5 August
Sleeping during the day turned out to be a mixed blessing. Most than once, Alice woke from her troubled dreams to discover she was bathed in light, her sister sleeping soundly beside her.
Eventually, Alice woke once more as Cora bustled around the room. Sunlight still streamed in from the windows.
"What time is it?" She mumbled.
"Late afternoon."
Alice rolled over with a groan and looked around. Her boots and stockings were in a heap on the floor, her skirt and bodice likewise on the seat of the chair that held a maroon shirt draped over its back. Her heart pounded at the sight of her and Uncas's discarded clothing mingled together; it was positively indecent.
She cast a furtive glance at her sister, who was pinning her hair up into a messy but sensible pile. Cora nodded to the chair.
"Is that Uncas's shirt?"
Alice buried her face in the blanket to hide her blush, hoping she simply appeared to be hiding from the glare of the sun. But Cora would know that he had taken it off in front of her; she would hunt him down and give him a scolding for the ages.
Alice spoke in a muffled voice. "I offered to mend it."
"Quite right." Cora sounded unperturbed. Commending, even. "I'll be collecting linens for the surgery."
Alice peeked out to watch her sister leave, then sat up, dumbfounded. That went over better she could have hoped.
She swung her legs out over the side of the bed, stood, and promptly collapsed to the ground with a startled "mmph". Her legs were jelly; they might never bear her weight again. How many miles had they trekked through the wilderness in the past two days? Whatever it was, it was many times more than the stroll in Hyde Park she was accustomed to.
She crawled over to the chair and with a monumental effort of will, pulled herself to her feet, got dressed, and searched for embroidery supplies. Finding her father's field kit in a cabinet, she sat back down and ran her fingers over Uncas's shirt.
If only she had her own embroidery kit with her. In it, she would have found an approximation of the color thread she needed. She hoped whoever had found their pack horse along the George Road would make good use of it.
Alice made quick work of the tear and sat back to examine it. She used a stitch that hid most of the black thread from sight, but had second thoughts. What if it wasn't durable enough, and fell to pieces the first day Uncas wore it? She ripped it out and made a fresh row of tiny stitches.
What was she thinking? Now the mending was more obvious, and the stitches too perfect. Uncas would know how much time she spent fretting over the tear.
Before she could start over again, a knock sounded at the door.
"Alice?"
Her father's voice. She bade him enter, surreptitiously tucking the shirt beneath her arm.
"We need the room."
"Of course." She pulled herself to her feet and noticed the braid she slept in still hung across her shoulder. "Oh, but I haven't done my hair!" Not that she knew what to do with it; she couldn't pin it up in its customary braids on her own.
Papa sighed, but smiled affectionately. "My dear, no one minds."
A group of officers followed him in as she cleared the table. Her father introduced them, and somehow she managed to make the appropriate curtsies, feeling ridiculous all the while.
Alice was relieved when she was able to make her escape; perhaps now she could make herself more presentable. Before she had the chance, she ran into a group of colonials and Indians waiting outside.
"Mr. Poe, Capt. Winthrop."
The two men greeted her cordially, but seemed distracted. It had to be a serious meeting. Curiously, a third man with a bandage around his leg seemed to hide a smile as he caught sight of the bundle tucked beneath her arm. Did he recognize Uncas's shirt? She hoped she imagined it. It would be best to return it as soon as possible to avoid any further embarrassment.
As she left the kitchen armed with a cup of tea in one hand and yellow muffin in another, Alice found herself out on the parade ground with nowhere to go. She spotted Uncas sitting to the side at a fire with Chingachgook and a group of Indians—including a chief, by the look of him.
She noted with disappointment that Uncas had another shirt on. Irrationally, she became annoyed. Why did she go to all the bother mending this one so quickly? Perhaps he didn't even want it back. But, he looked rather fetching in green too.
Alice simply couldn't approach him in front of all those men. Losing her nerve, she made a plan of action to bribe one of the fort's children to deliver it for her. She had unlimited access to the rocks of sugar candy used in the officers' tea, and children liked sweets, didn't they?
But then Uncas looked up at her with an arresting smile. She had no choice but to be drawn forward.
As the sun dropped lower in the sky, Uncas sat with his father and a group of Mohawks around a campfire. He gave the pot a stir, knowing the only thing worse than this insipid meal would be a burnt one.
They discussed the raids on the area. Ongewesgone was displeased to hear of the Huron and Abenaki so near his own territory, but it was a risk the Twin River Mohawks had taken when they came to the fort. They had left others to defend their territory; it would have to be enough.
He spotted Alice standing on the outskirts of the parade ground; that golden hair was hard to miss. Now a single braid hung over her shoulder, the familiar pink ribbon tied in a bow at the end. The hairstyle could be an Indian one, yet it suited her beautifully.
She watched him, clearly hesitant to approach the group, so he went to her instead. She offered his shirt back to him wordlessly, not meeting his eyes. The illicit nature of the action made him smile.
"Thank you."
"It was nothing."
He gestured back to the fire, where the Mohawks were beginning to disperse. "Join us?"
She glanced around at the other fires scattered about that had men and women alike. With a small smile, she nodded.
Chingachgook introduced her to Ongewesgone, and her eyes lit up with interest. She bobbed the best curtsy she could manage with her hands full.
"Mohawk, you say? Pleased to meet you, sir."
She seemed disappointed when the chief left, but settled herself on a log. His father sat beside her at a respectful distance, subtly placing himself between the two. Uncas dished up their own meals, taking the time to mask his annoyance.
"They put you on rations? An egregious error; it will be corrected at once." Alice sounded appalled.
Turning, he saw that she made to stand, but his father stopped her with a wave of his hand. "Already cooked."
She settled back down, frowning. "Later, then."
Uncas handed a bowl to his father. To Alice, he said: "I guess I shouldn't offer you any."
Alice laughed. "No, thank you." She held her muffin aloft by way of explanation.
"Slipperdown?"
"That's what they tell me. Upon further inquiry, I was helpfully informed that it is a 'mush muffin'." She bit into it delicately and swallowed. "Mmm, yes. Quite mushy."
Uncas laughed, and was pleased to see his father smiling as well.
As they ate, Alice watched the group of Mohawks, lost in thought. Meeting his eyes, she nodded towards them. "How does one tell the difference between a Mohawk and Huron?"
He recalled the guide on the George Road and lowered his bowl. "You're thinking of Magua."
A nod. He did not like the way the Huron invaded her thoughts. He wished Nathaniel had been able to finish him off when he had the chance.
"Aside from the war party he led—his tattoo." He motioned to his temple. "Hair and clothes could be either."
"Way he fought," added Chingachgook. "Coward."
Uncas smiled grimly. It was not entirely unacceptable for a man to flee when faced with a sudden disadvantage, so he supposed his father referred to the way he targeted Cora. Killing women was not done, no matter what tribe one came from, though some made exceptions for white women. "There is no love lost between the Hurons and Mohicans."
Alice sipped her tea, staring into the fire. "He went to an awful lot of trouble if his aim was to murder my sister. Is that why Nathaniel thought it was blood vengeance?"
"Yes."
"And is it common practice to target the children of one's enemy?"
He and his father exchanged a look; they were well aware of it being done before.
"Practice is: a life is only taken for the one that is lost. Does not always work that way."
He looked to his father for permission to continue. Chingachgook gave a curt nod.
To Alice, Uncas said: "I will tell you a story.
"Years ago, the Mohicans live with our cousins, the Delaware. There is one Mohican girl in the village. Many want her as a wife, but she intends to marry another Mohican: a warrior, not yet proven in battle. One day, a Delaware captures the girl from her parents. Takes her away to a Huron tribe to marry her."
Alice listened with rapt attention, both hands clutched around her cup. "So the Delaware went to war with the Huron?"
"They did not. Does not happen when women are taken; they are adopted, treated well. Most believe not worth warring over, if they live happily. Delaware council offers the warrior another bride instead."
"But... that's awful."
Chingachgook grunted in agreement.
"Just so. When word arrives of the girl's location, the warrior goes after her on his own."
Alice gaped. "Truly?"
He inclined his head, smiling.
"But on his journey, he meets a Yengeese settler he knows well. Settler's home was raided by French trappers. Wife and daughters killed, baby gone. He searches for the boy; Settler and Warrior agree to help each other.
"Meanwhile, Hurons adopt the girl. They want her to marry one of their own warriors, not the traitor Delaware, though he may stay and become Huron. So, the Warrior and Settler watch the camp, wait until the girl goes to the river. She is with another woman. Settler leaves behind his rifle; holds the old woman back while the Warrior rescues the girl. Old woman screams. Mohicans escape in the Huron's own canoe, but Settler is taken. Mohicans are free, but decide they must go back for him together."
"To the Huron camp, the two of them! That's very brave."
"It is." Uncas grinned at his father, who narrowed his eyes back in annoyance, but Uncas could tell he was hiding a pleased smile. "Settler is tied up, in a group of men. Girl goes to the Hurons, and they are pleased to see her. She distracts them while Warrior comes close to the camp. As the Hurons decide to kill the Settler, Warrior leaps out, unties him, gives him his rifle. The Hurons have left their own amongst the trees. Warrior announces himself, calls for peace. But the traitor is there, throws his knife at his chest."
Alice gasped. Uncas enjoyed the effect the story had on her. Though shortened for time, he always thought it was good—but stories of one's own family tended to be.
"Girl hits his arm, knife lands in a tree instead. Warrior throws his own knife into the traitor's heart. Hurons want revenge."
Remembering what the topic of their conversation had been, Alice groaned. "Blood vengeance. But the warrior was defending himself!"
"Fault doesn't matter. A Huron died, so they attack. The three run back to the canoe, but Settler stops. He tells the Mohicans to find his son. He covers them so they can escape."
Alice held a hand over her mouth. Uncas nodded.
"He dies, but it does not fulfill the debt. The Hurons have been at war with the Mohicans ever since."
"Even now, when you are so few?"
Uncas nodded. She paused and looked to his father with sudden clarity.
"The Mohicans found the settler's son. Nathaniel Poe?"
His father nodded. "With trappers, Français. Not those that killed the women. Found them too." He stared darkly into the fire, the implication clear.
Alice understood. "But the girl?"
Uncas smiled. "Married my father, took Nathaniel in as her own, and had me."
Alice smiled back. "What is her name?"
"It was Wah-ta-Wah."
Her smile fell away as she heard the past tense. Chingachgook got to his feet with a sigh and walked away, clearly not wishing to hear the end of a story he knew all too well.
"The traitor had a brother."
"But he was not a Delaware when he died."
"Just so. It was not his right, but the brother still wanted his own revenge against our family. He wanted to take my mother, kill the rest of us."
"Why you and Nathaniel?"
"Coward. Didn't want us to grow up, challenge him. If he had a right for blood vengeance, it would be my father's life he could take. If my father had a brother of his own, perhaps him instead, but he did not. In the end, he killed my mother; she killed him too." He did not wish to go into detail.
She shifted closer to him. "I am so sorry. She sounds like a very brave woman."
He nodded. They stared into the flames of their campfire, looking brighter now as the sky began to darken.
Recalling the point of his story, Uncas added: "There is no feud with the Delaware."
"But you still fight the Huron."
"More now that war has brought them into our territory."
"Is that how you found us? Was your family... hunting them?"
He inclined his head. The Huron were on a war path; once found it would not go unchallenged.
"Well, I'm awfully glad you did." Her voice had gotten small. Alice place her hand over his, and he took it, ran a thumb over her knuckles as he looked into her eyes.
"Me too."
Alice glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening. "Oh, no."
He turned. Cora came marching toward them, face flushed in anger. Uncas slid away from Alice instantly. He wondered if he should he make a break for it, but too late. Cora stopped and cast a basket of linens to the ground.
"You would not believe what I just heard Duncan say."
"Oh." Alice relaxed, then tensed again. "Wait, what?"
"He said the raid on the farm had nothing to do with the French. 'Savages bent on thievery', he said."
Uncas was not surprised, but Alice was.
"Why?"
"Papa wants to keep the militia here."
"But surely if he knew their homes were being attacked..."
Uncas sighed. "Told him last night."
Alice was speechless as Nathaniel appeared. The meeting was over.
Uncas nodded to him. "Heard it went as expected."
"You could say that."
Cora began making apologies to Nathaniel as Alice stared vacantly ahead.
Uncas studied her face. "You all right?"
She blinked, shaken from her reverie. "Of course."
"Alice."
She looked up to see his admonishing frown and let out a long breath. "It's just... he's not the same man I knew in England. In some ways, he feels like a stranger now."
He had no words to comfort her, could not hold her in front of others. Uncas felt powerless.
Alice let out a breath and rearranged her skirts self-consciously. "So, I've been wondering. Do Mohicans make a habit of stealing canoes?" Her lightened tone seemed forced, but Uncas went along with the diversion.
"Often as we can. Fastest way to escape, and our territory tends to be downriver."
"And I'm sure it vexes your enemies terribly."
They shared a smile.
Across the fire, Nathaniel demonstrated the merits of his long rifle to Cora. He gestured at the barrel and made a spiral motion with his fingers, indicating the rifling inside. As Cora started to peer down the muzzle, he snatched it away, chiding her. She seemed startled at first, then threw her head back and let out a peal of laughter. Nathaniel joined in, shaking his head.
Uncas was envious; it was so easy for them, so impossible for himself. As Alice looked on, he wondered if she thought the same.
She glanced up at the sky. "It'll be night soon. Where will you be?"
"Keep watch where they need me. Maybe the ramparts. You?"
"The infirmary. Do take care, Uncas."
"You too, Alice."
She gave the smallest of shrugs, but nodded. As she left, he gathered his things. Cora turned to him.
"Thank you so much for your kindness towards Alice."
Surprised, Uncas only managed a nod. Did she think he was simply humoring her sister?
Nathaniel grinned. "Yes, Uncas. Very good of you."
Uncas decided it was best to escape before Cora could catch on. And none too soon, for as he did so, Nathaniel checked the pot over the fire for the last of the gruel.
"Ugh, it's burned!"
"Were you going to eat that? How vile."
As more laughter followed, Uncas smiled reluctantly. Nathaniel had never betrayed such particular interest in a woman before; it was assumed amongst friends and family alike that he might never settle down. Ultimately, Uncas wished his brother whatever happiness he could get, even if he could have none of his own.
After stopping by the kitchen to drop off her cup and make requests for early morning "supper", Alice made her way to the infirmary. Cora joined her shortly and they got to work, Alice running errands and gathering supplies while her sister patched up the injured.
She thought of the way Cora and Nathaniel were so free together. She wished she could have some of that with Uncas, but there would be little chance of that. For one thing, she was far too reserved to intentionally display her affections in front of others. For another, she was beginning to realize how their interactions might be perceived as inappropriate beyond those of other young couples.
The people here treated her like a delicate princess, as if letting her do anything useful would cause her father to appear and strike them down. Cora didn't have that problem. Was it because they knew her from before, or was it because Alice was such a weakling that she wasn't to be trusted save with the simplest of tasks?
Uncas, on the other hand, was all strength and capability. People might think that he was taking advantage of her. Was that why he hadn't kissed her yet? Was he being a gentleman? She wished she could tell him not to be, but she was far too shy to directly communicate such forwardness.
A man from the militia entered; Alice recognized him from among those who had waited outside her father's quarters that day.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Aye, miss. Don't s'pose I could change my bandage." He indicted his thigh, where blood had seeped clean through the white linen.
"Of course. Cora!" Her sister was assisting a soldier. She explained the situation.
"It'll have to wait, I have several more to attend to." Alice bit her lip, and her sister shrugged. "Unless you want to do it. Just clean and rewrap it."
She hesitated.
"I'll come back another time, miss." The man turned to go.
"Wait! I can do it. Please, have a seat." She grabbed a few clean bandages and a mostly empty bottle of rum.
As the man began unwrapping the bloody cloth, she looked away and distracted herself with conversation.
"Are you a member of the militia, sir?"
He nodded. "Ian Graham, at your service."
"Alice Munro." she curtsied, to his evident amusement. "My mother was a Graham."
"Mayhap we're cousins, then."
They smiled; the surname was that of an entire clan, making the connection tenuous at best. She was likely to find far more closely related Munros here amongst the Highland regiment, all strangers.
"I suppose so." She took the briefest of glances at his exposed wound before gently dabbing it with a cloth. It was still awful, but much easier to handle when the patient wasn't Uncas.
"Do this often, miss?"
"Ugh, never."
He grinned. "Allow me." He mopped up the blood efficiently before Alice quickly covered it with a cloth. Together, they wound a fresh strip of cloth around the leg. Alice tried not to flinch away whenever he winced.
"I am terribly sorry to hear about the meeting today, Mr. Graham."
He nodded in acknowledgment.
"Do you live near here?"
"My cabin's not thirteen miles south of the Cameron's." He met her eyes as she frowned in concern. "But my wife's with her sister. Further south."
She snatched up the bottle of rum and thrust it towards him. Alcohol was carefully rationed here along with the food. It wasn't much, but it held a couple good swigs left. "For the pain."
"Much obliged, miss."
He emptied it while she attempted to tie the bandage. "I don't want to make it too tight."
"No fear of that. Tight as you please."
After her first attempt, he placed the bottle down and retightened it. She backed away sheepishly as he stood, satisfied.
"Good as new. Thank you, Miss Munro."
"My pleasure, Mr. Graham."
As he walked away, Alice spun and beamed at her sister, who responded with a smile of her own.
"Well done, Alice."
Uncas frowned at Ian as he joined him along the southeastern ramparts.
"You clear for duty?"
"My eyes still work, don't they? Naught else for it."
Ian sat down on the other side of the embrasure, moonlight shining off the side of his head. Uncas prodded him back with the butt of his rifle.
"Yeah, yeah." Ian waved him away, but remained hidden from view as Uncas managed to do the same while peering down into the marsh below.
An explosion sounded from the other side of the fort; a split cannon.
Ian sighed. "There goes another one."
"How many lost so far?"
"That makes four. Fourteen left. Munro shouldn't be overextendin' 'em."
"Pushing hard until reinforcements come."
"If they come. It's gettin' desperate, Uncas. Not worth stickin' out."
Uncas shrugged.
"You and your family stayin' now?"
"No plans to leave." He realized the option had never been discussed, it had been simply understood that they would stay and defend the fort, despite their unwillingness to do so before.
"Is that wise?"
Uncas didn't respond. He knew where this conversation was heading.
"Listen, there's been talk. I get it, she's a sweet girl."
And how did he know that? At the question in his eyes, Ian indicated his leg.
"Changed my bandage earlier."
"Did she?" Uncas smiled, remembering the way she had to leave the room when she saw his own wound. Now she was changing bandages; he felt absurdly proud.
"There you go gettin' all moon-eyed. You hear what I'm sayin'?"
"I know. I know." He hated the thought of rumors going around about Alice, especially when he was the cause. Not that he took kindly to ones about himself—after all, Munro could have him whipped if any credit were given to them. But he didn't want to drag her through that. "You're right."
He must have looked miserable, because while Ian smiled, his eyes held pity. Uncas realized Ian was leaning into the embrasure again. The exploded cannon had caused them to become distracted; it was unacceptable. Again, he pushed him back with the butt of his rifle.
"Ian, stop—"
A bullet ripped through the space where Ian's head once was. In a small burst of splinters, it embedded itself into the side of the side of the barracks behind the ramparts.
Ian stared at it. "Ah, hell."
Uncas called out a warning to the others on watch, then examined the trajectory of the bullet. Having an idea of where in the marsh the shooter must be, he quickly descended from the ramparts to inform the rangers and Mohawks on duty.
As Ian caught up, a team left the fort to take care of the problem.
"Right, well, thanks."
"This mean you'll stop with the lectures?"
Ian laughed. "Aye. Fair's fair."
They shook hands companionably, and Ian took his leave.
As the shelling commenced throughout the night, the surgery became busier than ever. Alice stepped out back to take a moment's break, only to see more people scattered along on the dimly lit wall she hadn't known were there.
Closest to the light of the surgery, a woman lay on her back, eyes closed. Her face was shiny from sweat, and marked with blisters and open sores. In her arms lay a small girl. She burrowed her face against her mother's chest, but Alice could see similar marks along her own neck. She felt her stomach tighten.
Mr. Phelps appeared beside her. "Best keep your distance, Miss Alice. It's the pox."
"Quite all right, Mr. Phelps. I've been inoculated." She gestured to her upper arm where, as a child, she had received a small cut followed by fluid from an infected pustule. The resulting scar from the single blister was now hidden beneath her sleeve.
"Even so, there's not much for it." In a much quieter voice, he added: "Won't be but a day or two for the pair of 'em."
The woman opened her eyes and stared directly at Alice. Her pupils were constricted, her breaths slow yet shallow; Mr. Phelps had been generous with the laudanum. The miserable, haunted look kept Alice rooted to the spot. She suspected the one thing that held death at bay for this woman was the need to look after her child.
Suddenly, there was a loud blast from the ramparts, different from the shelling.
"Not another one!" cried Mr. Phelps, and the infirmary became awash with activity.
Alice went to her sister and immediately helped her sort through the scraps of fabric she was frantically cutting for fresh dressing. "What's going on?"
"Exploded cannon. Never good."
Sure enough, a group of injured soldiers were soon carried in. Cora began assessing one's bleeding scalp while Mr. Phelps began cutting away the sleeve of another. It was such a twisted, bloody mess that Alice suspected there might not be much of an arm left.
Distantly, Alice became aware that her name was being called. Once more, Cora said: "Alice, rum!"
She turned to a cabinet, feeling as though she were wading through molasses. When she finally made it back to Cora, her sister uncorked the bottle with her teeth and poured it over the man's head. She then pressed a cloth to it and held out her other hand. "Bandage!"
Alice stared at the mingled blood and clear spirit soaking into the man's shirt.
"Alice! Bandage!"
Alice started, then complied. She watched as her sister wound the bandage around the dazed man's head. "It'll need stitches but it'll have to wait."
"Cora!"
Mr. Phelps's shout brought Cora's attention at once. She glanced at the man he was tending to and ran to drag a chest out from the corner of the surgery. She picked something up from the top of it and handed it to Alice. Taking it, Alice observed that it was a piece of wood with tooth marks buried into it—still damp from the previous user.
In a daze, she held it between forefinger and thumb as she carried it to Mr. Phelps. He had just finished tying a tourniquet around the man's upper arm; the lower half was a shattered, bloody pulp. Mr. Phelps wrenched open the man's jaw and stuck the wood in his mouth.
As Cora arrived with knife in one hand and bone saw in the other, Alice stepped back. She had nothing to do but stare as several men held down the patient, and Mr. Phelps got to work.
She thought the gunshots and yells on the George Road were the most terrible sounds ever to be heard. The shelling and splintering of the fort around her turned out to be even more awful—but these muffled screams of a man whose arm was being severed from his body, these were the worst of all.
Alice forgot to breathe. Staring ahead, she no longer saw the scene before her. For an indeterminate amount of time, her mind registered nothing at all.
Somehow the man must have spit out the wood, because the screams became shrieks of agony.
Alice turned and fled.
Screams sounded from the infirmary. Alice appeared, face blank and eyes wide. She hurried directly for her father's quarters, her braid unraveling down her back with each step.
Uncas caught a glimpse of pink on the ground—her ribbon. He picked it up, only realizing then that he had been following after her. What was he doing? He couldn't burst into the officers' private rooms, regardless of who they contained. No—especially so.
Uncas resolved to not seek her out in private. He'd return it the next time he saw her, and be done—for both of their sakes.
But first, he went into the surgery to find Cora stitching up the stump of a man's arm. The rest of it was carried off to be thrown in with the pile of corpses waiting to be buried during the day.
Finished with her task, Cora quickly washed off her hands and looked around as a couple soldiers hauled the man away. "Alice?"
"She left. In your father's quarters."
"Ah." She looked to the soldiers waiting to be seen, frowning.
Uncas folded his arms expectantly.
"Go on, Cora." Phelps assessed the remaining patients. "I can handle the others."
She let out a breath. "Thank you, Mr. Phelps. I'll return soon." Picking up the basket from earlier, she nodded to Uncas as she bustled by.
He exited behind her to find that the rangers and Mohawks had returned; two of the Indians held aloft scalps. Uncas was not one for collecting trophies, but he supposed that served them right for trying to bury a bullet in his friend's head.
As he watched Cora disappear into Munro's quarters, he tucked Alice's ribbon into his belt and returned to his watch.
Notes:
- Wah-ta-Wah (aka Hist) appears in the book The Deerslayer, the prequel to The Last of the Mohicans. The story here is altered to fit the movieverse, as Hawkeye was the friend of Chingachgook's in the books, not his son. Wah-ta-Wah and Chingachgook are informally referred to as Delawares throughout most of the book, but they are in fact Mohicans living with the Delaware. Her eventual death was never described in the epilogue, but she obviously had Uncas first.
- Fun fact: In the books, Nathaniel comes from a line of Nathaniels, Uncas comes from a line of Uncas's (even Chingachgook's real name is Uncas), and Alice's mother was also Alice. James Fenimore Cooper makes up for this startling lack of creativity by using multiple nicknames for the same characters.
- Forgot to mention this in the last chapter's notes. In the script, Cora is described as being unconventionally educated. She also seems to have been the only one to have gone on campaign with their Papa (Mr. Phelps doesn't even acknowledge Alice, either he's super rude or never met her). From this I surmised that Alice, being left in England during these times, would be even more well educated than her sister.
Inspiration: Panic Attack by Liza Anne