That night she told Anna Lee what she had decided, but she was a little reluctant to send the letter and say yes. There was still something about herself she had not told Lordor yet. Anna Lee had insisted that she keep it a secret. But later, as she was writing to Lordor, she asked her again.
“Anna Lee, are you absolutely sure I shouldn’t tell him?”
“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.