She woke to the chatter of birds, weak streams of daylight filtering through the cracks in the window casements. There was a stale taste in her mouth, as if she had eaten something bitter and over-ripe; she wrinkled her nose and swallowed, running a quick tongue over her teeth.
She didn't understand why it was so quiet inside, why they had let her sleep so long. Where was everyone?
As her eyes cautiously cracked open, the memory of the previous day's events flooded over her. She groaned inwardly, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her face back into the bedding. One open ear remained alert as it continued to listen for any sounds of activity. There was nothing.
Alice sat up, stretching her stiff limbs and running her fingers absentmindedly through her hair. She looked around the cabin's small interior: everything was there, nothing was out of place. A small pile of firewood sat by the hearth, but yesterday's cold ashes still remained, waiting for someone to kindle a new fire from the glowing coals that lay beneath.
Where was he?
She went over to the small pantry, hunting for something to alleviate the growing gnaw in her stomach, her eyes floating over the shelves as her thoughts remained preoccupied.
Finding nothing that appealed to her, she pulled a chair over to the space before the hearth and waited, for what she wasn't exactly sure. Here, in the harsh light of the morning, it was almost impossible for her to comprehend the overheated passions of the night before, sentiments that had clearly clouded her judgment, causing her to act in wholly unsuitable ways. If, in moments of girlish fancy, she had ever imagined being kissed, such scenes took place within the boundaries of matrimony or, at the very least, a suitable engagement with a dashing gentleman of her own station. They certainly did not take place in deserted frontier cabins with savage, tattooed men who carried axes on their persons. She let her eyes slip closed, just for a moment shivering at the imprinted vision of his face so near to hers.
A stray thought occurred to her: what if he had fled? No, she reasoned, he would not have abandoned her here, all alone and with no protection. She stood up and went outside.
The clearing was deserted. A twinge of panic coursed through her. Even after circling around the back of the cabin, she saw no evidence of him at all, nothing to counteract the conclusion that she had been left totally and completely alone. She sat down on the porch and leaned against one of the standing beams, chin atop knees.
She had almost dozed off when she saw Uncas returning through the path by the corn fields, a rabbit carcass hanging from his shoulder. She stood up quickly, brushing off her skirts almost by reflex. As he passed by the front of the cabin, they briefly made eye contact – she offered him a small, tight-lipped smile, purely for politeness' sake, and he reciprocated – but he continued to walk past her, swinging the animal off his back as he made his way to the outdoor butchering space.
Having no desire to watch him skin the poor thing, she went back inside, assuming that he would come in when he was done. She fortified herself for the encounter, mentally rehearsing what she might say if he tried to impose himself on her again. Her words were calm but firm, as she made it clear that her temporary lapse in judgment was not to be taken advantage of, that her virtue would remain steadfast.
But he did not come inside. Soon after the sounds of butchering stopped, she began to hear the sharp crack of wood being split open. Stepping lightly onto the porch, she peeked around the side of the cabin to see him chopping logs near the woodpile, a sheen of sweat dusting his face. She jumped back, pushing herself flat against the cabin's exterior wall, worried that he might have seen her.
He worked all afternoon, attending to various outdoor tasks, never once entering the cabin or attempting to speak to her. Alice began to wonder if he planned to stay out all night as well.
As time passed, her frustration mounted. She felt confused and embarrassed, her torment heightened by the anxiety over her sister, the ever-present niggling fear that something unspeakably horrible had happened. Surely they would be back soon? Nathaniel and Chingachgook were expert trackers; surely they would have found Cora without too much trouble and been able to spirit her away from her captors?
Alice did her best to keep busy: she built the fire back up, adding too much wood to the flames, which resulted in the cabin becoming almost uncomfortably warm; she tried to continue work on her abandoned stocking, before noticing that the hole she was repairing was actually getting larger. She threw the work into her lap. At this rate, she thought, she would end up with a ruined stocking and a burned-down house for all her trouble.
It was only an hour or so before sunset when she heard a shout, much like she had heard the day before, only this time far less strident. She looked outside: it was Nathaniel and Chingachgook, and between them the clearly languishing form of Cora.
She ran to her sister, freed by an overwhelming sense of relief; how could she possibly have been preoccupied with anything else when Cora was in danger?
She took Cora into her arms, drawing her back into the cabin and back towards the small bed, bundling her up in quilts and blankets until only her face and part of her dark hair remained visible. She looked so small, almost like a little girl, Alice thought, as she knelt beside her sister and held both her hands in her own.
"You're safe now," she whispered. Cora said nothing, but gave her a tiny smile, her eyes still wide and searching.
"Do you feel alright? They didn't…harm you?"
Cora shook her head a little.
"But they would have, soon enough."
Alice wrapped her arms around her sister, rhythmically brushing back her hair from her face and humming some long-forgotten melody. Soon enough, Cora was asleep, her face still, her breath calm and even.
Placing Cora's hands on the coverlet, Alice stood up to see that all three of the men had gathered around the cabin's small table, eating a little and speaking Mahican in hushed tones. In the growing half-light of dusk, the fire was throwing hazy shadows across their features.
"She's asleep now," Alice said softly as she went over towards them. She looked at Nathaniel. "And not to be bothered."
He nodded dutifully. The room remained quiet, the only sound the crack of a burning log as it burst in two.
Even though he was not looking at her – he was not even physically near her – Alice could sense Uncas's presence. Her heart beat heavy; her breath strained within her chest. For a moment she wished he would look up at her, acknowledge her in some way, and she felt a strain of disappointment when he did not. The moment passed, and as she regained control over herself, she was horrified at her own impulsive thoughts. How intolerable it was that such a man as he was could cause such reactions in her!
No, she refused to succumb to these feelings. She was not a child; she had read novels. Everyone knew what happened to women who were unguarded with their virtue.
She had no other choice. She was loathe to abandon Cora when she was in such a state, but remaining here much longer would be a torment she was not sure she could bear.
"My sister will need some time to recuperate," she said, turning to Nathaniel. "But after that I still wish to be escorted to Albany." She paused. "How soon will it be until you all are ready to travel?"
Nathaniel looked up at her, his eyes unreadable.
"A fortnight," he replied. "Give or take a few days."
She nodded, sealing the verbal agreement now made between them. She turned on her heel, making her way towards the darkened bed and Cora's sleeping form, and did not look back.