Wind Song by Margaret Brownley

its way up the dirt wall. "As I'm sure you'll agree, a farmer needs to know how to read and write."
    "Have you forgotten, Miss Percy, that my son cannot talk?"
    She took a deep breath. Conscious that the boy had lost interest in the small insect, she chose her words carefully. "No, I have not forgotten that. But it seems to me--"
    "I can't discuss this any further." Her host grimaced and ran his fingers through his hair. The hardness left his eyes and was replaced by a look of regret. "I didn't mean to be rude in any way. I know that you're trying to help."
    Not sure how to answer him, she accepted his apology with a quick nod. "I am trying to help and you're right, I had no business interfering."
    He held her gaze for a moment before he stood and reached for his straw hat. "Please accept my apologies for having to leave you. Matthew and I have work to do."
    Taking his cue, Matthew stuffed the last of his flapjacks into his mouth and grabbed his own straw hat.
    His father waited at the door until Matthew had scooted past him and raced outside. "Feel free to stay here until you're able to find more suitable accommodations."
    "That's most generous of you," she said. "But I couldn't impose."
    "You wouldn't be imposing. In any case, it doesn't look like you have any choice in the matter." He placed his hat on his head, pulled the brim low on his forehead, ducked his head beneath the doorjamb, and walked outside.
    Maddie wasn't certain how she felt about staying with the Tylers. She treated herself to another cup of coffee and considered every possible option. The idea of pitching her tipi near the Colton site was even less appealing than it had been when she first conceived of the idea. After crossing that prairie at night, she had no desire to pitch a tent on empty land, with no neighbors in sight.
    She wasn't even certain if staying with the Tylers was an option; her being a respectable schoolteacher and all and him being an eligible man. Not that anything could ever develop between them. He was far too serious-minded for her taste, and he probably considered her too frivolous for his.
    This probably explained why he didn't want her to get close to Matthew. He no doubt thought her a bad influence; in that regard, he wouldn't be alone. But of all the parents objecting to her unorthodox ways, Mr. Tyler's decision was the most puzzling.
    He knew very little about her, had no knowledge of her teaching abilities. So what was he judging her by? Appearances? Or was there some other reason for his objection? A reason that had nothing to do with her?
    Grateful to have the house, such as it was, to herself, she finished her coffee and washed up the breakfast dishes. It was the least she could do to show her appreciation.
    She gave the table a good scrubbing and cried out when a splinter sank into the side of her palm. Grimacing, she squeezed the sliver of wood out and wrapped her hand in a flour sack.
    By the time the bleeding stopped, the table was already covered with a fine layer of dirt that had sifted down from the ceiling.
    The table, with its uneven legs, and rough surface, was a curiosity compared to the rest of the fine-crafted furnishings. She recalled the beautiful table in the barn and wondered why it hadn't been brought in and put to use.
    She walked around the room, studying the ceiling. Lordy be, what a strange dwelling this was. She wondered what her mother would say if she knew her daughter was a guest in a house with dirt walls, a dirt floor, and one inadequate window.
    It was exceedingly hot by the time she stepped outside. She stood by the motionless windmill and scanned the surrounding area in hopes of finding shade for her tipi. Not a tree or as much as a bush grew anywhere in sight. With no hope for shade, she decided to choose her location based on other criteria.
    Safety, for one. She made a wide circle around the tiny sod house, eyeing the distance and estimating the length of time it would take to dash inside