In Search Of Love: The Story of A Mail Order Bride (Mail Order Bride Series) (3 page)

In spite
of the second thoughts she had about the wisdom of what she was doing, Katerina posted her letter to #1892.  After describing herself, and trying to keep it light, she told of her interest in geography and mathematics
.  I hope this is not too heavy.  I’ve heard men don’t like their women to be smarter.  That’s too bad.  If he’s that way, then I wouldn’t be interested anyway.
  She finished the letter by telling of her desire to correspond.  On her way to work the next morning, she put the letter in the mail.

* * *

Patrick reread the letter… five or six times, then sat down to compose an answer.  Trying to be as open as possible about himself, he began…

Dear #1968,

As the ad said, I am twenty-five years of age and am homesteading a farm in the brand new state of Oregon.  I am the youngest of five children, with two sisters and two brothers.  My family lives on a large farm nearby.  My father came to America as a very small boy and was brought up in a culture where the oldest son inherits
the family resources. 

It is for this reason, I moved away from home and homesteaded my own claim.  At the time I filed, you were awarded 640 acres.  It has since been lowered to 160 acres.  All I had to do to get clear title is live on the land for five years and prove it up.  Proving up means you make improvements to show your intent to make it your permanent home.  I have done that and the land is now mine.  My farm is too small to raise cattle, but is a nice size for farming.  My crops are wheat and strawberries.

With the help of my brothers, Papa and my neighbors, we built a log cabin, and a barn.  Since you are a teacher, I suppose you come from a nice home.  I also come from a nice home, but where I live now is basic.  It is a shelter.  I have two horses and a cow.  I need to get fencing to protect the crops.  I would like to make more improvements, but unfortunately, there was a plague of grasshoppers last year and I lost my entire crop of wheat.  I had an entire years work with nothing to show for it.  I am hopeful the good Lord will keep the grasshoppers away.  I have to make it on my own.  I have to.

I completed school at the Catholic school in the town closest to us.  Did I mention I am Catholic?  I thought I had better get that in the open.  As my ad says, I am poor, but I am honest.  In my letters, you will find nothing but the truth.

I apologize for the rambling nature of this letter, but I have no experience in letter writing.  This is the very first one I’ve written.  Hopeful for a reply, I am sincerely, #1892.  The letter was mailed the next day.

* * *

The mail brought a reply from #1892.  Reading the letter, Katerina thought,
This is a fine man.  He is not afraid to work.  To go off on his own took courage.  He seems to have a strong feeling for his family.  Catholic?  He’s Catholic.  Mama would be shocked.  I’ve never even spoken to one of the Catholic faith before.  It isn’t that much different from our Lutheran church.  The Catholic.  Even though the Lord sent a Biblical plague of grasshoppers he did not give up.  A strong man, this one.  I want to hear more from him.

She replied, “Dear 1892, I am in receipt of your letter.  I was most pleased to find you wished further correspondence.  I am the only child of a shoemaker and live in Ohio.  I am a mathematics teacher in the public schools in our town, and I especially enjoy geography.  I sew and have learned to cook from my mother.  There are limited prospects in our town due to the recent war and since they closed the Army camp, business hasn’t been too good.  I would be pleased to hear what you do and the area in which you live.  Sincerely, I am #1968.”

* * *

In Oregon City, the general store was also  the post office.  Patrick usually received his mail when he went to town for supplies.  On a Tuesday, his mail included the second letter from #1968.  He read the letter, then put it inside his shirt to be reread later.

After feeding and caring for his livestock, he drew some fresh water from the well, and heated a pot of beans and bacon for his dinner.  As he reread the letter, he thought
, She’s used to a nice home, and having people around.  I wonder if she could adjust to the conditions here?  I wonder why she went this direction for a husband? I would like to know about her, where she lives, her family and friends.  I’m going to release my name and address.  Since we have the railroad now, we could cut a week off the time for mail to be delivered.
  It was getting late and he started early in the mornings so he decided to wait until the next day to answer the letter.

“Dear #1968, My name is Patrick Murphy.  I am the youngest of five children, with two brothers and two sisters.  My family has a farm about two miles away.  Both sisters and one of my brothers are married, farmers all.  I was born in Greenfield, Indiana and we traveled the Oregon Trail when I was five.  I’m sure it was a difficult trip but don’t remember much of it, other than it was long.  I rode in the wagon most of the time because of my age, but the rest of the family walked most of the way.  My farm is in the Willamette Valley, on the east side of the Willamette River.

I went to the public schools in Oregon City until the Sisters of Saint Marys allowed boys to enroll.  I finished there, I have a good education.  It doesn’t seem to do me much good as a farmer.  The country side is heavily forested and the river is used to power sawmills.  I look forward to receiving your next letter.  Sincerely, Patrick Murphy.”

* * *

Katerina took the letter from Patrick to her room so that she could read it in private.  The first thing she noticed was it had been opened.  Her mother was the only one who could have opened it.  She went looking for her mother and found her in the kitchen.  “Mama, you opened my letter.”

There was no denial from her mother.  Instead, she asked Katerina, “What are you doing corresponding with an Irish Catholic?” 

“Who I correspond with is none of your business.  I am an adult and you are not supposed to open my mail.  It is against the federal law to do so.  If you open, or destroy my mail once more, I will report you to the government for interfering with the delivery of the mail.”  It was an idle threat, but her mother had a deep fear of the federal authorities dating back to her life in Germany, prior to their immigration to America.  Katerina felt a tinge of guilt for threatening her mother, but she felt a need to stop the invasion of her privacy.  She had promised her Papa she wouldn’t move to her friend’s after the previous argument.  She also decided not to tell her Papa about this last argument.

* * *

Calmed down after the confrontation with her mother, Katerina sat by the window, watching the wagons and carriages roll past the shoe shop.  She read the letter, pleased to see she now had a name for #1892. 
Patrick Murphy has such a solid sound to it.  I wonder what he looks like?  I’ll bet he’s handsome.  He’s traveled halfway across the country and I’ve never been out of Columbus.  I’m glad he’s educated. 
She ended her reverie and began writing.

“Dear Patrick, How pleased I was to learn your name and where you live.  My name is Katerina Hauser.  As you can tell, I have a German heritage.  My father and his family came from Germany in 1848 after the uprising started in their area. He is a shoemaker and we live above the shop in Columbus, Ohio. 

“I shall get the atlas and see if I can find Oregon City.  Is the countryside beautiful?  What does it look like?  I’ve never even seen a mountain.  Do you have a view of the mountains?  I’m so anxious to look at an atlas.

“I think I told you my hair is blonde and my eyes are blue.  What color is your hair?  Your eyes?  I have so many questions and so little knowledge about the west.

“I have a good class of eighteen students this term.  They are so refreshing and so eager to learn, it inspires me to work harder.  I really enjoy teaching.

“I can hardly wait for your next letter.  Sincerely, Katerina Hauser.” 
Since we don’t have to go through the paper anymore, maybe we can speed this exchange up some…

Katerina
Hauser… What a nice name.  It is different from any I’ve heard.  It's probably the German version for Katherine or Kathleen.  I like it.  She mentions her Papa but never says anything about her mother.  Wonder why?  Now that I think about it, I’ve never mentioned my mother in my letters.  Just that they are farmers.  I’m going to change that.  Lord knows, they’re important to me.
  Patrick sat reflecting on his past letters and what he said in return. 
Maybe she’s just hesitant to get too personal in a letter.

“Dear Katerina, At last, another letter.  I realize things are quicker now that we have each other’s address, but the time seems to stand still for me between your letters.

I believe I mentioned that my family lives on the next farm over.  Papa comes from a long line of farmers back in Ireland.  In 1848, there was a serious problem with the potato crop caused by potato blight  It devastated the crops for several years and was horrible for poor people, who depended on the potato for a living as well as their own food,  Papa tells of people starving.  During the third year, my Papa, Michael, and Mother, Margaret, could take it no longer.  They didn’t have much, but their friends and relatives scraped together enough for passage to America.  After a tornado wiped out the crop, our house and all the buildings.  Papa decided it was time to get away from areas where tornados were an annual event, and the rest you know.  We’re all farmers and have the typical Irish love for the land, so farming is what we do.  My oldest brother lives on  the farm he will inherit some day.  My other brother lives close by, homesteading the same as me.  Both my youngest sisters live at home.

There are no ladies my age around that I know of, so I live alone.  We’re a close family, so we get together frequently.  Since I’m the baby of the family, I get all of the teasing, but it’s done in a good way.  I guess I give as well as I get, so I have no complaint.  At least, when we get together, I get something to eat besides beans, the main staple of my diet.  Once in a while, when I go to Oregon City for supplies, I’ll treat myself to a meal in the café there, but Mama’s cooking is way better.

I’ve just about run out if things to say, but I would like to hear more about you and your family.  Until then, I am, Sincerely Yours, Patrick Murphy.”  There, I’ll get this in the mail tomorrow and bury myself in work so the time until an answer passes more quickly.

Two more letters passed each direction.  In the sixth letter, Patrick said, “Katerina, after reading each of your letters, multiple times, I feel as if I know you already.  I would like to propose we meet.  I’ve talked with both my mother and Papa about it and both said, “Go for it.”  So here I am, hat in hand, and asking that you consider meeting.  What do you think?”

The request was not unexpected.  However, it put her on the horns of a dilemma,  She had not spoken to either her father or mother about it.  It was an awfully big step.  To consider leaving a job she loved, her Papa, whom she adored and her Mama whom she loved but could barely tolerate her intrusive ways, was an enormous decision for her.

It was time,  “Papa, could I talk to you about something important?” she asked.

He turned away from the last, and said, “Of course, Liebchen.  I always have time for you.  What’s troubling you.”

“I promised I wouldn’t leave, but, I’ve been corresponding with a young man.  He wants us to meet.”

“I’m not surprised.  It’s time you had a man in your life.  Is this someone you met at school?” he asked.

“No, I’ve never met him.  He put an advertisement in a newspaper and I answered the ad.  He was looking for a wife.  Papa, he lives in Oregon, and is a farmer,” she said, in a rush.  “Would you read the letters?  I have six.  It might give you an idea about him.”

“Does your Mama know about this?” he asked, and took the letters.

“No, I don’t think so.  She’s been in my room going through my things and she found the paper, but I don’t think she’s seen any except the first letter.  I think I have them well hidden now.  I told her if she went through my mail again, I would have her arrested for interfering with the US Mail.”

“Can you do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  I was just trying to frighten her.  I would never do such a thing anyway.  What do you think about our meeting?” she asked.

“How would such a meeting take place?”

“As I understand it,” she said, “and in all I’ve read, the lady travels to the man’s town and they meet.  If everything is okay, and they both agree, they get married.”

“Married?  My little girl married to a stranger?  That is a big decision.  In the old country, parents would arrange a marriage, but usually the couple knew each other.  How are you going to answer?”

“I haven’t totally decided yet, but I’m thinking about agreeing to meet, but I would not marry until I was sure about him.  School will be over in another month.  I could go then without leaving the children.”

“I’ll read the letters and then we’ll talk more about this.  Is that agreeable to you?” he asked.

“Yes, Papa, that is exactly what I hoped you would do,” she said.

The next afternoon…

“He seems to be a really nice man.  If what he says is true, then he is a hard worker, and he has a strong loving family.  Unfortunately, you have no way of knowing he is what he says he is.  For a young woman, especially a beautiful young woman such as yourself, inexperienced in the ways of the world, such an undertaking on your part would be extremely dangerous.  Traveling unaccompanied all of the way to Oregon, would in my opinion, be risking your life.  I don’t suppose it would be likely he could come here?  Why should it be the young lady taking that big a risk?”

“Why don’t I ask him, Papa?” she asked.

“Good idea,
” he said. “I have a feeling it will not be agreeable to him.  If he is as poor as he says, then the cost of him coming here would be beyond his means.  It would mean a ticket both ways for him and one way for you.  I have a little savings hidden from your mother.  I could pay your fare if he would agree.  I also have the feeling if you travel to Oregon, either way, I would never see you again and that would break my heart.”

“I will write and ask him. I would be frightened to undertake such a journey. If he doesn’t understand, then he isn’t the man I make him out to be,” she said.

She sat by the window and collected her thoughts and began to write…