I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.

I have loved it for nearly thirty years.

A Breed Apart

Diverging Paths

"Alice, I wish to speak with you."

Alice puts down her work, some endless chore or another.

And turns to her sister.

Cora.

Dark of hair.

Of a womanly age.

Married.

Everything Alice herself-

"Yes?"

-is not.

"I . . . I wanted to ask you if you would like to accompany us when we go. Nathaniel and I."

Alice is uncomprehending.

"Go? Go where?"

Cora blushes and suddenly looks much younger to Alice than she did a moment ago.

"Nathaniel and I are going to accompany Chingachgook and Uncas to Can-tuck-ee for the winter. We may . . ."

She pauses,

". . . travel during the spring, settle a homestead . . ."

Pauses again, laughter coloring her entire being.

". . . I don't honestly know . . ."

In London, Cora would have been married in a lace and satin strewn ceremony.

Brass and silver and gold gifts aplenty to furnish their stately residence.

Set up house there.

And proceeded to begin the English-appointed life of bearing children.

Directing servants.

Attending luncheons and teas.

Sitting in on ladies' committees and pastimes acceptable to gentile English society.

And she most certainly would not have been allowed to be united in the holy state of matrimony with one so low and base as Nathaniel Hawkeye of the Yengeese, The Long Rifle, adopted son of Chingachgook of the Mohican people.

No.

". . . you to come. If you would like."

Come with them.

Cora is inviting her younger sister to come with her and new husband on their trek into the wilderness.

Alice considers this.

She loves her sister.

They belong to different mothers, both now dead.

They have lived different lives apart, Cora a frequent surgery nurse when visiting her father during military engagements.

Other times abroad as Alice, the younger, has not had leave to travel quite so.

Very occasionally at rest and reprieve at Portland Square.

They are close as sisters.

And yet, it would seem to Alice, near more nursemaid or mother to child, in times past.

She must admit her sister's presence provides an aura of safety and reassurance and familiarity she would not otherwise know.

But she does not wish to travel along on her sister's apron strings.

She does not wish to be an anchor, a millstone around her neck.

Poor little sister, helpless schoolgirl.

Cannot manage without aid.

And Alice smiles.

"I wish for you to begin your new life free with your husband."

Cora frowns a little, begins to speak.

Alice is not finished.

"I love you, Cora. You are my sister, dear to my heart. You always will be. But I am going to stay here and I wish for you to journey on."

This troubles Cora and she begins to speak again.

And again her younger sister will not allow it.

"Rebecca will need help with the children, especially after the baby comes. I wish to help her. Be of use."

Finally Cora breaks through.

"Alice, you are always of use. You are never an obstacle to me."

Nor will I be.

And Alice smiles gently.

"I am staying here. And I want you to go on with a clear conscience and a free heart. We will see one another again. Perhaps Chingachgook and Uncas can bring me for a visit."

She pauses, growing smile a touch mischievous.

"To see all the babies you'll be having with Nathaniel!"

The tension breaks then and they laugh together, light and feminine.

Cora wipes at her cheeks, moisture there and mirth as well.

Then solemns again.

And Alice wonders if she herself will cry.

She does not.

"I love you, Alice. Very much."

Though by a slim margin.

"I love you, Cora."

"Cora has invited me to travel with her and the others when they leave for Can-tuck-ee."

She has realized she assumed the shelter and protection of Wall homestead.

"I told her I wished to stay with you."

Without first conversing with its owners.

"If that is alright."

She sits, hands clasped and calm.

Hoping her prospect . . .

"To help with the new baby. The children."

. . . will be accepted.

"Over the winter."

Rebecca, across from her, Tom at her side, expressions carefully blank and considering.

"I will make myself very useful."

The children outside at play.

And suddenly she feels anxious, concerned she may have overstepped her welcome.

"I will not eat much-"

At this her words are halted as Rebecca's gentle, firm hand closes over her folded ones.

She dares to peek.

And sees them smiling at her.

Rebecca, seeming to have communicated with her husband in silent exchange, speaks.

"Alice, you are most welcome to stay with us."

And she feels relief-

"And eat all you will."

-waving through her.

"Thank you."

So it is all said and done.

"Chingachgook . . ."

Except-

". . . I wish to speak with you."

A few little things which to attend.

"Will you teach me how to make the tea?"

He knows.

Uncas.

It is discussed it lightly over evening meal.

"I never expected to have another daughter to ford with us this winter."

All of them.

"I feel most lucky to have another ally in this house full of men."

The others of them discuss, at any rate.

She and he stay quiet.

She does not know what to say.

Only knows that it feels right, her decision to stay and not travel onward.

For now.

Thanks to Conbird, Eilan21, AsterLaurel, BrynnaRaven, DinahRay, and BlueSaffire for so graciously reviewing before.

I've just about finished writing the story, not too many chapters to go, and I really think you all are going to like it.

I guess we'll just wait and see. ;)