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.”

—

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

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.