My hunger had made me forget my manners. But no one seemed to have noticed. The men rose, gave a little bow and shuffled away. Maria busied herself washing dishes. I picked up the mug of coffee she had set down. It was boiling, and I almost blistered my lips. It was so strong, I slammed the mug back down on the table. I had become accustomed to coffee instead of tea since arriving in America, but I had never tasted anything like this.

Mayflower laughed again. “Out here on the ranch we like our coffee strong and our men stronger, darlin’. You’ll get used to it.”

That wasn’t likely, I thought. I picked up the mug and went outside, thinking I would dispose of the coffee under a bush. But I tried another sip and decided I could get used to it after all. I was in Texas now and needed to adapt to their ways.

I walked farther away from the house and stood leaning on a fence rail watching cattle grazing in a distant field. From my vantage point, they looked like the longhorns I had seen over in Fort Worth when I first arrived in Texas. How long ago that seemed. A stiff breeze came up and blew away the tears that were beginning to roll down my cheeks. I shook my head hard. There was no point crying over spilled milk. The damage was done, and now I had to face my future. I breathed in the fresh air. I had learned by now that early Texas summer mornings were the most pleasant time of the day. I inhaled the sweet smells of hay and dry grass, and again I thought of home. But instead of making me homesick, I found comfort in the smells. I watched the ranch hands mount their horses, their boots and spurs thrust into the stirrups, and their large hats, which I had learned were called “cowboy” hats, pulled down low, shading their faces.

When they rode out of sight, again I was aware of the wide-open space that was Texas, where the land stretched all the way to the horizon, as if it were the end of the earth. How different this place was from Ireland! Here there was room to breathe. The lives of people here were not confined by hundreds of years of tradition, by the fear of Hell instilled by powerful priests, by the ridicule of neighbors, nor by rigid rules of morality. This place was big enough to welcome risk-takers and rule breakers, dreamers and sinners and independent souls with their own moral code. Like the immigrants on the Titanic, people came to Texas looking for a better life—for freedom, adventure, wealth, peace and happiness—and unlike those wretched souls drowned on the Titanic, most appeared to have found it.