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 auction, 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.
But as more days went by, Katrina realized that something was not quite right. Lordor was perfectly nice and polite, but nothing else. She confided to Birdie Swensen that she was concerned. Birdie told her not to worry, that Lordor was just shy, but Katrina sensed that it was more than that. When they were out together, he seemed to just be going through the motions of courting. She had been there almost three weeks now and not once had he mentioned the word “marriage.” At this point, she didn’t know if she was going to be sent back to Chicago or asked to stay. And now, more than ever, she did not want to leave.
It hadn’t been the pretty house or the dairy farm or how he had bowed and tipped his hat or the funny way he danced that made her want to stay. It was something else, something totally unexpected.
She had fallen in love with Lordor Nordstrom on that very first day at the train station. After he had collected and loaded all her baggage, and when he reached for her elbow to help her into the wagon, she could feel that his hands were trembling. It touched her so, it almost broke her heart. There was something so sweet and endearing about this big, strong man caring so much.
But now she’d begun to suspect he did not feel the same way about her. He was not the same man who had written her such wonderful letters. This man hardly ever said a word. And the more she talked, the more silent he became.
One afternoon, when they were out for their afternoon ride in his wagon, she finally gathered up all her courage to ask him, even though she was afraid of the answer. “Mr. Nordstrom, have I done something wrong? Are you not pleased with me?”
Lordor’s big blue eyes flew open. “Not pleased?” He pulled back on the reins and called out, “Whoa!” And when the wagon came to a full stop, he turned to her. “Miss Olsen, I am most pleased. Why do you not think it?”
“You don’t talk to me. When we are together, you barely say a word. I never know what you’re thinking, and it scares me.”