Chapter 3
Under the Stars
"All the lost and lonely
All the lovers holding on
All of us, no matter what we've done,
We are not alone
Although we're far apart
We are one
Under the stars
Here we are, under the stars
Here we are, under the stars
Heaven is not so far
Heaven is not so far
Heaven is not so far
Under the stars
From "Under the Stars" by John Legend
They'd stopped for the night in a small glade beside some kind of open-air structure; it was too dark for Alice to make out what it was, despite the light from the half-moon. All she could really see were trees surrounding them, offering some semblance of safety. Though she couldn't help but wonder what or whom could be lurking among the shadows.
She and Cora lay near Duncan, who crouched with his rifle poised on a fallen log. The older man stood several feet to Duncan's left half hidden behind a tree. The blue-eyed one lay far to their right. She'd seen the younger one disappear beyond her line of sight—not too far away, she hoped. Admittedly, she felt safer when he was near—or more likely, she'd gotten used to him watching from behind all day long. Perhaps he was watching from up ahead now.
After the events of the day, Alice did not expect sleep to claim her. And for the first time in her life, she lay on the ground beneath the open sky at night. She had never spent so much time outside, except once—on the Scottish coast with her mother. Unwilling to allow her mind to continue to wander and wonder, she turned onto her side, tucked her hands beneath her cheek and willed sleep to come.
A thin streak of lightning struck a cresting wave. Thunder exploded. Alice was tossed about as if she was on board ship again. She jerked awake, eyes round, gaping, searching. Trees. Rocks. Tall grasses. The hard ground. This was not the middle of the ocean. Fear infiltrated her bones. Where was Cora? Alice turned, spied her lying near a man dressed in buckskin; both held guns at the ready. Duncan hastened to the other side of a log just ahead of where she lay. The events of the day suddenly swirled through her sleep fogged mind. At the same time, the dark-eyed one, moving at a fast, low crouch, slid behind the log and lay on his belly where Duncan had been.
She felt exposed—suddenly bereft and alone. Elbows digging into the ground, she crawled forward— instinct telling her to stay low—until she was beside the dark one, his rifle positioned atop the log. The sound of her heartbeat thrummed, pounding. Her breath came in harsh gasps until it roared in her ears.
A large hand clamped over her mouth, another wrapped around her shoulder. She felt a solid, warm body press her into the ground. A dusky voice she'd heard only once until now, coiled against her ear, "Be still." Although it was a command, it did not sound cruel. His voice was gentle, soft, his lips lightly brushing the top of her ear. Immediately, her heartbeat slowed, her breath calmed.
In the stillness, she heard rustling ahead, murmuring voices, movement, then nothing. As she lay within the embrace of the Indian, the sounds of her breath and heart quiet, one after another, night noises filled the air—an owl hooting, a cadence of "katy-did . . . katy-didn't," and other rhythms she could not identify, soothed her in some odd way. Or perhaps it was the man, whose arms held her silent and immobile, keeping fear at bay.
He released her and picked up his rifle. He must have dropped it when he seized her. Alice saw his concentration as he scanned the area once more before placing his rifle on the ground between them. His eyes slid to her, "It's safe now, Miss. Are you alright?" he whispered so quietly she barely heard him.
"I . . . I am," she replied.
He sat up, leaned back against the log, bent his legs and rested his forearms across his knees. He was not looking at her, but she could feel his scrutiny. Perhaps he was judging her and found her lacking. Embarrassed because she knew she could have given away their position, she cleared her throat and murmured, "I'm sorry. I . . . I don't know what came over me."
His gaze turned to the star-filled sky and he sighed before looking down at her. "It's alright, Miss." After a brief pause, "Did I scare you?"
She pushed herself up and turned to sit with her back against the log, limbs extended. She did her best to arrange her skirts over her legs. Not a ladylike position, even though her ankles were covered, but she was not in a parlor sipping tea, either. Her dress was filthy, her hair falling out of its coiffeur. She'd lost her cap somewhere along the road and hadn't even noticed until they'd settled for the night. And she was in a wild, untamed wilderness where the only thing that stood between her and danger was the young man beside her. "A bit," she admitted.
"My apologies," he stated, rather formerly.
"Oh, sir, no need to apologize." She glanced up at him and realized he was looking at her with that same intensity she thought she'd glimpsed by the river today. But as he'd done then, he quickly averted his gaze. Did he think she was frightened of him? She tucked her legs beside her, rearranged the skirts of her dress. "I . . . I could have alerted them to our presence." She clasped her hands in her lap, looked down at them, and continued, "I know you were only trying to keep us safe." After a pause, her eyes flicked up to him again and she asked, "Why did they turn back?"
"Sacred ground," he stated as he eyed the platforms only a short distance away.
She looked up at the structures hovering above them and caught her breath. Those "structures" were platforms holding skeletons and torn strips of buckskin. "Oh, my."
"Do they frighten you?"
She considered his question. "I don't think so," she replied slowly. "But it certainly is not a place I expected to be sleeping. Ever." A tiny smile graced her lips, but she didn't think he could see her in the dim moonlight. She wondered if he'd recognize she was trying to lighten the moment a bit.
When his lips formed a half smile, not only did she realize he had a slight dimple in his right cheek, but he could see her in the darkness. And he understood her jest. "You've never slept outside before."
"And why would you assume that, Sir?" She pretended outrage. When his half smile turned into a full-fledged grin she chuckled, glad he seemed to understand her. Or at least her humor.
He looked again up at the sky. "Hmmmm. Let me think about your question."
"I would imagine it shouldn't take much thought," she murmured. And sighed. And appreciated his answering smirk. She too looked up at the heavens. The sky, with its millions of stars, appeared bigger than it did in London—like gems on a black velvet cloth. She could reach up and pluck one down. Or perhaps, she had never really looked before. Her gaze traveled back to the young man beside her. "I have not thanked you and your companions for all you have done for us. You . . . you saved our lives." When he remained silent, she wondered if he was thinking about the devastation they'd come across earlier today. "Those people at the cabin . . ." she ventured. He looked down and away, his jaw tightening. "Did you . . ." she stopped, unsure if she should continue but filled with a need to know. "Did you know those people?" she finished in a rush.
He did not answer immediately, and she thought she had offended him. Before she could apologize, he said, in that deep, soft voice she was beginning to identify with him, "Yes. They were good friends."
When he offered no more, she whispered, "I am so very sorry." She paused again, sensing it was unnecessary to fill the silence. When she felt ready, she said, "It was . . . unlike anything . . ." swallowed before continuing, "even Cora, who has seen war before was . . . shocked."
After another quiet moment, he looked at her. "Thank you, Miss."
Since he seemed willing to talk, at least a little, Alice asked the question that had been plaguing her since they were at the cabin. "May I ask . . . may I ask why you left them as they were?"
Even a longer pause this time as his gaze shifted to the skeletons then up to the sky and, finally, to his arms draped across his knees. "If we'd buried them . . . moved them, anyone trying to follow our trail would know we'd been there."
Alice inhaled deeply then released her breath in a rush. "I had not thought of that. So we owe you and your companions yet another debt of gratitude. 'Thank you' does not seem enough."
He shrugged one shoulder. The movement was so slight that if Alice had not been watching him closely, she may have missed it. This man moved and spoke so carefully, so quietly. She had never met anyone like him. "No need, Miss."
"Alice." He looked at her, a slight crease forming between his brows. "My name is Alice Munro. After all that has happened, 'Miss' seems much too formal."
"Miss Alice," he nodded.
When he offered no more, she asked, "What is your name, Sir? If I may?"
"Uncas." No hesitation this time.
"May I call you 'Uncas'?"
He nodded again.
"Does it have any special meaning?"
"Fox."
"Oh, I like that!" she exclaimed quietly.
He grinned again, "Does 'Alice' have any special meaning?"
Now it was her turn to smile. "Will you promise not to laugh?"
"Why would I laugh?" he asked, as if genuinely surprised at her question.
"Noble. Exalted. Of which I am neither." Feeling a bit embarrassed, she brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around her bent legs.
"Not descended from royalty?" That half smile again.
"Just a Colonel. And a Scottish one at that. And a Scottish mother."
"You're not English?"
"Not by birth. But I lived in London most of my life." She was surprised she could converse with this stranger so easily. It was as if they'd known one another for years. "May I ask where you learned to speak English so well?"
"My father wanted us to know the white world as well as our own. He sent us to Reverend Wheelock's school when we were young boys."
"The men you travel with—"
"My father and brother."
"Brother?"
"My father adopted Nathaniel before I was born. He was 1 or 2 summers."
She nodded, turned her face to the sky. What an unexpected idea, that an Indian should adopt a white child, raise him as his own. Nathaniel seemed more Indian than White. All along their journey today, she watched them interact, observed how seamlessly they worked together—unlike so many families she knew, who sometimes barely spoke to one another.
Uncas rose, bent to pick up his rifle, and said, "I'm to keep watch. Will you be alright, Miss?"
"Yes. Thank you. And it's Alice." She smiled up at him. "Please."
He nodded, "Alice," and was off.
She shifted and rearranged herself to lay down once again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Uncas' father watching her. It was difficult to read his expression in the dark and from this distance, but she hoped he was not displeased with her or his son.
When she closed her eyes, Uncas' face danced before her vision—his dimpled half smile, his smirk, the intensity in his eyes. Clearly, the fierce countenance he'd displayed when first they'd met was a mask. And although he could fight like the very devil, he was unexpectedly sweet and gentle. Another surprise in this untamed place.
Uncas had seen the slight gesture from his father, indicating it was his turn to keep watch. He quietly made his way to his post and prepared to be still and silent for the next few hours. After initially taking stock of the area, he settled in and allowed his mind to wander, just a little, to the intriguing Miss Munro. Alice.
Intriguing and surprising. Although his father had taught his sons to withhold judgement and assess people and situations as if it were their first encounter, even if it was the 100th, he admitted he sometimes found it difficult. He'd learned to remain quiet, watchful upon encountering those who were so very different from himself and his family. It had taken only one or two "lessons" from Reverend Wheelock's school to educate him in that regard. So, while he'd tried not to judge Miss Alice Munro, he acknowledged that he had fixed an idea in his mind about what kind of white woman would be traveling with a company of English soldiers—in the middle of a war. And what had he assumed about her? An "English Miss." Pampered. Sheltered. Terrified, and rightly so.
What he discovered was that even if she was all those things—except, unexpectedly, English—and a Colonel's daughter, she also walked a distance today, sometimes over rough terrain, the threat of attack at any time, without complaint. She'd not spoken at all after she yelled at him about the horses. Another indication that she was different than the few—very few—"English Misses" he'd met over the years. He thought about how easily they'd conversed tonight. Apart from Alexandra Cameron and one or two others, he'd never felt at ease among white women. As his father had told his sons, they were "a breed apart."
Beneath his calloused fingers, her skin felt soft, unblemished, her lips plump. While they talked, he'd folded his arms across his knees to keep from reaching out to touch her face again. He wondered at that urge, then shook his head. It was simply the situation in which they found themselves—the heightened danger, the unusual circumstances. Was she being honest when she said he hadn't scared her? Once she understood what was going on, however, she'd settled down and appeared quite comfortable for someone who had never slept under the stars before.
His mind turned again to her eyes—their unique color, the way they noticed and absorbed the things around her. Tonight, he'd tried to get a better look at them, but the dim moonlight made it nearly impossible. All he could see was that her eyes glittered like stars reflecting off a body of water. He promised himself he would find another opportunity, then wondered why he felt it essential to stare into the eyes of a young, naïve, white girl. He'd never before felt this pull for any woman, not even among the Delaware . . .
"Find a Delaware speaking woman for Uncas. She will say, 'You are the one!' and bear him many children!" Nathaniel exclaimed as he tossed the oldest Cameron child, James, to Uncas. His mind drifted back to the last time they'd seen the family alive.
He'd caught the child in his arms and held him in his lap. "So you can have a boy like me?" James asked, looking up at him with big, smiling eyes.
"Never! You're too strong. Turn me old too fast," Uncas replied, grinning as he tickled the child. James' giggle reverberated throughout the cabin.
"Oh, that's what he's doin' to his mama," Alexandra laughed as she walked by and ruffled the boy's hair.
The fresh pain gripped him once again. Was it just a few days ago their little girl had climbed onto his back as he'd sat at their table to share a meal and exchange news?
He bowed his head, pressed a thumb to his temple to erase the vision of the burned-out cabin, the dead bodies. Inhaling deeply, he looked up again at the stars. "Ànati," he silently beckoned, "Ksi, kènahkihaok." For suddenly, he felt powerless—a little boy again, calling to the mother he never knew.
Author's Notes:
I know a few of you have been waiting for the moment when Alice and Uncas finally talk to each other. (More to come, I promise!). I have to say that once they started, they didn't want to stop! Truly, I just wrote down what they said. (I actually had to ask Chingachgook to interrupt, or they would have stayed up all night chatting!) I was concerned that maybe they talked too much—they're so quiet in the movie. But I remember reading somewhere (maybe another FF author's notes?) that Jodhi May said about 90% of her lines were cut. If that's the case, then I think these two might have had quite a bit to say to one another! Also, it may seem odd that they could find any humor after the day they had, but we know that Uncas definitely has a sense of humor—a few scenes in the movie attest to that (the visit to the Cameron's cabin; the next morning when Nathaniel says he doesn't find himself subject to much at all; in the infirmary with Cora and Nathaniel). Although we really don't see it with Alice, I think of the first scene in which she appears when she's chatting with Duncan; she's so excited about their "adventure." If given the chance, I think she could find humor in unexpected circumstances.
The phrase: ". . . were platforms holding skeletons and torn strips of buckskin" is taken directly from the script on the Mohican Press website. (Which I do not own the rights to.)
From the Lenapi Talking Dictionary:
Ànati – Dear Mother
Ksi – Please
Kènahkihaok –you take care of them
I do not own the rights to "Under the Stars" by John Legend. I had a hard time finding lyrics or a song for this chapter. From doing a few searches, I came across this beautiful John Legend song (and another song, by an artist new to me, with lyrics that fit Uncas and Alice PERFECTLY—I'm expecting to use it later). I wanted to focus on the idea of them being outside, at night, beneath a star-filled sky. There is something about being in that sort of situation that I think allows for a bit more honesty and openness between two people. Especially after experiencing so many close encounters with danger.
Thank you, MohawkWoman for helping me with some details (as she so often does!), especially about the Cameron children; and for reminding me that this is fan fiction, and the characters can do what they want to!
Thank you to NotMarge, who encouraged me, from the beginning, to write what I want.
And thank you, readers—both silent and those of you who comment/review. I'm very appreciative of the time and energy you've given to this story. Please stay safe and healthy.