Eagerly, Wren—who held the chalk gripped in her fist—drew out the letters to her name once more. But she didn’t answer the question.
“Good!” Wynda smiled at the lass’s tenacity. “I’ve never met such a fast learner. Ye’re smart, Wren. Which is how I ken ye ken these letters, aye?”
She spelled out the letters, touching each one, watching Wren to ensure the girl was understanding the sounds they made. Curious, Pherson craned his head around, following her finger and repeating the letters and sounds to himself, until he was certain even he could spell his daughter’s name if called upon to do so.
“Now,” Wynda said gently. “What is this letter?” She tapped again.
Wren traced the letter with her chalk.
“Nay, little one.” The scholar smiled softly. “Tell me the name of this letter, or the sound it makes. I ken ye can.”
His daughter glanced between the slate and the numbers Wynda had been noting on the vellum.
“Aye, Wren. I’d be happy to teach ye yer numbers. Just…tell me what this letter is.”
She wasn’t going to do it. His daughter was stubborn, and had seen no need to speak—
“E sounds like ehhhh,” Wren whispered.
Pherson had to grab the back of the chair to steady himself.
But Wynda didn’t seem to understand the enormity of the miracle. “Aye! Can ye say it louder?”
“E sounds like ehhhh,” the lassie repeated.
By now, Wynda was clapping. “Excellent! Again, but make the rafters ring, little one!”
“Ehhh!” It wasn’t exactly a yell, but it was…
Pherson’s jaw worked, his throat tight with emotion.
How had this woman—this strange, beautiful, brilliant woman—stepped into their lives and done what he couldn’t? How had she challenged everything he knew?
And how did he like it so much?
True to her word, Wynda immediately began teaching Wren the numbers, wiping and rewiping the slate as she corrected the shapes, and showed the lassie how to use her fingers to match the numbers.
This would be useful to know, but Pherson was too shaken to pay attention.
In a single morning, she’d offered Wren the hope for being able to one day run, had taught her to spell her name, had coaxed her into speaking a new phrase, and now was teaching her to draw her numbers.
Was there anything this woman couldn’t do?
Aye, she cannae run a hawk, cannae train a falcon to bring down supper.
Actually, now that he considered it, Pherson didn’t doubt she could learn to do just that.
And he found himself offering to teach her.
He waited until she seemed to be finished with her calculations and measurements and mutterings and began to roll up her scrolls once more. Wren was sitting cross-legged on the table amid the chaos, her wee tongue sticking between her lips as she laboriously copied out the numbers Wynda had showed her.
“Are ye through?”
He hadn’t meant to sound so gruff, and from the disappointment in her eyes, he wondered if she wanted to leave as little as he wanted her to go.
“I just meant…’tis time for me to see to the birds.”
“I understand—“