She laughed. “Oh no, honey. They stay in rooms above the saloon. It ain’t the Biltmore, but it sure beats the other places. Although I don’t suppose they’ll get much sleep. Any night some drunken cowboy is liable to ride his horse down the main street, shooting off his pistols. You can see how the town got its name.”

I listened in amazement. I had never imagined such a place existed, and part of me was dying to see it. I was disappointed that Aidan had gone off without me. Suddenly, I realized Mayflower was talking to me.

“The men have left us girls by our lonesome. But never you mind, Delia. I intend to keep you entertained. I aim to show you everything Dallas has to offer. I can tell you it’ll be much more fun than them ole oil fields. You and me’s gonna have ourselves a ball.”

Good to her word, she called for me the next morning, and together we boarded the trolley. I asked Lily to come with us, but she shook her head, hardly looking up from the flour dough she was rolling out under Rosa’s watchful eye.

“I’m making tortillas with Rosa,” she announced.

I had no idea what tortillas were, but she seemed very content, so I didn’t press her.

The ride from Swiss Avenue to Dallas was short, and soon we were on the main street. As the trolley trundled down the middle of the street, I looked from right to left, trying to take in all the sights at once. Buildings two and three stories high lined the street, all of them displaying bold signs in large lettering indicating their wares. Furniture shops were crammed next to liquor stores and dry goods stores on one side of the street, leather goods, hat shops and saloons on the other. Horse-drawn carts were lined up along the street on both sides, men loading and unloading goods. The scene had the cheerful feeling of Donegal Town, but it had a throbbing energy beyond anything I could ever have imagined in Ireland.

“We’ll get off at the next corner,” said Mayflower.

I followed her down onto the pavement and looked around. We had reached an area where the buildings were much taller and built mostly of stone and brick. Many of them appeared to be banks, but she led me to a building with red canopies overhanging large windows and an ornate front door.

“Neiman-Marcus,” she announced proudly. “They carry the best merchandise in Dallas, shipped all the way from New York City. They put the other clothing stores to shame.”