Like all of you here, Last of the Mohicans affected me in a way that few movies ever have. I've been wanting to do justice to Alice and Uncas' story for a long time, and finally I got my ideas together enough to do it for this year's NaNoWriMo. I don't know if I'll get to 50,000 words, but it will certainly be an adventure in trying!
The band Anathallo's album Canopy Glow is a continual source of inspiration for me as I write this fic (hence the title!) and has sort of become my mental score for Alice and Uncas' developing love. As a result, lyrics from its songs will appear often.
Any of the dialogue taken from the film was taken with much gratitude, I certainly don't own anything of Michael Mann's, or any of Anathallo's beautiful songs.
Enjoy!
She wasn't spying, she told herself.
It was one of those rare, perfect summer days that benevolently offered up a cool, whispery breeze as a reprieve from the oppressive heat-an omnipresent feature of summer in the Colonies, as Alice Munro had come to find out. Large, fluffy clouds floated languidly across the clear blue sky, and birds perched on the fruited boughs of the courtyard trees sang a lilting call-and-response to their fellows. It was like a scene from a novel, Alice noted, as she gazed intently out of the large parlor window, studying the two figures seated at the small table set up by the servants not a half an hour before.
She and Cora had arrived at the Rensslaerswyck Manor about a week earlier; the sprawling, lavishly decorated estate left over from the days of the Dutch occupation. They were to stay there, their father's letter instructed, until he organized a battalion to escort them to Fort William Henry, the outpost where he was stationed. The current patroon was a young Dutchman by the name of Jan Baptist van Rensslaer; a surly, taciturn acquaintance of Colonel Munro's who spoke in heavily accented English and avoided interacting with either Cora or Alice at all costs. His new wife, who Alice thought was about her age, had only recently emigrated from Holland and spoke no English at all. Alice was fighting a bothersome summer cold-probably a result of the close quarters on the ship to Boston-and was obediently heeding her sister's instructions not to overexert herself. Sewing could only occupy her for so long, and Alice was too timid to request to play the handsome clavichord a few feet away from where she sat, even if she knew whom to ask. So it was only natural that she would look casually out of the window, and a pure coincidence to find her elder sister and their childhood friend Major Duncan Heyward engaged in intimate conversation.
Even from her relatively far vantage point, Alice could tell that Cora was uncomfortable: she sat ramrod straight in her chair, her chin thrust up. She was talking at length; Duncan's shoulders were hunched and his head ever so slightly bowed, bobbing up and down as he responded to her. Without having to see their expressions—Cora's stiff, though polite gaze and Duncan's barely-hidden crestfallen stare—Alice knew that Cora had rejected Duncan's proposal.
This didn't come as a surprise to Alice, or anyone, for that matter—Duncan's courtship of her older sister was the talk of London society, with him being an especially eligible bachelor who was not only from a quite old family of lesser but nonetheless influential nobility, but had also proven his military prowess on the battlefields of Europe. His ardent pursuit of Cora's hand was a minor breach of the unspoken code of conduct that dictated almost every detail of their lives: Alice and Cora's father, though wealthy and well-connected, was most definitely a product of the British military meritocracy, with his humble Scottish origins a sort of open secret amongst the elite.
"If she only knew how lucky she was!" Cousin Eugenie had stage-whispered, leaning towards Alice conspiratorially. She and her husband had come to see the sisters off on their voyage to Boston, and had seized upon Alice the moment Cora was out of earshot. "What any decent young lady in London wouldn't do to have Duncan Heyward's eyes only for her!"
Alice said nothing, fiddling nervously with the ruffled sleeves of her gown.
"She won't have the luxury to be choosy much longer." Eugenie continued snidely, quite unfazed by what she considered to be her youngest cousin's usual reticence. "Twenty and not yet married! I would be ashamed."
Alice couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as she watched Cora and Duncan's silent dance of propriety versus emotion, all gestures and grimaces. Duncan was an upstanding man—handsome, intelligent, noble. She knew how he adored Cora; how he would treat her with the utmost respect and courtesy, shower her with gifts, carry her miniature in his waistcoat pocket when he lead his regiment into battle...
A harried-looking servant who had dropped a couple of clothespins while passing through the parlor shook Alice out of her reverie. Curtseying and muttering a shaky apology, she gathered the clothespins into her apron, quickly removing herself from Alice's sight. It was only when she glanced out the window again and saw the girl pinning up more clean linens to dry in the bright August sunshine that Alice decided that she had had quite enough of the stuffy sitting room. After making a quick stop in her and Cora's shared room to fetch her favorite straw sunhat and fasten it securely over her cap, Alice stepped through the large glass-paneled door in the dining room into the early afternoon sunshine. She paused in the threshold of the open door and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of fresh air and luxuriating in the breeze on her face and neck before making her way towards her sister and the very bemused Major.
"Duncan!" Alice exclaimed with more confidence than she felt. Duncan's eyes widened in surprise, and he stood to greet her.
"My God, you've grown up!" Alice's expression darkened a bit as Duncan reached for her two hands with an expression of brotherly fondness. Cora raised an eyebrow—though she was quite relieved at her sister's convenient appearance despite her frequent admonitions for Alice to rest, her younger sister's deviation from her usual reserved nature did not go unnoticed.
"We leave in the morning?" Alice asked brightly, regaining her composure.
"Yes miss." Duncan replied, letting go of one of Alice's hands and leading her towards the small table.
"I shan't sleep tonight. What an adventure! Have you seen the red men?"
"A few." Duncan answered after a pause, with an indulgent grin.
"I simply cannot wait to return to Portman Square, having been to the wilderness. It's so exciting, Duncan!"
It was the only part of the two-day long horseback trip that Alice had been looking forward to. Alice had been transfixed by the wild beauty of the forests of Massachusetts and western New York as they traversed them during the long coach ride from Boston to Albany—the tall, imposing trees; the seemingly impenetrable thickets of underbrush; but most strikingly, the ethereal glow of the setting sun through the canopy of leaves. She had never seen anything like it. Alice wanted to know everything about the race of men that lived amid such untamed splendor. There was so much she wanted to understand.
"It can be dangerous." Duncan reminded her with a smile still in his eyes.
"Nonsense." Alice replied airily, trying to imitate her sister's famous dismissive tone. "Papa wouldn't have sent for us if it were dangerous."
"What were you and Duncan talking about in the garden?"
Alice and Cora were in the middle of the nightly routine they had practiced since they were little girls—both in their nightdresses, Alice was seated in front of Cora at the decorative inlaid wood vanity in their room at the Rensslaerswyck Manor, while Cora stood behind her, brushing her younger sister's long white-blonde hair with slow, even strokes. Alice was more attached to this ritual that she cared to admit: she loved the methodical feel of the brush through her hair, the comforting lightness of her sister's fingertips on her head. When they were younger, this was the time that they would share secrets, giggling about their governess' funny accent or Cora's near-perfect imitation of Cousin Eugenie's high-pitched, sycophantic laugh. Lately, however, Cora had seemed distant, lost in thoughts that she didn't care to share with her sister. There was a long pause after Alice's question.
"He proposed." Cora replied tersely. Alice could see Cora studying her with a furrowed brow through the mirror—she was trying to decide whether Alice was feigning ignorance or simply charmingly naïve. She probably assumed the latter, Alice thought ruefully.
"What did you say?" Alice asked dumbly after another uncomfortable pause.
"I said I'd consider it."
"I think you should marry him." Alice declared suddenly, a little too loudly, wanting to avoid another lull. Cora remained silent. "He's quite handsome. And brave. And smart!" Alice continued, "And he's not old and barmy like Margaret Chilton's new husband." A small smile formed on Cora's lips as she gently teased a snag out of Alice's hair.
"Well, I should have known. You certainly were…animated in your conversation with him this afternoon. I don't think I've ever seen you speak so much." Alice turned bright scarlet, and averted her eyes from her sister's gaze, instead focusing intently on the patterns in the wood of the vanity. Cora's playful countenance didn't last long, however, and she sighed heavily as she smoothed Alice's hair down lightly with her hands, the custom ending to their routine. "Duncan is a good man, and a dear friend. " Cora began as the two sisters left their places at the vanity and climbed into the double bed. "It's just…"
"What?" Alice rolled over to face Cora, propping her head up on her hand, genuinely curious. A cough suddenly wracked her body, and Cora put a maternal hand on Alice's forehead, a worried expression on her face.
"Hmm, no fever." Cora took a deep breath. "Oh, Alice, there's just so much you don't understand. Come now," she started again, all business, "We have a big day tomorrow, and you're not quite well. We must to bed. Good night, Alice, darling." Cora kissed her younger sister on the forehead and blew out the single candle they had been using for light.
Alice lay awake long after Cora's breathing had become slow and even, at first silently seething. But as the hours slipped by, righteous anger turned to restless frustration, and Alice tossed and turned, troubled by something large and pervasive that she couldn't quite identify.