henry Knott’s late mother’s wedding ring that she insists you wear on the train. She tells me that because of tinkers, hawkers, slick fancy-pants traveling salesmen, and such, it is not safe for a single lady to travel alone. I am not happy to hear that news. Try not to look too pretty, if you can help it, which I doubt. Our whole community, as Mrs. Swensen says, is “atwitter” with excitement. I am mostly numb to think that you are actually coming.
Yours truly,
Lordor Nordstrom
In his letters, Mr. Nordstrom seemed so sure of his feelings, so kind and caring. It made her feel better just to read them. What Lordor had not mentioned in his last letter was that a few days after he sent the money and the ticket, he, too, had awakened in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, thinking, “My God, what have I done?” He had been so caught up in the community’s excitement, and he had suddenly realized that he was asking this pretty young girl to give up everything and come to a place where she knew no one, and to spend the rest of her life with him. What had he been thinking? Miss Olsen lived in Chicago, a big city, with big-city people. What if she didn’t like him? What if she hated Missouri? Was she expecting his house to be bigger and grander than it was? She was not a new cow or horse he had ordered. This was a live human being with feelings. And this brave girl was taking a chance on him. He had never felt so scared in his life. Then something occurred to him. He got up and knelt down beside the bed. He was not a praying man, but that night, he prayed that he had not made a mistake. He prayed the poor girl would not be disappointed and turn around and leave.
Springfield, Missouri
When the train arrived, Katrina looked down the long railroad platform and squinted in the bright morning sun. She could see the outline of a big, tall blond man, dressed in a new black suit, with a red flower in his hat. He was flanked by two married ladies who had accompanied him to pick her up, as was the custom. “It made the first meeting easier for the bride,” they said. The truth was that Lordor was the one who needed them. He was afraid he wouldn’t recognize her, but the moment she stepped down from the train, he knew it was her. He had studied her photograph for months now, but he was still not prepared for what Katrina looked like in person.
The girl who stood waiting on the platform was small in stature and had the tiniest, most delicate feet he had ever seen. With her white porcelain complexion, pink cheeks, and blue eyes she looked just like the Swedish doll his mother had kept on top of her bedroom chest. The two ladies were so excited to see her that they rushed ahead and left Lordor standing in the dust. After they had hugged her and told her how happy they were to see her and how pretty she was, they began feeling the material on the smart stylish Chicago clothes she was wearing. They examined with delight the fancy little buttons on her leather gloves and the charming feather on her hat and acted for all the world as if she was there just for them, as their brand-new plaything.
After they had examined Katrina from head to toe, Birdie Swensen finally turned around and motioned to Lordor and said to Katrina, “Here he is, Miss Olsen, for better or worse…your betrothed!” Lordor shyly stepped up, bowed, and tipped his hat.
Mrs. Knott said impatiently, “Well, say hello, Lordor, don’t just stand there! The poor girl has come halfway around the world to see you.” But all Lordor could manage to do was tip his hat and bow again.
—
LORDOR DROVE THEM BACK HOME to the Swensen house and gave Katrina time to get settled in and rest. Doing what he had been told to do, he stayed away until the next day when, as planned, he picked up Katrina and Birdie Swensen and drove them to see his dairy farm and the house. It was a beautiful morning, and the ride over was so lovely. The rolling hills in the background were a bright summer green. As they passed by the other farms, people waved at them. When they drove up to Lordor’s house, Katrina thought she could see a side yard full of sunflowers, just like the ones she had seen from the train. And it cheered her as it had then. She took this as a good omen.
When the horses came to a full stop, Lordor cleared his throat and said, “This is the house.” From what Katrina could see, it was just as Mrs. Knott had described it: a large two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch and lovely wisteria vines growing on the side. “Oh, Mr. Nordstrom, it looks like a very nice house,” she said.
As they got down from the wagon, Lordor could hear his heart pounding. This was the moment he had dreaded and looked forward to at the same time. He was also feeling quite guilty. Right after sunup that morning, Nancy Knott had come over and had practically thrown him out of bed. Then she’d started cleaning and scrubbing the house from top to bottom. Lordor thought the house had been clean already, but evidently not. When she finished, the place was spotless. Lordor appreciated it, but he was a little concerned. “Isn’t this cheating?” he asked.
“Yah, a little,” Mrs. Knott said, laughing.
When they walked up onto the front porch, Lordor opened the door for the two ladies to enter. Inside was a long hall and a living room with a fireplace on one side and a parlor on the other. At the back of the house was a large kitchen with a beautiful shiny black wood-burning stove and a back porch. Because the rooms upstairs were all bedrooms, Lordor had been instructed to remain downstairs when Mrs. Swensen and Katrina went upstairs to see them. It was a delicate situation, and Birdie knew it. She quickly opened the door to the master bedroom to let Katrina look in for a moment, then closed it again. Even so, Katrina had blushed at the sight of the big four-poster double bed standing in the middle of the room. Then they moved on to the other rooms and back down the stairs.
Next, Lordor drove them to see his dairy farm. It was quite impressive, with two long red barns and three silos. But Katrina’s mind was still on the house. It was obviously a man’s house, rather bare with little furniture, but Katrina was already envisioning it with rugs on the floor, frilly white curtains in every window, and a pretty picture over the fireplace. She also thought the cows she had petted were very lovely, and told him so. Lordor nodded and said, “Good,” but he had yet to smile.
After all the worrying, Katrina found out that Missouri was not the Wild West depicted in the dime novels. In fact, it was so like the farmlands of home. From the moment she arrived, she’d felt safe and comfortable. From Birdie Swensen’s cooking to the soft sound of cowbells in the pastures, it was almost as if she had never left Sweden.
My Dear Momma,
I have arrived safely, and I do not want you to worry. There are no wild Indians, bears, or mountain lions here, only cows, goats, chickens, and pigs. I brought your pastry recipes with me and have already prepared several for the family here. They say they taste like home. I am hoping to make an impression on Mr. Nordstrom with your almond tart and cinnamon buns. Tell everyone hello for me.
Your loving daughter,
Katrina
P.S. Oh, Mother, there is plenty of food for everybody here. If I can save enough money, will you come?
As Lordor had warned her, that first Saturday night, there was to be a square dance and box supper social at the Lindquist barn in her honor. She was told that on these occasions, part of the evening was an auction. The women prepared a supper for two and packed it in a shoebox, on which the men could bid. The highest bidder would win both the supper and the lady as a dinner companion. The men were not supposed to know whose shoebox they were bidding on, but by Wednesday morning, every woman in town and Lordor’s best friend, Lars Swensen, had secretly clued Lordor that Katrina’s would be the one tied with a big blue ribbon.
That night, when the bidding began and the box with the large blue ribbon came up for auctio
n, all eyes turned to Lordor. Mr. Lindquist, who was holding it up in the air, called out, “Come on, boys, what do you bid for this pretty little box? It smells mighty good.”
Lordor quickly raised his hand and bid an entire quarter, prepared to win it at first bid, considering that most boxes went for a dime. But to his surprise, suddenly all the other men started bidding against him. Even little eight-year-old Willem Eggstrom with a missing tooth bid fifty cents.
Lordor didn’t know it, but they had all gotten together and decided to have a little fun with him. They were all half in love with Katrina by now, and they could hardly contain themselves as they watched him begin to sweat as he bid higher and higher, in a panic that he would be outbid.
By the time poor Lordor made his last bid, it was up to ten dollars and sixty-five cents. The minute Mr. Lindquist said, “Sold to Lordor Nordstrom,” everybody in the room burst into laughter. When Lordor realized what had happened, it was the first time Katrina saw him smile. It was a very nice smile. He seemed happy that he had won the bidding. But even so, as they walked over to the table in the corner set aside for the couple, and even all through supper, he barely spoke to her. She had tried to start a conversation. “So, Mr. Nordstrom, how do you find the weather in Missouri?”
“Fine,” he said, spooning up a large helping of her potato salad.
“Are the red Swedish cows in your pasture the ones you had sent from home?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, nodding as he took another bite of potato salad. And so it went. He never asked her anything, and she wound up having to do all the talking. Even more disappointing, he hadn’t said a word about her almond tart.
Afterward, when the dancing started, and everyone started spinning and twirling all around the floor, Katrina couldn’t help but laugh in spite of herself at the way the six-foot-two Lordor looked as he lifted his knees high up in the air in his funny stiff way.