Chapter 20

"How we rise when we're born

like ravens in the corn

on their wings, on our knees

crawling careless from the sea."

-Samuel Ervin Beam-

The afternoon was growing dusky by the time Nathaniel and Chingachgook neared home, and it had begun to snow lightly. They had been a little longer than anticipated on their trap run due to an exceptionally good take this time around, and they were traveling a little slower with the load. Nathaniel picked up his pace a little as the farm came into view, eager to get home and make sure all was well. Cora was very close to her time, and he had not liked leaving her, but neither could Chingachgook manage alone. It had only been two days, but in his experience a great deal could happen in two days, and ridiculous though it might be, he had simply missed his wife. When they arrived, they took the mule to the barn to relieve it of its load and get it fed and settled.

"One of Ian's horses is here," Chingachgook said, nodding toward the roan gelding stabled with their bay mare and chestnut gelding.

"Maybe Sarah," Nathaniel replied. "She'd have come to help, though it's late in the day for her to be here still."

"Perhaps you should - "

Chingachgook had no sooner begun his suggestion than they heard Sarah calling outside. Nathaniel jogged out and met her coming down from the cabin, her feet kicking up snow with her hurried steps as she clutched her shawl around her in the cold.

"Nathaniel! You're here! Thank goodness!"

His stomach dropped to his feet. "What's wrong?! Is Cora - "

"Aye, she's fine, or as fine as she can be. The bairn is on its way. Her pains started this morning, and there is time to wait yet, but she's plenty fashed for wanting you here. Come."

His pulse pounded and his hands began to tremble. He turned back to the barn, but Chingachgook was already standing behind him with a small smile on his face.

"Go with Sarah, my son. I will finish here and be along."

Nathaniel strode quickly up the slope with Sarah keeping up beside him. When they reached the house, he removed his warm outer layers and washed away the grime of the trap run and two days' travel over the washtub in the kitchen.

"Ah, Hawkeye, you have returned!" Kanshiopán exclaimed, bustling into the room while he was drying his hands. He went to her in a rush, feeling urgent, excited, and utterly terrified at the same time.

"How is she, ànati?"

"She will be better now that you are here. Her pains grow worse, but that is to be expected. All else appears to be well and ordinary, which we can be thankful for."

"May I…may I see her?" Nathaniel asked nervously. He expected the nentpike to refuse. Childbirth was considered a powerful time that could cause disruption in the outside world and was not something men had any involvement in among the Delaware or the Mohican; typically, the laboring mother was completely separated from the village and either gave birth alone, or with other women to assist. He knew this as a son of the Mohican, but there was also the part of him that resided here, where there was no village and nowhere to separate from it, and sometimes doing things differently could not be helped. He felt especially torn now, because part of him knew what was expected of him, and part of him just loved his wife and longed to go to her for at least a short while to comfort her – and himself, if he was being honest.

Kanshiopán sighed and looked hard at him. "I should not allow it. At home I would not. But this is not my home, and the lack of separation here cannot be helped. She is your wife – you have married into her clan, and you now live between her world and that of your people. Among hers, these things are not done the same. She will remain anxious until she sees you for herself, and that will not be good for her or the child. Go on – but you cannot stay too long."

Nathaniel thanked her and left the two women to go to the bedroom. He knocked softly and opened the door to find Cora standing in a nightdress at the foot of the bedstead, leaning forward with her hands braced on the footboard.

"Oh, Nathaniel, thank God," she gasped in relief as she stood up straight. He went to her, all his own anxiety melting away for the moment, and she leaned into his waiting arms with a soft sob.

"Ntàpi, aholkwësit. I am sorry it took so long to get home to you." He kissed her hair and rubbed his hands up and down her back.

"I'm so glad you are here, mo chridhe," she sniffled. "I didn't want this to happen while you were gone, but it did, and then it was starting to snow so I worried more. I just wanted you here with me because I missed you, and I know that what is happening is all to be expected, but it hurts."

"What can I do?" he asked softly, holding her close.

"Just stay with me for a little while, please." She wrapped her arms tighter around him and began to sway from side to side, her cheek resting against his chest.

"What are we doing?" He smiled a little and moved with her.

"The movement helps when the pains come, and it helps between them too." She began to breathe hard and deep, and he could feel her entire belly growing rock-hard between them with the force of the contraction. She moaned with the pain of it, her hands gripping his shirt tightly. He continued to sway with her and gently massaged her lower back until it seemed to subside. He knew this would get worse, and that it was worse for some women than others. There was little he could do for her other than what he was already doing, and it seemed to make her feel better, so he held her and moved with her, rubbing her back and murmuring gently to her through each wave. What her body was doing made him feel both amazed and frightened, having never dealt with childbirth directly before. Eventually Kanshiopán came back in with Sarah, bearing a cup of motherwort-chamomile tea to help with relaxation.

"Your father will wait with you, Hawkeye. It is time to leave her to us."

He nodded, leaning his forehead against Cora's for a moment and laying a hand on her belly.

"Ktahwáanun. I will not be far away, and I will see you both when it is time." He kissed her and helped her sit down on the edge of the mattress so she could take her tea, then retreated to sit with Chingachgook for the long night ahead.

At some point after Sarah had come to tell Nathaniel that Cora was resting while she still could and that he and Chingachgook should too, they had both fallen asleep in the willow chairs in the common room. Nathaniel slept lightly and fitfully, waking in a panic every time he heard the slightest sound. Sometime long into the night, both men woke when the moans and cries of pain drifting from the bedroom grew more intense and much closer together than before. Nathaniel's heart hammered erratically in his chest, and he grew more unnerved with each one. He stood and began to pace the room, feeling helpless, wanting only to stop Cora's hurting but knowing he could not. His head shot up when Kanshiopán came out, and he went to her with Chingachgook behind him, his eyes desperate and questioning.

"It will not be too long now," she said. A lengthy moan came from behind the door accompanied by Sarah's soft voice, and Nathaniel buckled a little.

"Cora and the baby, are they…?"

"Both fine. The pain is to be expected, and it will grow worse as the child is closer to birth." She patted his cheek sympathetically. "Hawkeye, do not fear. She is strong and brave, and you know this because it is why you love her. It will pass." She shot Chingachgook a silent, instructive look and went to the kitchen to prepare more herbs to help ease the impending birth.

The next agonized cry nearly undid Nathaniel. He collapsed into one of the chairs, head between his knees, and raked his hands through his hair.

"Damn it, I hate this," he muttered miserably.

"It does you no good to stay here and feel helpless. Come." Chingachgook handed him his coat and pushed him gently toward the door and out onto the cabin porch. They sat down together on the wooden stoop, and Chingachgook sighed deeply.

"Where is Giles with his whiskey now, eh?" he said with a chuckle.

"I wondered the same thing myself," Nathaniel replied with a wry smile.

"It is no wonder women separate themselves from men for the birth of children. When your brother was born, your mother was with the women, and though I was too far away to know her pain as you know Cora's now, I too felt great anxiety. It is the same for any father who loves his wife and child. Women are more powerful than us in many ways, and this is one. They can do hard and holy things that men cannot fathom. You will see that now, and you will see it once the child is born, too. She will do what must be done at all costs, and she will push forward long after you think she would be justified in giving up. You have seen this in her all along, and so have I. She is very like your mother was."

Nathaniel nodded. "Part of me wishes I could be ignorant of this, Father. But part of me is a little grateful that if I can't feel her pain myself or take it from her, at least I am here to know of it and suffer with her in my mind. But God, I want to go to her when I hear it."

"I understand. But she is well off with Kanshiopán and Sarah, and you know that she is. It will not help her pain and anxiety to have yours there as well."

The two men sat in silence together, Nathaniel trying to calm his nerves. They stayed on the porch until the cold made them seek the warmth of the house once again, taking wood from the pile to tend the fire in the kitchen hearth. In the shadows below, the fox poked his head up over the porch and watched them go.

Dawn came, and the sun began to rise behind the remnants of yesterday's snow clouds, streaking the eastern horizon with a glory of colors. With its rising, a tiny life was ushered into the world, heralded by the cawing of a pair of ravens on the cabin roof while the insistent sound of newborn cries and the joyful tears of a newly-made mother filled the cabin. Once this welcome chaos settled into a hush, and the work that comes after birth was done, Kanshiopán and Sarah emerged from the bedroom to summon Nathaniel, who at this point was both exhausted and ready to knock down the door.

"You have a bonnie wee daughter, Nathaniel, hale and sound, and Cora has done very well." Sarah told him with a tired and triumphant smile.

"May I see them now?" He exhaled deeply, his relief and joy rising in a wave that crested in his chest and brought a rush of tears to his eyes.

Kanshiopán smiled and nodded. "Yes. Go to your family, Hawkeye."

Nathaniel needed no further prompting. He went quietly to Cora, who was now propped up in bed resting against the pillows behind her. She looked thoroughly drained and a little pale, an impossibly tiny bundle swaddled in her arms.

"Come and meet our daughter, mo chridhe." She smiled beatifically, her eyes red-rimmed and weary but happy. He sat down on the mattress beside her, leaning in to kiss her softly and get a look at their baby girl, who was currently sleeping after her eventful debut. Cora gently placed her in his arms and he cradled her against his chest, one finger delicately stroking her round, ruddy little face, the button nose and chin, rosebud lips, and the shock of silky, nearly-black hair sticking up all over her head. One small hand escaped, and she instinctively grasped his finger tight in her tiny fist. Kanshiopán had tied soft buckskin strips around her wrists in the traditional effort to remind any spirits who might try to persuade her from the world in this early phase of life that she belonged to the earth and must stay here with her family.

"She's perfect," he whispered, tears dropping onto the swaddling as he gazed in wonder at her, and then at Cora. We made this.

"She is. I can hardly stop looking at her," Cora replied, leaning her head against his shoulder. The baby came awake then, and stared calculatingly at her mesmerized father with eyes that seemed almost too big for her diminutive face. For now, they were a deep slate-blue, as most newborn babies' eyes are; time would tell what color they would end up.

"Hello, ntan'tis," he murmured, smiling down at her. Cora looked on with quiet satisfaction, hurting and utterly spent, but completely enraptured at the same time.

"What shall we call her, then?" she asked. Nathaniel's people did not name their children until the age of three, so she would not get a Mohican or Lenape name until then, but Cora had wanted a name that reflected her heritage as well, so they had agreed on a short list of Scottish and English names that they had both liked.

Nathaniel met her eyes. "I like Eleanor best, don't you?" They had chosen it because it meant 'shining light.'

"Yes, it suits her perfectly. And for her middle name…what about Aileas?"

"Ay-lish…" he repeated softly. The Scots Gaelic form of Alice. "Yes, I think so." Among Nathaniel's people, when a person died, their name died as well, and was never used again. They had concluded that an alternate form of her sister's name was removed enough to honor her memory and yet still be appropriate. "Well then, Eleanor Aileas Poe, what do you think?" She squirmed a little and turned her tiny head toward him, her mouth opening like a baby bird's as she made tiny little squeaking sounds, as if searching for something.

"I think she has had enough of this naming business, and would like to be fed." Cora smiled as Nathaniel transferred their daughter back into her waiting arms. Kanshiopán came in with food and water for Cora and helped her get the baby latched to her breast, sending Nathaniel to the kitchen to eat with Chingachgook and Sarah. When Eleanor was done nursing, and had gone back to sleep, Nathaniel brought her to her delighted grandfather for a short visit while Kanshiopán and Sarah attended Cora with more herbal offerings and various post-birth ministrations. When he came back to her a short while later, he stretched out beside her on the bed, keeping Eleanor with him so that Cora could rest until she needed to nurse again.

"I am so proud of you, ndah," he whispered as she settled with her head on his shoulder. She did not answer; she had already fallen into exhausted slumber. When Sarah had gone home to see to her own family and rest, Chingachgook and Kanshiopán peeked into the room to check on them before lying down themselves, and found all of them asleep. Cora was curled against Nathaniel, who lay propped beside her with Eleanor cuddled on his chest supported by his arm and one large hand, her downy dark head resting over his heart.

The next several weeks passed in a blur of sleep deprivation and all the constant demands of a new baby. Kanshiopán insisted on Cora taking a proper lying-in period to recover, though it would not last the standard month or more because they lacked a village full of women to help. Sarah came when she could, often bringing Maggie along, who was quite the little assistant, and Abigail Winthrop had come with Rebekah and Ruth for a few days to help as well. In the past Cora would have thought weeks of lying-in would drive her insane with boredom. Now she knew better and could not imagine taking back the yoke of her normal duties in addition to healing from birth, nursing Eleanor what felt like round the clock most days, changing her soiled clout and pilcher nearly as often, and trying to rest to make up for her lack of sleep while others minded Eleanor so that she could. If she had to worry about household work as well, it would have overwhelmed her to tears. Sometimes she felt that way without additional responsibilities because the exhaustion and all the changes made her more emotional. All the other women had assured her this was quite normal, and she was extremely grateful for having all of them to help keep her head above water.

Her favorite constant in all of it was the joy and light Eleanor brought into their home. Chingachgook was completely enamored with her and doted on her endlessly whenever he was given a chance. Kanshiopán often took her while Cora rested, carrying her around on a cradleboard on her back while she cooked or worked, singing Lenape songs to her. Between the two of them, Eleanor would be fluent in both Mohican and Delaware by the time she could speak. Cora was utterly in love with her, and the time of her lying-in not spent resting or nursing was spent holding her daughter and marveling at her tiny, perfect features and her adorable fluff of dark hair, just the color of hers and Nathaniel's. It was early to tell for certain yet, but her eyes were beginning to lighten from the newborn slate color, and it seemed she would have her father's green eyes, or some varying shade of blue. Best of all, Cora loved watching Nathaniel with her. He was a loving and devoted father as equally as he was the same kind of husband, and she wondered if it was possible to die of love each time she heard him carrying on a one-sided conversation with the tiny bundle in his arms, or found him asleep either beside her in bed or in the willow rocking chair he'd built, with Eleanor contentedly snoozing away on his warm chest.

"Why on earth are there holes in her moccasins?" Eugenie asked, examining the tiny buckskin shoes as she held the baby on her lap. She and Giles had arrived two days ago, and Eleanor was now four weeks old. Eugenie was smitten, and even Giles was charmed, but nowhere near the level of the high-pitched cooing and coddling that Eugenie bestowed on the baby, making Chingachgook's attentions look tame in comparison.

"It is to show any ghosts who might wish to try to take her spirit away with them that she has holes in her moccasins and therefore cannot travel to the spirit world." Kanshiopán answered from the kitchen.

Eugenie nodded. "Well…that is an interesting…custom. All right, then."

"There are several things that the Lenape do to protect newborn babies, like the buckskin at her wrists." Cora appreciated Eugenie trying to accept the things that she clearly thought very strange about Delaware and Mohican culture, however, she had refrained from telling her cousin about other things, such as burying the umbilical cord near the house so that the girl would grow to remember and embrace her roles and responsibilities as a woman. She thought that might be a bit much for Eugenie to take.

"She is such a quiet, observant little thing, isn't she?" Eugenie cooed, beaming down at Eleanor.

"She really is," Cora replied with a smile. She was very much the way Alice had been as a baby, alert with her big, intelligent eyes taking in the world. "She's not been one to fuss much at all, and the rare times that she does, Nathaniel can almost always calm her. He has this way of rocking her that settles her quite well, and try as I might I cannot seem to work the same magic on her."

"You are so lucky! Philip and David were both prone to squalling day and night, and David had terrible colic. Even with the help of nursemaids, it was difficult. But oh, even that I missed later when they were grown. And you are such a beautiful girl! Oh my, you most certainly are!"

"Fortunate that she takes after Cora and not her father." Giles chortled, thumping Nathaniel on the shoulder. Cora rolled her eyes at Nathaniel, who just laughed and thumped Giles back, perhaps slightly harder than necessary, before taking Eleanor back from Eugenie when she began to make fussing sounds.

"She must be hungry again." He smiled as the baby turned her head, rooting and making pecking motions against his chest. "Patience, ntan'tis, you won't get what you want from me," he chuckled, giving her over to Cora to nurse. When she had finished and fallen asleep, Nathaniel took her while Cora went to help Kanshiopán with supper in the kitchen.

"Can someone bring in more firewood, please?" Cora asked.

"I'll get it," Nathaniel replied. "Here, Giles, take Eleanor for a bit."

"Oh, no, I don't…I can't - "

"Of course you can! Here, just hold her against your shoulder like this…that's it. Now support her underneath with your arm. There. See? You'll do just fine." Nathaniel patted him and went outside for the wood, while Chingachgook stood behind Giles with silent laughter sparkling in his eyes.

"I'm going to have to keep an eye out for animals near the house," Nathaniel said when he came back in, depositing the firewood on the iron rack by the hearth and adding some to the fire.

"What happened?" Cora asked, her skirt brushing his leg as she stirred the contents of the kettle on the pot-hanger.

"Something got into the woodpile, there was firewood scattered all over the porch. I thought I heard something earlier, I should have checked then."

"Raccoons, perhaps?"

"Could be. I'll have to - "

"DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN!" Giles exclaimed from across the room. Cora's wooden spoon clattered to the floor as she and Nathaniel ran to see what was wrong, Kanshiopán close behind them. Giles still held an oblivious, sleeping Eleanor, his face frozen in horror at the mushy yellow mess running from beneath the baby's flannel gown over the sleeve of his pristine white shirt. Eugenie looked as if she didn't know what to do or say, her mouth silently opening and closing. Chingachgook looked like he wanted to laugh out loud, but was too dignified to do so. Kanshiopán's mouth twitched madly as she pressed her lips together.

"Oh, dear," Cora said. "It would seem Eleanor needs a clout change."

Nathaniel guffawed. "Don't worry, Giles, it's happened more than once." He gingerly took his daughter, now awake and fussing, from the sputtering and currently very undignified Giles. "What goes in will nearly always come out in short order."

He grinned impishly as he left to the bedroom with Cora to deal with the unpleasant mess. Once it was taken care of and Eleanor was settled back to sleep and lying on the bed, they stared down at her in disbelief.

"I will never understand how something so small can make so much of something so awful," Nathaniel said softly. Cora began to titter, and within seconds they were both sobbing with laughter.

"We shouldn't laugh, one of us will surely be next," she gasped, leaning against him and wiping her eyes.

"Doesn't matter. This was worth any future punishment. His face…"

"Well…I won't deny that he might have deserved it just a little."

April 21, 1759

"I can't believe it is already nearly planting time again," Cora said, looking around at the moonlit landscape grown green with the thaw and the coming of spring.

"Time seems to pass three times as quick when we're so busy…and happy," Nathaniel replied, taking her hand in his as they walked. Eleanor was asleep in Chingachgook's lap on the cabin porch with Kanshiopán sitting beside him doing quillwork on a pair of moccasins by lantern light. Nathaniel and Cora had thus taken a rare and welcome opportunity to go for an evening walk alone together, just along the stream and around the farm.

"It truly does. Eleanor certainly keeps us running, too. Thank goodness for cradleboards and Sarah's cloth wrap, or I would never get a thing done around here."

"You get plenty done, ndah, and you are an outstanding mother." He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips.

"Kanshiopán is a godsend as well, I can't begin to know where I would have ended up without her here. I am so very happy that she decided to stay. She's become a part of our family, and I would be very sorry for her to leave us."

"As would I, and I know my father would be more than sorry. I don't think this is what they intended in the beginning, but things don't always go according to plan, and I'm pleased for them. They are happy together, and I rather like her." He smiled and looked toward the distant figures sitting on the porch. They had told Nathaniel and Cora a few days ago that Kanshiopán had agreed to be Chingachgook's wife, and that she would be staying indefinitely. Neither of them were particularly surprised at this news, but it was wonderful to hear nonetheless. After planting was done it would be time for Nathaniel and Chingachgook to go to Albany to trade the winter's pelts. Afterward, Chingachgook planned to travel south with Kanshiopán to visit the Lenape village, and hopefully Máxkwikee and his family might be able to visit them at the farm again in the summer.

They walked quietly for a while, and when they came up behind the barn, Nathaniel tugged Cora's hand gently, pulling her into the dark shadow of the back wall. One of the horses whickered softly from inside at their approach.

"What are you doing?" she whispered as he closed the distance between them, pressing her back against the wall.

"Well, it has just occurred to me that I have yet to kiss you behind the barn," he replied, his low, silky tone and his hands spanning her waist making Cora's skin tingle and grow warm. These early months of parenthood often left them too occupied or exhausted to allow many stolen moments like this. Now that the initial chaos was beginning to settle, Cora had found herself missing them very much, and clearly Nathaniel had as well.

"I see. Then it would be remiss indeed if you did not rectify that." Her lips curved in a mischievous smile, her arms winding around his neck.

He grinned wolfishly and lowered his head, his mouth covering hers in a slow, heated claim that instantly rekindled the neglected fire between them. They both took their time about it, relishing each gasp, each soft sound of pleasure, each languorous caress of lips and roaming hands. She sighed as he eventually tapered off, raining gentle kisses over her face and neck while she returned the same. No matter what else changed around them, it seemed that loving one another never did. A touch, a kiss, a softly murmured endearment could still incite the blooming flush of desire as easily as the very first time, and perhaps even more so now, after life together had anchored each of them so firmly in the heart and soul of the other.

Afterward, they left the cover of the barn, both smiling broadly, and walked back to the cabin. Chingachgook and Kanshiopán bid them good night and retired indoors. Nathaniel and Cora stayed on the porch standing side by side at the railing, Cora holding a peacefully sleeping Eleanor cradled in her arms. The air was alive with the lulling sounds of the night, still but not silent. Crickets chirped in the grass, and the croaking of frogs emerging from their muddy homes could be heard from the banks of the stream down below. The trees in the forest stood like tall, shadowy sentinels against the blue-black sky peppered with the light of the stars and the silvery light of a waxing moon. Somewhere in their depths, an owl hooted, and another answered from a distance. Nathaniel slid his arms around Cora's shoulders, holding her and his daughter close to him, awash with overwhelming love and gratitude for them both, and for everything that had come bursting forth green with new life from their darkest hours. He and Cora and Chingachgook had come to a restless peace with knowing they would never be able to reconcile what they had gained with what they had lost; all they would ever be able to do was be thankful that they had risen from it as they had. Cora had had the courage and fortitude to let go of everything she had known before to pull this life from the ashes with him, and they had forged a home and a family that was a constant source of love, learning, and strength – something not even he or his father had ever expected or hoped for.

Looking down at their tiny daughter asleep in Cora's arms, he stroked her downy head, and in a hushed voice began to tell her the story he had told Cora their first night beneath the stars. How the mother of the sun and moon had died at their birth, so the sun had given her body to the earth to bring it life, and the moon had drawn the stars from her breast and thrown them into the sky to remind him of her soul. When he had finished, Cora gazed up at him, her dark eyes glittering.

"So shines a light in the dark," she whispered. "I began to love you then because you told me that story and made something heartbreaking into something beautiful and full of hope, and I couldn't have known then how much that would mean to me all this time. This life has not been easy, but you make it beautiful to me, just as you always have. I have never for a moment wished to be anywhere else but with you."

"Nor have I, ndah. I can no longer imagine a life without you, or all those who we share it with. We are a family now, every one of us. You and I, and Eleanor…our shining light."

She sighed into him as he kissed her softly. Listening to the sounds of life around them, he remembered what Uncas had said to him just before he had faded away from the in-between place where they had spoken. I will not see you this way again, but know that we are all around you. In the stars, in the forest, on the wind, in all the places we have walked and breathed. And they were there, just as everyone who had come before them was. Just as the Camerons were. All of them, their monument scattered across the night sky, shining down on the earth to remind them that once, they had been here.

"Can't you see that all I wished for
was you for better and for worse
and to hear you say how much you love me
forever on this piece of earth."

-West of Eden-

Epilogue

"So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons are like birds flying upwards over the mountain…

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons can be birds taken broken up the mountain…

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons are like birds flying always over the mountain."

-Samuel Ervin Beam-

June 1765

"I'm going to catch you, Conor!" Maggie MacKay called out, running along slowly at the pace of the giggling dark-haired toddler making his way up the rise on chubby little deerskin-clad legs.

"No she won't, I've got you!" Eleanor yelled, scooping up her squealing little brother and running with him to where Chingachgook stood smiling. "Machom, will you tell us a story?" she grinned up at him, depositing her brother at his feet, who immediately attached himself to their grandfather's leg. Chingachgook sat down on the grass and they both climbed into his lap as he began to tell them one of the many tales they loved to hear. Maggie and her sister Aileen went into the cabin with Ruth Winthrop, summoned by Sarah and Abigail. Ian and Jack sat on the porch smoking their pipes, and Aidan and Jeremiah were down near the barn playing at lacrosse. The three families had begun gathering together this way after planting was finished several years ago, and it had since become a yearly habit. Soon they would also enjoy a summer visit from Máxkwikee and Wëlàhëne, who now had a boy and a little girl in addition to Chëmamtët. Unfortunately, Alasdair and Rebekah were not present today; Alasdair had taken an apprenticeship with a blacksmith at eighteen, and was now working on his own in Albany, where Rebekah was teaching school. They had been married the previous October, and were expecting their first baby in August. Nathaniel and Cora made sure to see them and Mr. Phelps whenever they took the children to Albany to visit Giles and Eugenie.

At six, Eleanor Aileas was as wild and precocious as her mother had been, as quick-witted as her father, and as intelligent and observant as both her Uncle Uncas and her Aunt Alice. She had a mass of long, dark wavy hair that always seemed to be full of leaves and pine needles. Her features largely favored Cora, but she had Nathaniel's radiant smile and the same arresting green eyes, with a slightly more prominent burst of gold in the center. She was already showing an interest in medicine, which Cora joyfully fostered along with Uma Kanshiopán, who loved to take her along and teach her all about medicines and herbs. At the age of three she had been given the name Èkòsëne, or Sun-Shining-Through-the-Clouds, just as her English name meant shining light, and just as she had always been that very thing to all of them, especially her father. Nathaniel loved both their children equally, but it was plain that Eleanor held his heart in her hands just as firmly as Cora always had.

Conor Todd had arrived in the late spring of 1763, after a long, difficult winter. He had been born several weeks too early, but he had come into the world determined to remain in it, stronger than he looked and breathing well enough to scream his intent aloud. For this they had named him Conor, which meant strong-willed, and Todd, the Scots Gaelic word for Fox. Now two years old, he lived up to both of his names daily, full of mischief and at the same time always watching the world like his namesake and like his sister, who adored him. Chingachgook said he was the spitting image of Nathaniel when he had been adopted at similar age, except for his brown eyes, which came from Cora. His, however, were a different shade, the rich coppery color of whiskey like Cora's mother's had been.

In the gloaming of the fading summer day, Cora and Nathaniel stood hand in hand by the hawthorn tree, taking in all that was good before them. Fireflies were beginning to make their appearance, their flashes among the trees like floating starlight in the warm air. Above them, the mated pair of ravens who had made their roost in the hawthorn tree settled in for the evening and tended the hatchlings in their nest with all manner of peculiar, throaty sounds. The hawthorn itself Cora had made into a wish-tree, the way hawthorns were often done in Scotland, and the way she and Alice had done the one at Auchinbowie that Eveline Munro had loved to sit beneath. Traditionally, trinkets, ribbons, and coins were tied to or stuck into the trunk of a wish tree in hope for something wonderful to happen, the item left on the tree to commemorate that wish.

In August of 1760, the year the fighting of the war had ceased on the continent, Cora had taken all the motley little items gifted to her by her ravens and either tied them among the branches or pinned them to the trunk. Every year after, she added what had been left since the last anniversary. The trunk was a display of odd little things - beads and metal, and the British uniform button from the raven at George Munro's grave. Bits of frayed cloth were tied around branches, one a strip of faded blue silk from the ruined dress Cora had been wearing the day she'd met Nathaniel; the same he had taken pieces of for loading patches at Fort William Henry. Cora had been in tears over it when Nathaniel had tied it there the first year, saying only that he had wished for her and his wish had been granted when she had stayed with him. Everything on that tree held the wishes for their life and their family, all the memories of what they had lost and the hope they had for what came after, including the hope for peace for all the people sharing a life here together.

When the dusk began to fade away, Nathaniel and Cora left the gnarled tree with its bowing trunk and reaching branches. The last calls of the nesting ravens followed them across the grass as their children ran into their waiting arms, and they returned to the company of their family and friends. Nothing came too easily in this life they all made here, but they loved what they worked hard for, and they had each other to remind them that love and hope would remain constant no matter what else occurred.

"I thought of her as the wishing tree that died
And saw it lifted, root and branch, to heaven,
Trailing a shower of all that had been driven
Need by need by need into its hale
Sap-wood and bark: coin and pin and nail
Came streaming from it like a comet-tail
New-minted and dissolved. I had a vision
Of an airy branch-head rising through damp cloud,
Of turned-up faces where the tree had stood."

-Seamus Heaney-

Author's Note:

Vocabulary:

ntan'tis: "My little daughter" (Lenape)

Machom: "Grandfather" (Mohican)

Uma: "Grandmother" (Lenape)

You guys…this is it. The end. I can't believe it! I've never written anything this long before in my life, and this was such a great experience, and an incredibly emotional journey through a spring full of weird upheaval and loss that really helped contribute to the feelings in this story. I've spent so much time and effort and emotion on this that I truly feel like these characters are my good friends. In a way they are – I wrote them a whole life here. Love, grief, marriage, sickness, danger, forging family bonds, hacking life out of the wilderness, and at the end of it all, two beautiful babies.

So first we have the arrival of Eleanor Aileas. I didn't do a whole lot from Cora's POV on that because we all know how babies are born, and I thought it would be more interesting to show what was going on with Nathaniel, who understandably is a little bit of a nervous wreck, and I wanted him to have that man-to-man with Chingachgook because Chingachgook is good at that. The separation and birth issue was an interesting dynamic to write about. Kanshiopán is a very traditional Delaware woman with a specific set of beliefs about this kind of thing, but outside of the village on a frontier farm, things just can't work that way, even though this is also the practice that Chingachgook and Nathaniel would normally be subject to in their culture. Women were also separated from the village when menstruating. When there is a whole village to take over your normal duties, this can work, but when you're one of two women in the same house with two men in an isolated location, not so much. A separate room is about all they could manage here. I also had to consider that Cora was not raised with these traditions, so childbirth to her is a different ballgame (by the 18th century it was relatively common for a husband to be present for the birth of a baby). Cultural norms aside, between her and Nathaniel specifically, and the way their characters are with each other, I couldn't imagine that she wouldn't want Nathaniel's company for at least a little while during labor. Neither could I imagine him not freaking out a little bit and despite how he was raised, wanting to be with Cora and comfort her.

As for the actual baby, I've been planning her for a long time. Nathaniel might be next in line behind Chingachgook for 18th Century Dad of the Year Award, because that little girl clearly had him wrapped around her finger from the second she was born. I sense that Killdeer will have an additional role in the future as "Defender of Hawkeye's Daughter". I went through names for her like I was naming my own kid, it was crazy (NVMF, I want to know what name you had a secret wish for!). I kept thinking about Chapter 2 when Nathaniel announced they were going to be married right after they got to the MacKays', and Sarah said "so shines a light in the dark". This whole story has kind of been about light shining in dark places - stars and hope alike - so when I saw that Eleanor meant 'shining light', I knew that was Baby Poe's name. I went through the same naming process for their son, even though he only appears in the epilogue, because I wanted to make sure these kids had names I loved enough to stick with in case I ever decide to give them their own stories. In addition to the customs mentioned in the text to keep the baby's spirit from being lured away from earthly life after birth, the Mohican and Delaware really did wait till age three to name their kids, at least at this time in history. It was so common for children to die early that I would imagine they waited partially because a dead person's name couldn't be used again, so until they were more certain the child would survive to hold the name, they did not give a formal one. I wanted each Poe child to have a first name that belonged to them but meant something personal to Nathaniel and Cora, and a middle name that reflected something of Uncas or Alice without directly having either of their names. Since none of the girls' names that mean "raven" seemed to fit Eleanor, I chose Aileas (pronounced Ay-lish) instead, because it suited her and is a Scots name that ties her to Cora and Alice's heritage. Conor Todd was a little easier, since Todd is a perfect Scottish name that simply means "Fox", just like Uncas.

Speaking of those two, they seemed pretty keen on hanging around for their new niece. I wonder who got into the woodpile? Maybe you'll find out sometime soon via another one-shot whether that was really a raccoon…? Giles also had the ultimate revenge exacted on him in that scene via a baby diaper blowout (back then a diaper was called a clout and usually was covered by an extra layer called a pilcher). Anyone with kids knows the occasional massive poo blowout is a very real and very unavoidable thing (totally happened to my husband), so I thought Giles was the perfect candidate for that lovely little experience. I give thanks to MohawkWoman for first inspiring that fun by telling me to have Eleanor pee on him, and for giving me Nathaniel's line about how something so small can make so much of something so awful. It may be a completely different century, but I guarantee new parents then had many of the same thoughts and experiences we modern parents do.

As for the end…Alasdair and Rebekah are busy making their own little family now, Máxkwikee and Wëlàhëne have clearly been busy, and YAY, Kanshiopán stayed and married Chingachgook, and I'm sure he is very happy about that. By now she is a part of their family and I couldn't imagine her leaving, and I'm glad Chingachgook will take her to visit the village. They need their people too, and this was a time of great upheaval for most of these groups. By the time the Revolution broke out, nearly all the Lenape people were forced out of that area, and by then many had already left anyway. The fighting of the French and Indian War on the American continent pretty well ended in 1760 after a string of British victories north of Lake George and in Canada under the command of Jeffery Amherst, and the war as a whole ended in February of 1763 when the Treaty pf Paris was signed – though some of its provisions led to unrest among colonists which partially led to the Revolutionary War later. And the wishing tree…that was the entire reason for that hawthorn tree being on the farm. For many, many years now I have loved Seamus Heaney's poem "The Wishing Tree", and I came across it again after my late friend's mother died in March. I couldn't stop thinking about the first line – I thought of her as the wishing tree that died – it always made me think of Alice, and so the wish tree was contrived.

That's it, folks. Aaaaand I'm crying because it's really over and I'm going to miss this story. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to MohawkWoman for all your help, humor, and suggestions, BlueSaffire for much of the same, to my husband for his immense support and encouragement in helping me do research, being my beta reader and putting up with six months of me writing and obsessing over what we have coined "Colonial Bullshit". Lastly, I give my deepest gratitude to every one of you who has followed and read this story, and to those who have left reviews. I truly love to know what you think when you read this, whether you love it or hate it, and I love when your questions or suggestions have helped me along the way. This fandom is fucking awesome, and I'm so glad I decided to do this. There WILL be more. Keep your eye out for the next story coming soon, where Uncas and Alice are alive and well to engage in all kinds of shenanigans alongside Nathaniel and Cora!