Poor Lordor. Going to Springfield and having his photograph made had been traumatic to say the least. He had seen his face in the looking glass when he shaved, but he’d never paid any attention to what he looked like. But now that he had seen the photograph of himself, he did nothing but stare at it and moan, “God, those ears.” Why had he let Mrs. Knott cut his hair with a bowl? He should have gone to a real barber. Nancy Knott had a limp and had walked around his head with the scissors, and the cut was uneven. He was also disappointed in his overall appearance. He had thought that by now, he would look more American, but the man in the photograph looked like a big raw-boned dumb Swede right off the boat. Even in fancy borrowed clothes, he looked like the rube farmer he was. All he needed to complete the picture was a piece of straw sticking out of his mouth. He placed the photograph of Miss Olsen on the kitchen table beside his and stared at them. No. It would never work. She was so refined, so delicate.
He had never been vain, but the stakes were so high. He’d even thought about taking some ink to try and make his ears look a little smaller. But it wouldn’t be fair, and he couldn’t cheat that sweet girl. He guessed he would have to send the picture as is, ears and all. He had put off sending the letter and photograph, even though the ladies had been after him every day to do it. Finally, they had sent Henry Knott over to his house to pick it up and mail it for him. “Sorry, Lordor, but Nancy said for me to come or she and the ladies would.”
Lordor stood on his front porch and watched Henry ride away, and he suddenly felt very sad. He was sure he would never hear from Miss Olsen again. He had tried not to get his hopes up, but in spite of himself, he had started dreaming about having someone to spoil, to work for, to come home to at night. But he knew it had been just a pipe dream. Miss Olsen would look at his picture and wonder how he’d ever had the nerve to think she would consider him for a husband.
When Lordor’s letter finally arrived, Katrina rushed out of the large dining room where she had been setting the table and ran upstairs to her room. She quickly opened it and looked at the photograph. The tall blond man was sitting in a chair in a stiff studio pose. His clear blue eyes were staring straight ahead, and he was not smiling, but she did notice that his hands looked very clean. Katrina liked that. She had come from a family of farmers with dirty hands.
Dear Miss Olsen,
Your letter and enclosed photograph has caused much excitement in our small community. To me, you look like an angel, and others who have seen your picture say you may be far too pretty for this poor dairy farmer. This may be true. However, I am sending my photograph anyway, and if by some stroke of good luck, my ugly face does not scare you off, I am enclosing some words about myself. I am not good at pleading my own case, but I have friends who have offered to speak on my behalf.
Sincerely yours, Lordor Nordstrom
Katrina read the three other letters inside.
Dear Miss Olsen,
I am writing to confirm that the photograph enclosed is of the same Lordor Nordstrom who is writing to you at present. It is recent and a true likeness. My husband and I have known Lordor Nordstrom for many years. We knew his family in Sweden. He is a good man, tried and true, and would make you a fine husband. He is shy of nature, but big of heart. Come to Missouri, and give him a chance at the happiness of home and family.
Sincerely, I am Mrs. Svar Lindquist
Miss Olsen,
Lordor Nordstrom needs a wife. His house is sturdy and has a porch with shade you will like. He is a God-fearing man and can calculate numbers very good. It is pleasant here, with lots of water and good loamy soil for growing. We have pigs. You may expect one as a wedding present. Lordor is a good eater and has all his teeth.
Mrs. H. Knott Late of Hamburg, Germany
My Dearest Miss Olsen, I am adding my name to this letter in hopes you will consider our friend Lordor Nordstrom for a husband. He has a fine dairy farm across the field from us and is a hard worker, but he is in dire need of a wife and healthy sons to help. I liked your photograph very much. I can tell that you are a lady of high quality. You look like my cousins back in Stockholm. My husband is enclosing a map of our state, so you can see where we are located.
We have a piano in our home. Do you play? If not, I can teach you. We all await your answer in excited anticipation that you will say yes. Miss Olsen, do come to Missouri and marry Lordor. I promise we will welcome you most heartily and will see that you are treated well. It is not like Sweden here. We do not let the men rule with an iron hand. We are all free American women in Missouri.
Most sincerely, Mrs. Birdie Swensen
Katrina looked at his picture again. He looked like a kind man, but very uncomfortable. What she didn’t know was that the photographer in Springfield always loaned men looking for wives a special suit of clothes to help them look more dignified and respectable. But the largest suit the man had was two sizes too small for Lordor, as was the black derby sitting on top of his head, and he had been uncomfortable. He could barely breathe.
My Dear Miss Olsen,
I was so happy to hear from you again. My neighbors say they heard my loud “Whoop!” five miles away. I do hope your sweet reply means that I have jumped the first of the many hurdles yet to come and passed. I am most relieved you did not find my looks too repellant, at least not enough to refrain from writing again.
As you can see, I am not much in the looks department, but you make it up for the both of us. I was most taken with the information you sent along about yourself and find it to be compatible in every way possible.
And yes, I will answer what you ask with pleasure. I have never been married. I have no children, and I do not smoke or drink, except on a special occasion. I am not a card gambler, but I have been known to place a wager on a game of horseshoes. No more than a quarter. I progressed to fifth grade, but not beyond, and as a result, I know all there is to know about cows, but am short on vocabulary. Luckily for me, cows have only a one-word vocabulary and don’t care much.
I, too, believe that cleanliness is next to Godliness and appreciate a clean home, but being a man, often fail in that department.
I am mostly Lutheran, but have dabbled in the Methodist church from time to time. However, in that matter, and on the subject of progressive education, I am more than willing to be led anywhere you see fit.
Your devoted servant,
Lordor Nordstrom
Lordor liked that Katrina appreciated a clean home. When he first arrived in America, he’d noticed that cleanliness was not a top priority. He had stayed overnight in a hotel in Dodge City, Kansas, and when he asked for a clean towel, the hotel clerk had been put out. “You’re the twenty-sixth man to use that towel and the first to complain.”
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OVER THE NEXT FEW weeks, whenever anyone saw Lordor, it was always the same greeting. “Has Miss Olsen made up her mind yet?”
Several more letters were exchanged. But Katrina guessed it was the last letter that caused her to make up her mind.
My Dear Miss Olsen,
I write to tell you that last year, my neighbor Lars Swensen and I ordered four big red Swedish cows from home, and they have arrived safe and sound. Everyone says they are very pretty. I am hoping you will approve of the purchase, as the farm is already half yours. All you have to do is come and claim it and the not-so-pretty farmer that goes with it.
Lordor Nordstrom