"No, I was born in New York. But they were an unfriendly bunch there, and my father decided to move westward."
"I see, did you like St. Louis?"
"Yes, pretty much."
"The only thing wrong with Texas is the weather, you can't depend on it. It can be a beautiful morning and a blue norther moves in and it turns cold. It can be dry as a bone in the summer and come a gully washer. It's something you never get used to."
She smiled and they rode on. "God handles those kinds of things."
"Wait until you see how… " he chuckled. "You ride like you've ridden a lot."
"We had a mule, I rode it to work."
"Work?"
"Yes," her tone changed, her head hung. But she held her head high. "Oh God, I wanted to avoid this more than anything."
He stared at her now. "Avoid what?"
She shook her head, a tear spilled down her cheek. "You might as well know, I'm not too proud to admit the truth. I come from a long line of Irish. And since you live out here in the wilds you probably don't even realize what that means, do you."
"So, you're Irish, what of it?"
"What of it?" she repeated dully.
"My great-grandparents were indentured slaves to a plantation owner in Virginia."
"Indentured slaves?" he repeated as though he'd never heard of such a thing.
"Yes, slaves like the black men and women here in the south."
"Are you telling me you are a slave?"
"No, but my grandparents were. And even though I don't like telling it, I'd never be ashamed of them. They worked for a fairly decent plantation owner. At their death, he released their children from slavery. But you see my folks were in a strange land, with little money and even though my grandparents were free, they had nothing to live on, nowhere to go. My father was going to go to New York and set sail back to Ireland, after working and saving the money. But in New York things were hard for the Irish. The only work he found paid little money, and they were treated badly. When my folks met and fell in love my father had become a seaman and he paid to release my mother into freedom. They married, but life was still hard. Had it not been for my mother's relatives in the old country she would have had very little, but she inherited a sum from her grandfather. Since we were poor and Irish, jobs were hard to come by in New York. My mama told me even as a wee one that we'd make out. My father continued to work at sea, but it became unbearable for my mother after a while. So, when we moved, my father gave up the sea. I scrubbed floors with my mother. That's how I started out. When she died, I kept doing it. I'd ride to different places almost every day to do the Mayor's floors. So now you know where I came from. And I probably don't stack up to the lady you were going ot marry. But I refuse to be ashamed of working. It's good for the soul."
Lance stared at her but didn't say anything. His arrogance faded into the wind.
"This happened here, in our country?"
"Yes, some still remain slaves to this day. They call them indentured slaves."
"But you're white."
"Eye, I am. But I'm an Irish white."
So now he knew he had a poor excuse for a bride.
He fell silent, as though thinking of all she'd told him.
An hour or so later, he stopped above a ridge.
She didn't know what to expect of his place, but when he pulled up on a ridge and looked down there was a big ranch house spread out over the land. A huge barn was to one side, corrals and a fenced in area surrounded the place.
"There she is." He told her.
Trudy gasped, "This is your place?"
"Yes, what do you think?"