Uncas had not thought to see Alice until the morning, so when the fearful little maid called Joan appeared in the kitchen and bade him follow her upstairs, it was difficult not to assume that something had gone wrong. In the interval of time since Mrs. Gordon had left he'd managed to change into a set of dry clothing packed in his journey-bag, and hung the others by the fire to dry.
Then the maid had arrived and, with eyes the size of tiny moons, stammered out her mistress' directive, and darted off so fast that if he hadn't remembered the way back to Alice's bedroom after having been there earlier, she might have lost him.
He expected to find the room ablaze and the doctor still present, but the upper hallway was quiet, only Alice's aunt slipping out of the chamber, and gesturing towards the door with a worried expression as he approached.
"She does not sleep?"
"The doctor gave her a draft, but she is restless and asks for you. In light of her misfortune I thought it best not to deny her anything." Mary-Elizabeth looked back at the partially opened door.
He couldn't think what she was talking about, but concern for Alice overrode the desire to ask her to clarify. Moving past her, he entered the room.
Alice struggled into a sitting position. "You left me," she said feebly.
At first it seemed like a mere petulant observation of the kind he had heard many a time from her, but as he came closer he saw that her eyes were swimming in tears. He sat down on the bed (aunt be damned) and took her shoulders gently. "I had to. They did not want me here when the doctor came."
"I was worried. I thought—you left."
"I would not, unless you wished it."
Alice let out a little hiccuping sigh, as he used the heel of his hand to smooth away a rogue tear escaping down her cheek. "And I thought you might have been sent away."
"No. In fact, there is a room downstairs for me."
"Then you...spoke with my aunt?"
"She was quite welcoming," Uncas said. He did not see how at this point giving the particulars of their conversation would be helpful to Alice, who needed to rest. Though Alice looked briefly confused instead of comforted. "She was?"
"Yes. Can you sleep now?"
Alice shook her head. Locks of wavy hair fell over her shoulders, shadowing her face.
He waited.
Rain skipped and spat against the sides of the house, but with less fury as the night deepened. He sensed it would be clear by dawn.
"The doctor said—"
He looked at the fine bones in her jaw, which trembled as if clenched. At the movement in her throat as she swallowed.
"He said we...I...was carrying a baby but—am not, any longer."
Her voice cracked at the end. Uncas took the shock that the announcement was and absorbed it without a change in expression, knowing it was difficult enough for her to tell him so plainly that he could hardly let her see emotion when she was so struggling to keep hers in line.
But—Manto, did she leave me knowing that we were going to have a child? He didn't think he could reconcile himself to that idea if it were true. How could he? What man could? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think past the feelings, the doubt.
"I'm sorry," Alice whispered, and he was effectively distracted from his line of thoughts. She wasn't apologizing for having left him. She was apologizing because she thought he blamed her.
Which, regardless of anything else, wasn't right at all.
He shifted closer to her and put his arms around her, as carefully as possible.
"There is nothing to be sorry for," he said, into her hair.
Nothing for you. I should have been here.
"I feel so tired," Alice's voice was high and light against his chest. There was so much yet to say, but he knew how badly she needed to sleep.
"Rest." As he had done hours earlier he carefully untwined her arms from him and helped her to settle down into the pillows.
"You won't go...?" She stared up at him with eyes that looked burnt with fatigue.
"I swear."
She seemed to relax then, allowing him to guide the blankets up around her shoulders. "Lie beside me," she ordered feebly.
Uncas hesitated for an instant. He doubted the aunt would allow them to sleep undisturbed until morning, after having stipulated that he could not occupy a guest room and had only unbent enough to offer him temporary quarters in the kitchen—which offer she might well retract once the rain stopped or once she discovered him here. That did not much matter, of course. And as Mary-Elizabeth herself had said that Alice should not be denied anything...
He settled down on top of the quilts, next to Alice who was underneath them, and put an arm around her slight form. It was not long before her breathing became soft and even, and she fell asleep, aided by whatever medicine the doctor had given her. Then he leaned carefully across and blew out the candles on the bedside tables, sending the room into quiet darkness.
Morning was unwelcome; only the ache in her head and the pressing need to void prompted Alice to open her eyes to greet its arrival. She realized that she was, moreover, hungry, having last consumed only soup the evening of the dinner party.
Uncas was standing by the window, looking out, and she watched him, unobserved, for a moment while she could. It was strange to her that he could seem both so out of place and completely comfortable to her eyes at the same time. Just before she had fainted she remembered telling him he looked like home. He did. It had been true.
He just didn't belong here.
And neither did she.
But how to say that? Now, more than ever...with our loss. What do I tell him? What if he feels differently about me now?
Uncas looked back at her with that sense he always seemed to have, though she had not moved. Alice felt a stab of shyness. She glanced down at herself, belatedly realizing that she didn't even know what she was wearing underneath all the blankets. A modest sleeping gown. Probably Mary-Elizabeth and Joan had changed her into it at some point.
She hoped he would not make any reference to the night gone by. To anything concerning the revelation she had unwillingly had to make to him.
To anything concerning—what they had made together.
"It has stopped raining," Uncas finally said. When she didn't respond, he drew in the shutter and came back to the bedside. "Do you need anything?"
"Yes, I—" Alice struggled to find a euphemism to communicate what she needed to do. Some things were, after all, not appropriate topics for discussion. "I want to wash my face. Will you bring water? And send Joan or my aunt if they can be found."
He went to accede to her request, moccasins noiseless against the floors. Joan must have been nearby—perhaps even lurking outside—because it seemed only moments before she peeped around the door. She assisted in the necessary duties and Alice was tucked back into bed, relieved.
"I was to the doctor's this morning already, miss. He gave more medicine for you and instructed you take any food you liked except hot." Joan's face was both anxious and encouraging as she procured a dark bottle from her apron pockets and set it on the table.
"I am hungry," Alice confessed. "But I think the medicine has given me this awful headache. I will not take more."
Uncas returned to the room, bearing a jug of water, in time to hear the last part of her words. He frowned slightly. Joan let out a barely audible squeak, curtsied and fled.
"I was going to tell her to bring something to eat, and you have scared her off," Alice said, crossly.
Uncas set down the water and examined the bottle, unstoppered it, and took a cautious sniff. His nose wrinkled. "You must take the remedy."
"Why, because it smells terrible?"
"Because you need rest. You did sleep well, didn't you?"
Alice nodded. Besides the headache, a feeling of lassitude lingered in her body that made her in no hurry to attempt climbing out of bed. He was probably right.
"What will you do today?" she ventured after a few moments of silence passed.
"Sit with you."
She wanted to argue, but really, it would only be token. There wasn't much she could suggest for him to do instead.
"Unless," he added, "you would rather I did not."
Alice realized he had mistaken her silence for dissent. "No," she said meekly.
Uncas put the bottle back. "I will get some food."
Alice stared at the opposite wall, at the elaborate chest of drawers while he was gone. She was beginning to be aware, in this new morning, of a vague sensation of guilt accompanying her sense of loss. It was an immense relief to know she had not been deserted, but what if she were nothing more to a burden both to Uncas and Mary-Elizabeth? She had been quite dependent on her aunt's goodwill for the last while, and it was hard to deny that she had perhaps not repaid her in a fitting manner. But I had to tell her the truth.
Even if the truth was the most confusing thing in the world.
And I still have yet to tell him the truth...that I want to go back with him. And that I have known that I wanted to, for some time.
Author's note: This is one of my shorter chapters. Apologies, but, kind of not, because I busted my ass trying to get it written within a week-ish of the last update. I tentatively project that there will be two more chapters. The final one will be an epilogue set in the future, wherein you'll get your sunshine, and also get to see some of what's happened with Nathaniel/Cora/Ben because they have been neglected (but needfully, I thought, as this last part to the trilogy was always intended to be mostly A/U's story, since Beyond left some people wanting).
I considered two endings. Depending on your taste you might feel "eh" about the one I'm going with. I hope the majority is happy with it, though.
Thanks for following the stories. -SW