My stomach tightened at the thought of Ireland. I’d been so busy exploring Texas that I’d hardly thought about Donegal. How different the two worlds were. I pictured Da carrying turf in a pail down the hill toward the cottage. No exotic plants grew on the rough, rocky land around Kilcross. It was hard enough to find places where sheep and cows could graze. Even in other parts of the county, between the wild gales that blew in from the Atlantic and the frequent rain—sometimes falling in buckets, sometimes fine as mist—crop farms were scarce.

I wondered then, as I hadn’t done for a long time, what Nora would have thought of Texas. I smiled to myself. She’d have liked Dallas, with its fashionable shops and swanky houses, but she would hardly have been impressed with cotton fields or pecan trees, and she’d have been tortured by the heat. Nora would never have adjusted to Texas the way I was beginning to. Had fate intervened to correct the mistake Ma had surely made by choosing Nora to work for Aidan? A tiny twinge of guilt twisted my stomach. Would it ever leave me?

I was getting restless when Manuel suddenly took a left turn and began driving east. We left the main road behind and were riding on a rutted track more suited to horses than to cars. Eventually, we reached the outskirts of a town. Shabby tin shacks appeared, thrown up haphazardly on either side of the road. Small children and dogs raced across the road, narrowly avoiding the car, while tired-looking women hung washing on makeshift lines. I could take Mayflower’s secrecy no more.

“Where on earth are we?”

“Look at the signpost over there, Miss Delia.”

“Shotgun City, Population 400” was written on a white sign hanging on a pole. Someone had crossed out the “400” and written “4,800” in a crude hand. My mouth fell open.

“But we can’t go to Shotgun City,” I said. “Aidan has forbidden it.”

Mayflower waved her hand at me. “Oh, pay him no mind.” She grinned. “Besides, Hans told me he and Aidan would be down in Beaumont today, inspecting the eastern oil field.”

Part of me was alarmed at defying Aidan’s orders, but a bigger part of me was elated. I’d finally get to see this place I’d heard so much about. Manuel pulled over the car to the side of the road at the edge of town and parked. He pointed to a small café, with the sign “Taquería” above it, indicating he was going to have lunch. Mayflower, Lily and I got out. I clutched Lily’s hand, and the three of us began to walk up the main street.

I couldn’t take in the sights fast enough, jerking my head from left to right, anxious not to miss anything. Rickety, roughly constructed, one-story wooden buildings were crammed together on either side of the street. Signs on the buildings reflected the businesses within: saloons advertising card games and low-priced beer, banks that looked legitimate and loan shops that didn’t, cafés with signs in Spanish and English. The only building made of brick was the Kearney Hotel and Saloon, which towered above the street.