Author's note: So, just to explain, this is a one-shot, but I'm thinking it might be part of a multi-chapter story written at some later, undetermined date. Regardless, it's a continuation of my longer Last of the Mohicans story, "The Wilderness," and set at some point in the early winter as the five travelers are on their way to Cantuckee. Clearly, some of the bits below are not original to me, but I thought it might be interesting to consider (and include) things Alice might have actually read and remembered.
The forest had hushed into a still, silent peace as the clouded evening sky began to dim. Among the bare and brittle trees, the birds had ceased their cries, the air quietly crystallizing around each exhalation of her breath. It was only as the first snowflakes began to fall on her shoulders that Alice began to feel a sliver of fear.
The task set before her was laughably simple: she had been sent to collect kindling while the others made camp, urged not to tarry as snow would begin falling soon. But within the loose knot of nearly identical trees she had lost her way, and without the sun to guide her, she felt as if she was somehow moving farther away from the others rather than closer. She shivered as she clutched the thin bundle of branches closer to her body.
She knew in her rational mind that she should stop and try to gain her bearings – or at least wait to be found by Uncas or Nathaniel, as shameful as that would be. But she was becoming so very cold, and continuing to move afforded her at least a little warmth. The ground was soon dusted with white, her feet leaving faint imprints along the path, only to be covered just as quickly by a new layer of snow. Against the darkening sky, she was enveloped into the chill of fluttering movement.
It was early in the season for such a storm, only a few weeks since they had passed through the edge of the frontier. Alice herself would never have been able to predict its arrival, but the three men had an almost otherworldly knowledge of such natural phenomena, and had quickly herded the party towards a canopy of trees where a makeshift shelter could be made.
Uncas had given her a nod and a small smile as she left camp, occupied as he was by cutting down and arranging tree boughs to create an overhanging cover. Over the last weeks, he had been so solicitous of her, somehow finding an extra deer hide for her shoulders if seemed cold, taking her hand and helping to steady her as they forded a stream full of slippery, moss-covered rocks. But he was not a naturally talkative man, inquiring after her level of hunger or thirst or offering general remarks about the terrain, but little else. They had shared little intimacy – of any kind – since the night by the waterfall, and Alice for her part did not know what to do. She had not been schooled in approaching men, nor would it have been considered proper in any regard, and she still did not know how to make sense of the feelings he engendered in her. Kissing him had been a revelation: even thinking back to it, as she did rather frequently, brought warmth to her cheeks and a tightening sensation in her belly. A not-small part of her wished that he would try to kiss her again, but there were so few occasions in which they were alone, and he had made no approach, no declaration. Nor, if she were being truly honest with herself, did she understand why he had chosen her as the object of his attentions. To a man such as him, she seemed to offer little of value; in this place, what was her skill on the clavichord, her knowledge of the steps of the allemande? Soon enough, she reasoned, they would be around others like him, and it was entirely possible he would come across someone he found more suitable, someone his father would more easily approve of.
Her limbs stiffened as the cold seeped into layers of fur and deer hide, deep into skin and bone. She could not tell how far she had walked, or for how long, only that she began to lose sight of her path, and her body was beginning to shake. She stumbled a little, and tried to fight against the lightness of her head.
She had to stop. She had to sit down. Slumping against the nearest tree at least seemed to make the world more stable, and she blinked several times against the snowflakes that had settled against her eyelashes. Her eyes were so heavy. Perhaps, she thought, shutting them altogether would be best.
It was strange how she was no longer shivering. The cold seemed to have mostly vanished, but her mind began to drift, spinning into a wild kaleidoscope of sense and memory, chance thoughts following one after the other, blurring the lines between reality and worlds of her own imagination–
The light pressure of Uncas's hands upon her waist, her cheek against the fullness of his lips and the warmth escaping with his breath–
License my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned
My mine of precious stones, my empery,
How blest I am in discovering thee!–
"How I fear for you, my dear Alice, in that uncivilized place!" Her cousin's voice is all nasal exaltations, as if a goose has escaped into the drawing room. "How my uncle can think it a proper destination for a young lady of your position is beyond my conception. Mark me: you'll be taken captive by some savage the moment you step onto shore!"–
She has been caught again late at night in her father's library. Curled up with stockinged feet in one of his leather armchairs, only a single candle illuminating the lines of the gilt-edged book before her. Each one of her governesses will find her here, on nights she can't sleep, on nights when she misses him so much she can only think to get closer to the things he loved. This is where she remembers him, and forgets herself–
I am cast upon a horrible desert island, void of all hope of Recovery. I am singl'd out and separated, as it were, from all the World to be miserable. I am divided from Mankind, a Solitaire, one banish'd from humane Society–
The men have painted themselves. They have shaved most of their hair off, leaving tufts like wild animals. Women are screaming and the soldiers are yelling, and the horse carrying Alice is skittishly dancing for fear of the musket fire and flashes of powder that fall upon the panicked mass from both sides of the open glen. She wants so much to feel safe, but she is paralyzed. She clings to Cora, looking desperately for her father, for Duncan, for the three men who brought her to the fort, and seeing none. A young soldier falls to the earth, red blossoming against the white stock of his collar, his eyes staring up at nothing–
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea change
Into something rich and strange–
She is sitting in a wooded glade, feet tucked under herself, as they all briefly rest after the morning's travelling. Alice is gazing off into nothing, her mind blissfully unencumbered, if only for a moment. Against the gold and green of the wood alights a tiny bird, its body red as an officer's coat, a face black like polished boots. It seems to stare at Alice with small, bright eyes, its head turning this way, then that, as he flits along the branch closest to her. Whoit, whoit, whoit, he sings to her. And with a heartbeat's rush of wing, he is gone–
But to be sure, I must own to you, that I shall never be able to think of any body in the World but him!– Presumption, you will say; and so it is: But Love is not a voluntier Thing:–Love, did I say!–But come, I hope not!–At least it is not, I hope, gone so far, as to make me very uneasy; for I know not how it came, nor when it began; but creep, creep it has, like a Thief upon me; and before I knew what the Matter was, it look'd like Love–
She has returned to the rocky promontory, once again watching as Uncas challenges the Huron captain. The Huron strikes fast with his blade, yet Uncas finds the strength to attack and, entwined, they hurtle towards the edge of the rocks. But now the Huron rises, bringing his knife down upon the younger man's body. Alice can only watch in horror as he attacks again, piercing Uncas's side, and then brings the knife up against his throat. She cannot watch – she cannot breathe – as his blood is spilled upon the rocks, as his body is thrust into the open air and plummets away, as if he had never been. The Huron captain turns to her, his face free of any emotion, not understanding what he has taken. But it is her heart there, among the rocks, pulled from her just as if he had carved it from her own chest. He extends his bloodied hand to her, but this is nothing; she is far beyond him, her soft gaze fading across the open valley, her eyes searching below for the young man who had come to find her. She slowly turns her body towards the edge. Now she will follow. She will find him–
Alice did not remember when he finally came across her snow-covered form. She did not remember being lifted and tucked against the young man's chest, nor did she see the fierce and determined look in his eyes as he made his way back to camp and moved her into the covered shelter. She woke later to the warmth of a fire on her cheeks, her body enveloped in deer hide blankets that served as the only barrier between herself and the young man who sat behind her, his arms and legs encircling hers. She looked back to see that he had fallen asleep, his head eased against a roughened tree trunk. He was solid and warm, so very alive. And so was she.
Across the camp fire, Alice could see Cora and Nathaniel huddled together, Chingachgook likewise curled up against the harshness of the cold. She felt the pull of sleep, heavy and soft, like a blanket being wrapped around her.
The fire had died down by the time her eyes opened again, making the forms of her companions much less visible, if almost impossible to see at all. None of them stirred, all three having clearly succumbed to the exhaustions of the day.
Alice blinked her eyes free of sleep, and realized that Uncas was awake as well, a line of watchfulness now written into his body.
"You found me," she whispered, knowing he could hear her. He did not answer, but merely nodded, the movement small against the side of her head. "How?"
He shrugged a little. "I followed you."
Now that she was safe, she had the luxury of feeling embarrassed. In this place, she now understood, being a lady in distress held no romance, only danger, and the prospect of a tragedy.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to lose my way. I don't mean for you to always come..."
He hushed her apologies with a small sound. "But I will always come."
She let the words settle down around her, understanding the immensity of what he was saying, no light-hearted child's promise, but as clear a declaration as he might ever give her. And his word, she now knew, would hold fast, as strong and solid as the earth beneath them. It would not be possible to return such a gift in kind – even still, she could not quite give full shape to her sentiments – but she could at least offer him truth, a small part of herself.
"When I was… out there, I saw something."
He made another brief sound, indicating she should continue.
"I watched you die."
"You had a vision?"
"No, I… I don't know." She was at a loss as how to explain what she had seen. Perhaps it was enough simply to speak of it to him. "But I watched the Huron… I watched you fight him, and then he killed you. He pushed you over the edge of the rocks."
He made no reply, just a noise of acknowledgement.
"And then I jumped." At this, she felt his body tense slightly around her.
"You jumped," he repeated. "Alice, why would you jump?"
"I… I'm not sure…" She waited, long enough to take a hushed breath, her heart fast against her ribs. "I wanted to be with you. Wherever you had gone." At this moment, she was glad she could not see his face.
"Well, I am here now. And you are with me."
"I am. We are." She settled back into him, turning her body so that her warm, pink cheek lay against his chest. The darkness beyond the fire was total, as if the known world had simply ceased to exist.
Still, a part of her did not understand. In some world, in some lifetime, she had jumped, following this young man, who had protected her and saved her, but who she did not truly know. Her earlier question still remained – why her? – and she longed to dispel the fog of her own uncertainties. Furthermore, who knew when she would be granted another opportunity such as this?
She knew it was the cover of darkness that finally made her bold. "Uncas… I… You and I… we are so different. How… how is it that I am something to you?"
Waiting for his answer, she held her breath. She could feel the muscles of his chest tighten.
"I knew… It was soon after we first found you, on the way to the fort. You were so frightened after the Huron attacked, but as we took you past the river, by the little falls, you stopped, you looked."
"I looked?"
"Your sister… the major, they kept on, but you looked. You saw what was around you."
She turned upwards towards him, raising her gaze to meet his. "You saw me? You were watching me?" He did not respond, but only nodded, the light in his eyes a small reflection of the flames beyond.
Alice did not understand why it moved her so much to hear him say these things, to know that he had seen her, in such an unguarded moment, seen her in a way no one else ever had. He understood her, had witnessed her terror and fear, her stubbornness and curiosity, her capacity for wonder. Her whole life, she had donned roles as easily as a new petticoat or a set of stays: modest young lady, dutiful daughter, virtuous and unassuming, pliant, yet unyielding. This was her armor, this was what she had presented to the world. But what if she were not these things? What if the rules, the conventions that had bound her for so long, what if they were nothing in this wide, untamed place?
She was now acutely aware of how close they were, how he encircled her, his hands cupped around her shoulder and waist. She could feel the quiet roar of her own heartbeat within her blood, hear the quick inhalation of his breath as she moved to clasp her hands around his neck. Pulling him towards her, catching him off-guard, she sought his mouth with hers, sought to quench the fire that was coursing through her. But as he was the kindling, so he was the wind that fed the flames. He coiled his arms more tightly around her, meeting the demands of her lips with his own. But how could he contain her? She was liquid, she was air, she was warmth and heat, she was longing and need, existing only in this single moment. Alice curled her fingers into the thick of his long hair and drew him down towards her.
She laid aside modesty; she laid aside duty. And in his eyes, she saw herself.