Chapter 4
Across a Divide
"River Cross"
I always thought I'd cross that river
The other side, distant now
As we got close it turned and widened
The horizon now, fading out
Drifting off in the undertow
Can't spot a figure on dry land
And afterthoughts of safety
When in truth, none to be had
None to be had
I used to tell time by my shadow
'Til the thunderclouds, they took the stage
These days will end as do the light's rays
Another read of the same page
Wide awake through this deepest night
Still waiting on the sun
As the hours seem to multiply
Find a star to soldier on
Folded over, forced in a choke hold
Outnumbered and held down
As we fight with the invisible
For the future, feel the promise now of here and now
Here and now
Won't hold us down
Won't hold us down
Let it out
Shout it out
Get it out
Get it out
Won't hold us down
Won't hold us down
Share the light
Won't hold us down
Share the light
Won't hold us down
Share the light
Won't hold us down
Share the light . . .
Songwriter: Eddie Jerome Vedder
River Cross lyrics © Innocent Bystander
This version from the video - One World: Together at Home
Their group fell into the same formation they had yesterday—Uncas' father leading, Nathaniel next with Cora, interestingly, close behind him, Duncan following Cora. Alice was last, except when Uncas brought up the rear. Often, though, he ventured to higher, parallel ground. At those times, she glimpsed him only across areas where less foliage grew.
Alice missed his presence when she couldn't see him and wondered at that notion. Wondered why she felt more secure when he was behind her. Well, of course she felt more secure—he was protecting her . . . them . . . from possible attack. But why did he separate himself?
Once again crossing a less wooded and more open expanse, she peered to her right. He stood on a ridge a good distance away, facing them. Was he looking at her? She shook her head at that silly notion. Of course not. He was keeping watch over all of them. Guarding them. Safeguarding their passage. She absolutely should not assume their conversation last night had any meaning for him beyond humoring a frightened, inexperienced girl. Had she been so forthright as to ask him to call her by her Christian name? She blinked. She had. And blamed the events of the day for her boldness. He seemed amenable to the idea, however.
And his name . . . Uncas. Her lips parted as she silently pronounced the letters, then whispered it. The sounds were foreign to her ears, but she savored how it resonated—like an exhale.
She looked again to the rocky ledge where he stood. Even from this distance, she could see the black sheen of his long hair made even sleeker by the drizzle that had been falling since they'd set out that morning. Why his hair attracted her was baffling. The illustrations in her father's few books about the Americas depicted Indians with no hair except for a narrow tuft that ran from front to back in the middle of their heads. Almost every man she'd ever met wore a wig, like her father and Duncan. The few who didn't looked nothing like Uncas. She grinned. No, nothing like him at all.
Her mother's hair had been a deep brown and longer than Uncas'. She had a vague memory of her mother, hair loose and wild, tucking her into bed. As she leaned over, that beautiful mane fell like a dark waterfall, surrounding Alice as she received her mother's goodnight kiss. Alice had reached up, gripped a handful of strands with her little fingers—soft, thick, smooth, and the smell of the sea wafting around her.
She tightened her hold on the small, wooden box in her hand, thankful she hadn't lost it in the attack. She'd kept it hidden in her pocket for most of their journey, occasionally taking it out and fingering its carved design to reassure herself it was still in her possession.
As she watched Uncas now, he turned, looked to the side, up, behind him—as if he heard a noise and searched for its source. The movement slid his hair over his shoulder and down his back. What would his hair feel like within her palms? Black velvet, soft against her skin. "Alice!" she silently scolded herself, "mind on the path ahead!" She felt warmth creep up her neck and face. As she forced her attention back to the uneven ground, she knew it was not the heat of the day turning her cheeks pink. Clearly, her thoughts drifted to where they did not belong. Imagine, wondering how a man's hair might feel sliding between her fingers. She shivered as a slight chill rolled through her body. Perhaps because of the dampness in the air. Or perhaps because of something—or someone—else.
Despite the rain, however, the air felt thick, her gown heavy, her limbs leaden. Beads of sweat rolled down the center of her back like a fingernail. She shivered again and wished for a hot bath. "Silly schoolgirl," she silently admonished herself, "to expect such luxuries in the middle of the wilderness."
"Much further?" Cora asked.
"Top of the next ridge. Fort's downhill of it," Nathaniel replied.
They trod through the light rain, over uneven ground, between trees and shrubs. Uncas disappeared from her line of sight again, which was for the best. She needed to concentrate on placing her feet carefully along this unfamiliar route.
Exhaustion reached out to claim her as they climbed the final ridge. The land tilted up and she questioned if she could walk another step but dutifully continued to put one foot in front of the other. In her head, the cadence of Nathaniel's pronouncement kept her moving: top of the next ridge . . . top of the next ridge. . . top of the next ridge . . .
"Alice," Duncan appeared by her side. "Allow me," he extended his arm. She wrapped her hand around his forearm, grateful for the support. "The men of the regiment will fetch water from the lake, build fires, and provide every comfort you desire."
A laugh escaped her, and she wondered if he could read her mind. Or perhaps she simply looked and smelled like she needed a bath desperately. "I cannot wait to see Papa," she replied, and found the energy for what she hoped was the final tract before they reached Fort William Henry.
Perched on a ridge about 200 steps from the small party, Uncas watched as they plodded along the rough ground. It was easy to spot Alice with her crown of darkly golden hair. Despite being unfamiliar with the land she traversed, she appeared more surefooted than he expected for one who seemed so delicate, although she kept her gaze downcast, as if she measured each step. She glanced to her right—directly at him. Or so he imagined. Surely, she was too far away to really see him. He blinked then turned his eyes away. Nathaniel's voice in his head, with his usual bluntness, demanded, "And why would she be looking at you, brother? And why do you wonder about that? She's not a Delaware-speaking woman." He'd smile in his infectious way, and Uncas would laugh, as he almost always did when his big brother teased him.
He cocked his head, listening. While he couldn't place exactly what he heard, he felt in his bones they were being followed. He turned his gaze up, around to either side of him. Nothing but the sounds of the forest. And yet, he knew to trust that feeling more than what his eyes may—or may not—see.
The little troop disappeared from his line of sight behind several trees and vegetation. They'd be approaching the last ridge before the descent to the lake and the fort beyond. A need to rejoin them as soon as possible gnawed at him. He could not shake this feeling of unease, similar to what he felt while standing at the edge of Muh-he-kun-ne-tuk yesterday, not long before they encountered the war party attacking the regiment . . . and discovered the Munro sisters.
Sure-footed, he changed direction to meet up with them at the bottom of the ridge. How they'd get across the lake was another concern. From what he knew of English ladies—or ladies raised in the English way—they could not swim, were in fact, often frightened of the water. But Alice had displayed a real fascination with every river and stream they passed along their journey. He wondered if he would ever discover the answer to that curiosity.
Then wondered why he was curious at all.
Nathaniel's mischievous voice again invaded his mind—"Delaware-speaking woman . . . you are the one . . . bear him many children."
And yet . . . and yet, Miss Alice Munro refused to vacate his thoughts. Why? Why could he not shake the image of her staring at every body of water they passed? And why was he so fascinated by her fascination? Once they arrived at the fort and delivered the women to their father, he would never see her again.
The tiny jolt he felt at that thought surprised him. He needed to get this pale, Scottish girl with the alluring eyes out of his head and concentrate on the task at hand. For it was formidable and required all his attention.
This last portion of their journey seemed like the "never-ending ridge" and felt steeper than any of the others. Alice slowed, trying to catch her breath. She looked up and saw Cora plod over the top and vanish. "Duncan, may I just . . . catch my breath a moment."
"Of course." He replied and dropped her arm. She could sense his impatience, however. His gaze continually travelled to the top of the ridge.
Cora followed closely behind Nathaniel for most of the day. Yesterday, Duncan had stayed by her side—until last night. Cora had chosen to sleep by Nathaniel. When Alice awoke in the morning, she saw her sister rise to her feet while Nathaniel, still on the ground, leaned back on one elbow and gazed up at her as she brushed dirt off her skirt. Alice wondered at the look on his face.
"Go on ahead, Duncan."
"No, Alice. I shall wait for you." He glanced briefly at her before turning his attention back to the top of the ridge.
Alice stared at his profile then without a word, picked up her skirts and once again put one foot ahead of the other. He remained unmoving until she had taken several steps. Lost in his own thoughts, she supposed. Thoughts of Cora. And Nathaniel. Duncan appeared put out by having to rely on these men to get them safely to the fort—Nathaniel in particular. For her part, however, she was simply grateful they had come upon them and decided to escort them to safety.
"Alice, wait." He quickly caught up to her.
"It's alright, Duncan. I will manage." But he did not relent and took hold of her arm again.
The sun had begun to set—it would be dark by the time they reached the fort. At least it was no longer drizzling. But as they descended, lightning flashed, thunder boomed.
One-by-one they reached the bottom of the ridge—Nathaniel, Cora just behind him. Chingachgook pushed by Cora to stand next to Nathaniel. Duncan and Alice approached last; he released her arm. The five of them stood watching. Not thunder and lightning. The fort was being attacked.
Alice hugged the box to her heart. What were they to do now?
Uncas watched them approach the shoreline. They stood motionless as cannons fired, exploding across the evening sky. Barriers breeched. This, none of them had expected. Why would a father bid his daughters join him in the midst of a siege? He heard faint sounds from behind—the pad of moccasin-clad feet stepping lightly—and he turned. A band of Ottawa on their trail. He scrambled down the rocky slope, his footsteps noiseless while the breath pumped in and out of him.
Alice stood alone behind her sister. He saw her slip something into her pocket. Nathaniel and the English soldier dragged a canoe through the shallows away from the skeletal remains of an unfinished boat. Whoever left the canoe would be disappointed when they found it gone. Uncas felt no remorse. Instead, he thanked the Great Spirit for gifting it to them.
He edged behind Alice and gently placed a hand on the small of her back to warn her he was there. Still, she flinched. "Oh," she breathed, her hand to her heart. Clearly, he'd startled her, but he had no time to apologize. He spoke in Mohican to his father, warning of the approaching band.
Nathaniel turned to the women and the soldier and declared, "Ottawa on our tails. Move." As The Major helped Cora step into the stern, Nathaniel continued, "Stay low and don't make a sound." Cora nodded.
Alice drifted into the water towards the bow. The bottom of her dress dragged against her legs and she stumbled on the wet fabric. Uncas caught her arm before she tumbled headfirst into the lake. "Careful, Miss," he murmured.
She turned to him with eyes lit by the red flares of illumination rockets. "Thank you." Her voice was so low he barely heard her; she appeared on the verge of collapsing. Once settled in the canoe, she and her sister hunkered down and gripped the gunwales for support.
The four men took up positions around the canoe—Chingachgook and Nathaniel portside, Uncas and the soldier starboard; Uncas and his father at the bow, the other two at the stern. While they may not have been in accord with The Major since they'd met, Uncas admitted that the four of them, gliding shoulder-deep through the water, worked in harmony. The mission to bring these women safely across the lake and into the arms of their father obviously outweighed any animosity they may have felt towards one another.
The sisters crouched low, kept silent as Nathaniel had ordered. Out of the corner of his eye, Uncas spied Alice angled towards him, her forearms resting on the gunwales. Her right hand slid over the side and the tips of her fingers trailed in the water. He heard a sigh emanate from her, as if it came from someplace deep within, before her breath steadied. He glanced at her. "Alright, Miss?"
Eyes riveted on him, she mumbled what he thought was an affirmative then pulled her hand out of the water and gripped the gunwale once again. He turned his attention back to guiding the canoe. Two more steady steps before his leg knocked into something beneath the surface and he felt a jab against his left side. The unexpected prod plunged him under. His grip on the gunwale slipped and the canoe bobbled. Chingachgook reacted quickly and righted the hull as Uncas surfaced.
"Uncas? Are you alright?" Alice whispered.
He grasped the gunwale, spitting lake water and blinking droplets out of his eyes. Squinting up at her, he nodded, "Fine, Miss," then focused his gaze ahead. A soft stroke, like a feather, brushed across his knuckles. He shifted his eyes to his left but saw only his fingers gripping the canoe. Had he imagined that touch? He shook his head and concentrated on the approaching bank.
As Chingachgook and Uncas pulled the canoe onto the shore, the Major helped Alice step out while Nathaniel aided Cora. They trudged up the bank and onto dry land. The sounds of gunfire, cannons exploded through the night air. They altered their course a few times as they climbed up the embankment.
Uncas adjusted his stride to Alice's pace. He could see fatigue weighing on her as her steps slowed, her shoulders sagged. "Miss." No response. He tried again. Still nothing. "Alice." She turned to him, her eyes large and shimmering with the reflection of mortar bomb explosions and flares. "Alright?" He held her arm. She nodded then surprised him by wrapping her hand around his shoulder. Together, they supported each other as they wend their way alongside the north wall.
Nathaniel and the Major somehow convinced the guards to open the sally-port. They rushed headlong into the long, damp tunnel, Alice and Uncas still clinging to one another. When they reached the entrance to the parade grounds, the Major pushed between them, shoving Alice towards her sister. Uncas stepped back, trying to shake off the unexpected feeling of loss he felt from the abrupt disconnection.
"I'm Major Duncan Heyward."
"Captain Jeffrey Beams. Didn't expect you to make it through."
"Take me to Colonel Munro. His daughters are here, too."
Cora and Alice, their arms about one another, staggered across the parade grounds. Nathaniel, Uncas, Chingachgook, and Heyward followed. Shouts. Noise all about them as if they'd stumbled into the midst of a tempest, which, undoubtedly, they had.
"Hallo, boys!"
"Nathaniel!"
Uncas and Nathaniel turned towards the voices hailing from the ramparts and recognized faces among the militia.
"Need to talk to you, Jack!" Nathaniel yelled to the man they'd last seen at the Cameron's cabin only a few short days ago. A lifetime ago.
"Uncas! Thought you and Nathaniel weren't joinin' up!" their friend, Ian, caught up to Uncas and yelled above the cacophony.
"We didn't," Uncas shouted back.
"Dropped in to see how you boys is doin'," Nathaniel remarked.
A mortar exploded nearby, causing all of them, even the Major, to shudder. Uncas saw Alice stagger and almost fall but Cora steadied her. Suddenly, Alice broke away and ran forward. "Papa! Papa!" she screamed, as she threw herself into her father's arms, Cora not far behind.
"Alice! Cora!" Munro bellowed as he embraced his daughters, "why are ya' here? And where the hell are my reinforcements?" He threw his coat over Alice's shoulders as they hastened to his office, the Major following.
Uncas saw his father and Nathaniel exchange a look at the Colonel's question about reinforcements. If the Colonel was expecting reinforcements, the situation was dire. And he wondered what would happen to Alice and her sister with the fort under attack.
"Get Mr. Phelps!" her father yelled as Alice slipped his jacket off her shoulders. He tossed it aside and admonished, "I told ya' to stay away! Why did ya' disobey me, girls?"
"When? How?" Cora asked.
Nathaniel, Uncas, and their father strode into the Colonel's office and aligned themselves near the entrance, watching the scene unfold.
"My letter."
"There was none."
"What?"
"There was no letter," Cora insisted.
Alice's eyes flicked back and forth between her father, Duncan, and Cora. What was this news of a letter? Her father had warned them to stay away?
"I sent three couriers to Webb," he insisted.
"One called Magua arrived," Duncan replied.
"He delivered no such message," Cora added.
"Does Webb even know we are under siege?" he barked.
Alice swallowed. Something was very wrong here. It was not the safe haven they had expected. Her father did not want them here. And if she was understanding the situation, they were in extreme danger.
"Sir, Webb has no idea. And he certainly doesn't know to send reinforcements." Duncan declared.
Alice watched her father's face. He looked troubled. Uncertain. Defeated. She'd never seen him so. He'd always been the self-assured, occasionally harsh, and big, strong, in-charge father. Who was this haggard-looking man standing before her now? True, it had been two years since she had last seen him. And while he'd changed a bit—a few more lines creased his eyes and bracketed his mouth—she thought he was the same father she remembered. And yet, something had altered. And she? Was she still the silly, little schoolgirl who wondered if she looked anything like her mother?
He sighed, blinked a few times, and appeared to gather himself. Looking up at his daughters, he took one of their hands in each of his, turned to Cora, and in a completely different voice asked, "What happened to ya'?"
"On the George Road. Attacked," Duncan interjected.
"We're fine," Cora assured him.
With a sudden clarity that surprised her, Alice realized at least one thing that had changed—she no longer had to look up to see her father's face. Their eyes were on a level. And so, with a new purpose—to offer reassurance and succor—she asked, "Are you alright?"
Without hesitation, he replied, "Yes."
"What will happen here, Papa?"
He embraced her, patted her shoulder, and said, "It'll be alright, girl."
To him, she was, apparently, still that silly, little schoolgirl. She knew her father intended to reassure her, so she hugged him back. At the same time, her gaze traveled across the room to Uncas. His dark eyes watched her—steady, serene.
"This Magua led us into it," Duncan declared, "18 killed. These men came to our aid. They guided us here."
Her father released her and turned to the three Mohicans.
She and Uncas continued to stare at one another. It was as if she couldn't take her eyes from his. Although he seemed distant, a strong sense of comfort encircled her. And something else, too. His face, bathed in shadow and light, the left side illuminated, accentuating his smooth, bronze skin and high, sharp cheekbones, drew her. Not because he was so very handsome. She had met several handsome men when she made her debut into society only a few months ago, but she'd not felt so drawn to any of them. Of course, neither had she met anyone like Uncas before, nor been in such life threatening situations before. His shirt opened in a "V" at his neck where she saw, in sharp relief, tattoos across his upper chest. His long-fingered hands wrapped his rifle. Their conversation at the burial grounds the night before floated into her mind. How comfortable and safe she'd felt in his presence, appreciating the serenity that emanated from him. Beyond that, however, there was something else that captivated her; but what, she could not divine. Their worlds, so dissimilar—a deep divide of experiences separated them. He, a man of the wilderness, of the elements, while she? A child of the city with but one visit, until now, to an untamed, wild place.
"Thank you. Do ya' need anything?" Her father, the commanding Colonel once again, interrupted her rambling thoughts.
Uncas' eyes swiveled from her to her father. While Nathaniel's face remained impassive, Uncas made a tiny gesture—just a slight lift of the left side of his mouth—that she found exceedingly charming! And which she would have missed had she not been staring at him. It was as if he said, "It was nothing," without uttering a word. But what they had done had been everything.
"Help ourselves to a few horns from your powder stores." Nathaniel said.
"Some food." Uncas added.
"Indebted to ya'."
As distant blasts shook the office, Mr. Phelps entered. "Miss Cora, how are ye'?"
"Hello, Mr. Phelps," she replied, mustering a smile.
"Mrs. McCann will get some dry clothes for ye'," he assured.
"Thank you."
Her father turned and instructed, "Go with your sister, Alice." Looking at his worn face, she wished to allay his concerns and worries and hugged him, fiercely. However, he misunderstood her intent, and instead, endeavored to comfort her, "It'll be alright, girl. It'll be alright."
Resigned, she followed Cora and Mr. Phelps. As she passed Uncas, she shifted her eyes to him. That gesture again—this time, directed at her. She looked down, pressed her lips together to stop a smile from creeping across her face then glanced at him once more before turning her attention to Cora and Mr. Phelps. As they left her father's office, a sudden thought struck her—would this be the last time she would see Uncas? She turned back, her hand reaching out, but the door slammed shut behind her.
"Alice?" Cora stopped and took Alice's arm. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," Alice replied. They followed Mr. Phelps across the parade grounds.
But Alice did not feel fine. She felt like weeping. Of course, she wouldn't. And though the events of the past two days and her exhaustion were legitimate excuses, she knew it was something else entirely that caused the bereft feeling within her.
When the Colonel learned that General Webb and his reinforcements were not in Albany but only 12 miles away at Fort Edward, Munro, Nathaniel, and Heyward discussed the possibility of a courier getting through to Webb. As the discussion wore on, Uncas wondered if he would see Alice again. He expected not. She would become a brief episode on their trek to Can-tuk-ee. Disappointment fell heavy against him.
"Something else," Nathaniel began, "The Cameron's cabin—frontier cabin." He pressed his palm against his forehead, as if trying to push the memories away. Uncas looked at him, then turned his eyes to the ceiling, remembering the slaughter, the destruction. "Came upon it yesterday, it was burned out. Everyone murdered. It was Ottawa. Allied to the French."
"Aye." Munro faced them. "So?"
Uncas turned to Nathaniel. Had he heard the Colonel correctly? Had the man just dismissed the massacre of their friends?
"It was a war party. That means they're gonna be attacking up and down the frontier," Nathaniel avowed.
"Thank you, Sir," Munro stated.
Anger rose in Uncas—a feeling he did not often experience, but when he did, it struck like a war club to the chest. "People here . . . Mohawks, settlers . . . have family out there," Uncas declared.
"That'll be all, Sir," Munro dismissed him.
Nathaniel muttered to Uncas in Mohican that they would get nowhere with this man. As one, Uncas, Nathaniel and Chingachgook turned towards the door and stalked out of the office. Uncas threw one last look at Munro and Heyward, who'd seen the devastation yet did not speak up. Instead, he'd remained as impassive as the Colonel.
What kind of place had they come to, Uncas wondered? And what kind of man was Alice's father to so coldly dismiss the killing of innocents on the frontier? He did not understand these Whites. But he'd felt, deep down, that perhaps Alice was different. But perhaps not, being the daughter of Munro. Regrettably, he supposed he would never know.
Author's Notes:
Huge thank you to MohawkWoman, who patiently walked me through the scene in the movie that leads up to the fort. She offered amazingly observant details (like the fact that it was drizzling; that the canoe jerked to one side). She also came up with some ideas about how Uncas might have gotten his injury (one of which I used in this chapter). A skirmish at the lake was written into the script but was not included in the film. And while I'm following much of the film and pulling a few things from the script (on the Mohican Press site), I didn't want them to be involved in yet another fight before they crossed the lake. I mean, damn, they've already been through so much (and have even more to go through)! I thought it might be better to have Uncas get his wound in a fairly mundane way. (**Oops, didn't see that thing under the water!**)
I owe another debt of gratitude to Calliste9, who saw that Alice carries a keepsake box in some scenes. I'd never noticed it before she mentioned it in her wonderful story, Bare. When I went back to watch a few scenes (VERY closely), there it was! In fact, Alice is carrying it when Duncan assists her up the last ridge when he's telling her the men of the fort will fetch water, etc. She is gripping that box like her life depended on it. I thought it could be an interesting detail in this story. Calliste9 graciously gave me the OK, as she noted, "It's canon!"
Also, thank you to my husband, who found the song for this chapter. As with the previous chapter, I was having a hard time finding lyrics and music that seemed to fit. We were listening to Pearl Jam recently and he said, "Hey, listen to 'River Cross.' It might fit your chapter." I think it reflects the feelings of both Alice and Uncas at this time—all the uncertainty, the fear, and yet, the hope. Plus, although they crossed a lake and not a river, the chapter title refers to the divides between Alice and Uncas—they are many and wide. I got to thinking of all the divides they had to cross to get to one other—physical, cultural, and emotional. "River Cross" seems to echo that too, especially the version I cite (you can find it on YouTube)—it's just Eddie and an organ, and his soulful voice. And I do not own the rights to "River Cross."
This chapter is long (and maybe a little boring and feels like it took forever to write). I know there isn't a lot of direct interaction between Alice and Uncas. It's a bit of a transition chapter to get them to the fort, where, I promise, there WILL be more interaction between them. Thank you lovely102 and Emory Rose for your encouragement and advice, which made me rethink a few things and go back and add more internal thoughts, especially for Alice.
And I thank you readers—both silent and those of you who take the time to comment/follow/fave. I so appreciate your support and interest in Heritage!
I said this story was a kind of fairy tale, and so far, it really hasn't been. Our characters need to get back to the waterfall, where the story began. But before they get there, a few things have to happen first . . . I thank you for your patience.