I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.

I do still love them so. And this fandom.

Into the Wild

In the Tooth


For some women, it is sudden and fierce.

For some, the experience takes much more time.

For some, much much more time.

And for some . . .

"Are you alright, dear sister?"

"I am. Thank you."

. . . the time seems to never come at all.

Cora Louise, nee, Munroe was one of these.

Her family, both blood and chosen kin, watched her grow.

The entire circumference of her.

Belly at any rate.

Larger and larger.

Rounder and rounder.

Until she seemed all belly.

Carefully waddling from place to place.

Hearth to table.

Table to hearth.

Porch.

"Is there no breeze in this accursed country?"

"Are you alright, Cora?"

". . . Yes . . . Yes, I am alright."

Outhouse.

"I fear I may become stuck, dear sister."

"Oh. Surely not . . . Will you?"

And though she did speak from time to time of her discomfort . . .

"Shall I help you, Cora?"

"No. No. I must manage. I must not be an invalid schoolgirl."

". . . That is . . . That is not a fair usage whatsoever."

"No. But I must keep strong, mustn't I?"

. . . by and large, she seemed to keep her complaints to herself . . .

"Oh. Move over, won't you?"

"I'm sorry, sister."

"No. Not you. The baby."

. . . considering them all a part of her lot as a woman.

"Cora, may I help you?"

"No, Nathaniel, thank you. I am alright."

The men occupy themselves, making preparations.

Alice sees them at their work.

Skinning their kills, dressing them. The animals they have trapped.

Wasting, of course, not a bit.

Pelts for trading.

Pelts for surviving the cold of the oncoming winter.

Meat for food.

Bones, sinew for later usage of sorts.

She sees them, wonders that she would have learned even more of tanning perhaps if . . .

"What are you doing?"

"Every animal has the proper amount of brains to tan its own hide."

. . . she were not needed elsewhere.

"Cora?"

"Yes. I am fine."

She must turn away from the work to which she has become accustom, intrigued.

Men's work, she re-newly realizes.

She believes she might have forgotten.

To her it had become simply survival.

Of course, the work to which she toils at the side of her ever greatening sister is also survival.

Mrs. Donnelly would have swiftly reminded her of that.

Food preparation.

Not only daily.

But with an eye and mind on the steadily approaching winter.

The air will grow cold.

The fields and garden patch barren and fallow.

The animals will go to ground.

And the entire world outside the cabin will seem to stop.

And so, with that there upon their minds, she puts her hands willingly to work.

She has done it before.

The previous winter.

As her sister and new husband were leaving for journeys.

Her Wètuxëmùksit and her Uncas.

She had stayed behind with another pregnant woman.

"Thank you, Alice. Mary, please see to your brothers. The heat here is not safe."

"But Mother-"

"Mary-"

And put her hands to work.

As she does so now.

Corn. Beans.

Apples.

Apples.

Apples.

Drying apples hanging from their low rafters.

Apple sauce. Apple butter.

Apple for pies.

Peaches as well.

Mashing, preserving, into jam to top winter biscuits.

But mostly . . .

"What's this one?"

"Nathaniel calls it 'sour'."

"Oh. Not for pies then?"

"For anything, I suppose."

"Oh."

. . . apples.

They work, Alice and her steadily enlarging sister.

In the dim, stuffiness of the cabin when they must.

In the . . .

"I think . . . perhaps . . . we could work on the porch now."

"Yes . . . I think that would do . . . very nicely."

. . . open air of the porch and the yard when they may.

And they . . .

"Alice?"

"Yes?"

"I am very glad you are here."

"As am I, sister."

. . . get on much more pleasantly . . .

"Whatever would you have done without me, Cora?"

"Martha Smyth has offered her services on more than one occasion."

"Erm . . ."

. . . than Cora might have otherwise.


They sit when the work reaches its end.

Or, more accurately, pausing point.

When the ready crops have been gathered and prepared and stored.

When the meat has been dressed, cooked, smoked and cured.

When the mounds and mounds and mounds of cordwood has been cut and stacked

They will always prepare for winter.

Nathaniel, raised Mohican, will always proceed thriftily and as uncolonial as he may allow with a homestead and wife and impending offspring.

But this is his first winter as a lone providing husband.

A new father.

His wife, a gentile, well-to-do woman a year ago, will give birth within the month, if grace holds.

Here, in the wilderness.

And he, being in deep love and even deeper protection and responsibility, prepares.

And prepares.

And prepares.

And prepares.

But, at some point in the day, right before every last family member one and all drop dead from exhaustion, they halt their preparations.

"But, Nathaniel, the darning-"

"Let it be, Wife. Sit with me and rest. Your fingers tremble and are raw."

And simply . . .

"Tell us now, Chinagachgook, again of these children and their beginnings?"

. . . abide.

"Yes, please! Was our Nathaniel always so quick of worded tongue?"

And it is nice among them.

More than nice.

It is peace.

It is family.

It is . . .

"I would not say 'always' perhaps . . . Certainly for all the time in long memory . . ."

. . . hope.


Along with their workings and preparations and moments of peaceful repose . . .

"Sister? Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes. I am fine."

. . . the gathered Mohicans and their Yengee counterparts . . .

"Wife? Are you alright?"

"Yes. I am fine."

. . . find their thoughts and attentions set upon another . . .

"Cora. Are you well?"

"Yes, Chingachgook. Thank you."

. . . hobby of sorts.

"Cora?"

"Yes, thank you, Uncas."

The watching, subtle or else otherwise . . .

"Sister-"

"Alice, if you intend to inquire if I am alright at moment or any moments closely forthcoming, I believe I will be moved to protest quite strongly-"

. . . of their dear expectant Cora.

"Well . . . are you?"


And she is.

This frontier woman of determination and grit.

Raised gentile but never quite content to sit and sew and play at cards.

Not for long anyway.

She has always moved, always pushed forward.

Whether in society.

"Yes, but can you not also imagine a woman as a doctor, Aunt Eugenie?"

"Goodness, no, child! A woman's place is in her home!"

In the medical waystations of the battlefield.

"It's going to seep and then it's going to draw."

"Thank you, Miss."

Or in the frontier . . .

"Cora? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I . . . yes. I just . . . I just . . ."

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I am fine."

. . . where she will be delivering her child.

"Cora?"

"Please, Alice. I am alright."

Without any sort of medical waystation available.

"Cora? You are perspiring."

"Yes, well . . . I am standing before a hearth. It tends to be warm."

"Well, alright. If you're certain."

Whatsoever.

"I am."


The only problem is (of the actual many that may present themselves) is her independence.

"Mmm-"

"Cora?"

Her willfulness.

"Mmm-"

"Cora?"

Nay, as her baldly-speaking Scottish father would have put it . . .

"Mmm-"

"Cora?"

. . . . her blatant stubbornness.

"I think . . . I think . . . I think it may be time, sister."

Which even for Cora Louise, nee, Munroe . . .

"I am here. I am with you. How long has it been since the process begun? An hour? Two?"

. . . has its . . .

"Three days."

"What?!"

. . . limitations.

"Three days?!"

Stretched as they may . . .

"Yes. Could you inform the men please?"

. . . be.


Not exactly the white-knuckled chapter I had promised, I know.

Or maybe white-knuckled in another way. ;)

At any rate, I'm writing chaper-to-chapter now and didn't realize this needed to come out first.

But don't worry. All is on its way.

And the title, In the Tooth, refers to the phrase, 'long in the tooth', which means 'old'.

Like, "man, this corona thing's getting a little long in the tooth".

I mean, Cora's pregnancy. ;)

And the brains/tanning reference is straight lifted from Woman Walks Ahead (omg, watch it!) and is a fantastic little tidbit, I think.

Annnnd, Into the Wild now officially has the most reviews of any story I have ever posted on this site!

Wow!

Do you know what that means? It means Uncas and Alice and Chingachgook and all the rest are really helping all of us get through the suckfest of 2020.

They were wonderful before and they're wonderful now (and alive! Whoo!)

You're pretty wonderful too, gentle readers. I'd say a heartfelt thanks to every single one of you if I could.

But since I only know these lovely names, I'll specifically say it to them. DinahRay, MedicineGal815, BlueSaffire, ELY72, AsterLaurel, MohawkWoman, BryannaRaven, Sweet Love Guest (isn't it just the best?), and Conbird, thank you so so much for reviewing!

Blanparbe, seriously, sweetie, go back to BlueSaffire's reviews, she is embracing you as one of the fanclub! Oh and oh my goodness, your review had me crying tears of laughter, it was so awesome! Thank you!

Thank you, Fantastic Ones, reviewer and silent reader alike, for your light out there in a dark world. And not just in this story. But, like, the real world. I have no doubt you spread kindness and cheer wherever you go.

Be safe and well and see you soon for another chapter! :D