The Spainard and The Indian

My day began like any other. I awoke, not wanting to leave the comfort of my warm bed and cool breeze blowing over my naked body. I grabbed the sheet laying across my legs and pulled it up close to my chin. I grinned, thinking of the man I love a thousand miles away. Let me begin by saying that my home is over 200 years old, 208 this year to be properly exact. My home was built by a family that was part of a group of 16 families from the Canary Islands (a part of Spain) that were given land grants from Spain for land ownership in what is now Texas and Louisiana. I have been “doing” research on the house and the history of the previous owners for about two years now. And up until today was at a stalemate with the records I could find and the stories I have been told. Basically there was about a fifty year period that could not be accounted for. No family history could be found. Then a knock at the door.

It was about 3pm in the afternoon. I was working on my second glass of Shiraz, researching the history of Geisha. I heard a car door slam outside and then the knock at the door. There was an older gentleman there with an even older woman. I opened the door with a smile. I was used to people just showing up to check out the house and figured this was one of those visits. They introduced themselves as part of the Morales family and they were having a huge family reunion across the street. Then she proceeded to say that she had some information that we didn’t know yet…. Some pieces that had fallen off the books. She invited me to come across and meet a man that would have a story for me. Always up for a good story and unbelievably intrigued, I quickly fixed my hair and threw on a Sunday party dress.

I followed the couple across the street where I found a huge stone house with several outbuildings, horse stables and a really great pond. There must have been at least 100 people partying and having a great time. I really stuck out being the only white person there… everyone was Hispanic…very Hispanic. The gentleman and the lady grabbed my hand and introduced me to everyone as the lady that owned great-great grandfathers home across the street. She then drug me over to an even older gentleman. The old fella smiled at me and with his somewhat toothless grin he began his story.

He said that his great-great-great grandfather lived in the house and that he was a huge horse rancher. One day a group of horse thieves came and stole several head of horse. Enraged, his Grandfather went in hot pursuit of the banditos. For 600 miles he followed the thieves on horse and foot. He never found them. But on his way back to the Hacienda he stopped for a drink at an Indian reservation wherein he saw the most beautiful Indian woman he had ever seen. She quite literally took his breath away. She was barely 15 and he knew he would never be able to talk her family in to him marrying her. So he stole her from the reservation in the middle of the night. She had gone down to the creek for a bath and he grabbed her, threw her over his horse and rode off in to the night.

When he arrived back to his Hacienda, his parents were enraged. They refused to allow him to marry an Indian, especially since she was not even civilized enough to speak English. He said fine, she would learn to speak English and they would allow them to marry. The parents agreed and he sent his Indian bride to be to the Ursaline academy in nearby San Antonio. For two years the young Indian woman studied and was hoping to become a nun. Then one day, the man who had stolen her, came back to claim her.

He brought her back to her home and dressed her properly. That evening at dinner he presented his bride to be to his parents and since she now spoke perfect English they had to hold up their end of the bargain. So they allowed him to marry. BUT there was one condition, they refused to allow her live in the house. So they had an outbuilding built next to the horse stables.

The old man who was telling the story pointed to an old, dilapidated building. He said, “that was her home”.

The Indian woman learned to love her new husband and they had 14 children. One of those children lived in my home. Through this love story I had found my missing historical link.

The Spainard and The Indian


San Antonio, United States

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