In the Indian wikwam, left alone under the eye of the matriarch, Alice found herself incredibly lonely. It was mid-evening, and the light outside was only now starting to fade. The noise of the camp had increased slightly, with men and women's voices mingling together in their strange language, mothers calling children, dogs barking, as people came together for their evening meal.
The wikwam was not very long or wide. If she could have stood up inside it to walk from one side to the other, it would only have taken about five steps. In the center was the fire, with some pots and cooking utensils stacked by it, and towards the back was the aunt's sleeping space. Alice had been given a woven reed mat and a thick moose hide to cover it. She had pulled this over to the right wall, as unobtrusively as possible, and was lying on it now. Someone had brought her blanket from the canoe, which she had been grateful for, because the scratchy long hair of the moose skin was not at all pleasant to lie on.
Where is Cora tonight? Despite her best effort to hold them back, because she was aware that the other woman's gaze was upon her, she felt tears building up in her eyes. The aunt murmured a few inquisitive words, but when Alice ignored her, she moved over to the fire and began preparing something there.
Before long, she was back at Alice's side, with a small wooden cup of something steaming. Alice took it, peering into its contents. Though it was cloudy and strong-smelling, it was tea. She took a sip. The steam only served to further cloud her blurred vision but the taste, though foreign, was wonderful. She clutched the cup for a long time after she finished drinking, and Chingachgook's sister gave her some more.
But she found she couldn't stop crying. Though it was not that she was sobbing, the tears continued to come out. She felt overwhelmed by loneliness and sadness. There was no thought that was safe. Cora, their missing father, England, the comforts of home--each of these thoughts only increased the intensity of her emotions.
The Indian woman now seemed to be talking to herself. She kept up a steady stream of chatter, and while the tone of her voice was soothing, the words meant nothing to Alice and only served to increase her frustration and emotional exhaustion. She bit her lip and tried to shut out the sounds around her. After the days spent in the wilderness, the camp seemed loud by comparison...
Uncas woke early the next morning. He had slept next to Machque, who was a restless bed companion and whose feet and arms had ended up in Uncas's space more than a few times during the night. Tiskemanis, his wife and the older of Uncas's two cousins, had not been there, as she was very close to giving birth and had gone to a separate wikwam a few days ago to await the arrival of the baby.
It was pleasant, even having to listen to the snores of his relative, to be able to lie there on the moosehide mats and look up at the roof of the small hut. Although his permanent home had always been with Chingachgook and Nathaniel in the cabin, Uncas had spent many nights here, and it was, in its own way, also home for him. They knew him almost as well as his own father and brother did. His mother had been a Delaware woman, a member of their camp. When she died giving birth to him, his aunt had urged Chingachgook to take a new wife as soon as possible, but Chingachgook had left the camp and gone out on his own.
He heard the padding of bare feet outside and a pair of slim brown legs appeared beyond the tent flap. "Are you awake?"
"Little weasel," Uncas murmured, rolling over. "Your sister's husband was kicking me all night."
She squirmed into the wikwam and regarded him with dark solemn eyes. "You ought to have kicked him back."
Machque mumbled something incoherent and sighed, still half-asleep.
"Come have breakfast," Sanquen said.
He followed her outside, yawning, and went to the trench beyond the wikwams for a moment before re-joining her. "How's Alice?"
Sanquen glanced up at him soberly. "She cried most of the night."
"She did?" He felt a sting of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have left her...
"I couldn't sleep because of it. Mother says she is very weak."
"She's been through a lot, 'Quen. You be nice to her." Uncas stretched and stopped beside the communal pot of food in the center of the camp. There was always something available for public consumption there, whether it was maize, beans, or another kind of soup, depending on what game had been caught recently. Only some of the wikwams had their own personal fires, but the rest of the families usually gathered around the main pot, which various women took turns tending, and partook of that. Uncas dipped a carved ladle into the bubbling mass and drank a mouthful. It was wonderful if for the only reason that it was the first hot food, not jerky, he'd had in days.
Sanquen took the ladle from him and helped herself, and they passed it back and forth companionably for a while until both had had their fill. A few other members of the camp appeared while they were there, and exchanged greetings with Uncas and expressed their relief that he was back safely. It appeared that everyone already knew of the yellow-hair's presence in the camp, and that Nathaniel would be coming back with the dark-hair before long. They were curious, but Uncas explained that he did not have time to talk, that Yellow-hair was not well and must be tended to, and should not be disturbed by visits from anyone she did not know, as that would only cause her to be more upset. He knew this wouldn't keep them away for long, but he hoped it would be enough of an interlude to give him more time to come up with answers to further questions.
He and Sanquen escaped, and he sent her off with the directive to find some clean clothes that Alice might be persuaded to wear, and then he stopped by his aunt's wikwam.
Alice was sleeping when he looked in, but the place was otherwise empty.
Uncas entered the wikwam, crouching by Alice's side. Her hair had come undone again and spilled over the moosehide, its long lightness mingling with the coarse short darkness of the animal fur. She looked young, young and exhausted. Her arm was flung out, palm upturned, with fingers in the natural curve they had when relaxed. He took her hand for a moment, thoughtfully, feeling the slow pulse in her wrist. Her hands were cold. "Wiyon-ashay," he muttered. "You're going to get sick, cold all the time."
"A winter child," his aunt said, appearing. "She must be fed well and kept warm. When does her sister come?"
"Can't say for certain. Another night, maybe." Uncas, un-selfconsciously, cupped Alice's cheek with his palm.
"They will stay here until it is safe?"
"Yes." He gazed at the fan of lashes that edged her closed eyes. "Until they are capable of moving on." He didn't add that he doubted that would be any time soon.
"Your father. Does he know that you've taken them under your protection?"
"He knew we were bringing them to the English fort, which has since been taken."
Alice stirred then, shifting against his hand.
"Wake up," he said to her. "I want to show you something."
***
By the second afternoon after they'd left the destruction of Fort Oswego, Nathaniel seemed to have slowed their pace a little. Either that, or Cora was finding it easier to keep up with him, but she suspected it was the former and not the latter. He stopped more frequently for breaks, and when they did stop he let her rest longer before moving on. His attitude had become one of careful watchfulness, and she hadn't seen him show impatience with her yet, for which she was thankful.
They were running very low on their supply of jerky, as Nathaniel had only brought enough to last a little beyond the fort. If he had been alone he would have made it to the camp long ago. Now, they only had a few pieces at dawn and again at the end of the day. Cora was altogether tired of the tough meat and would have given her portion to Nathaniel but he insisted she eat it. A few times they had crossed through small wild raspberry patches along the way, and had eaten a few small handfuls' worth of the tart red fruit, but there had been nothing else. Drinking lots of water helped a little, but not much. Nathaniel was worried that Cora was not going to have the energy to make it the last day. He estimated they had at least six hours' ahead of them, and they would reach the camp by nightfall that night if they pressed on.
As if she had read his thoughts, Cora asked, stepping around a patch of brambles, "How much farther do we have to go, Nathaniel?"
The fatigue clearly read in her voice.
"Mmm...we can be there by tonight, but no more stopping."
He glanced back at her. Her hair was a wild tangle--she even had leaves and twigs in it from the last nap she'd taken on the forest floor. Her dress looked as if she had been wading through a muddy pond. Which they had, at some point.
"No more stopping," Cora echoed. "All right. I can do it."
"You sure?"
"I don't want to spend one more night on the ground if I don't have to. And I want to see my sister." Alice had never been far from her thoughts in the past few hours. How was she surviving the Indian camp on her own? Was Uncas taking care of her? What would they find when they did arrive? Food....tea... She thought hungrily and hopefully of the possibilities.
"She will have been fine, Cora. I told you that you did not need to worry about her."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know my brother. Neither of us take burdens lightly." He realized a second after he'd said it that he should have chosen another word. Cora stopped, and he could feel the heat of her glare even without turning.
"Burdens?" She didn't wait for him to explain, then she gave a short laugh and stepped by him. "That is right, I suppose that is all we are, now, but burdens on you. I hope and pray we will not have to be for long, however."
"Cora, that is not what I meant." He followed her down a twisting, sloping hill side, his moccasins finding their way easily over the slippery rocks. "You are too quick to take offense."
"And you are quick to give it," she replied, her voice harsh with strain and fatigue.
"Granted. Watch where you're going--"
"My eyes are open!"
"Yes, but I think you're too angry to see anything." He caught up with her and grabbed her elbow, spinning her around to face him. "Calm down, woman."
"I am perfectly calm--"
"Cora." He took her and pulled her into a rough, bonegripping hug. "It's all right. Take it easy."
Her body shook as he held her, trembled with the force of emotion that was sweeping over her. Her arms hung, limply, at her side. She refused to hold him back. He smiled crookedly into her tangled, smoky hair, aware of how stubborn she was, amused by how stubborn she was.
"Let me go, please."
"Just breathe for a minute."
"I am breathing."
"That's not breathing, that's panting. Breathe. In and out. Deeply." He demonstrated. Cora glared at him for a moment and then imitated his inhalation and exhalation. "Now will you let me go?"
He released her. She wavered for a moment on the incline, then found her footing again and proceeded down the slope, irritation in every line of her body.
Nathaniel went after, reflecting rather good-humoredly that there was a good reason he lived in a cabin with two other men, far away from this type of female.
***
Alice had been following Uncas down a forest path for a short time, her mind still going over the dreams she'd had before waking, not really paying attention to anything they were been passing. She was actually glad of the activity; anything to be out of the wikwam, whose confined and occasionally smoky space had given her a headache. Or maybe it was just all the crying of last night. But out in the open air, her head was starting to clear a little.
She had been focusing on Uncas' sturdy back ahead of her, and almost bumped into him when he came up short and pointed through the trees, off to the left. "Over there."
She blinked. The forest opened up into a pretty little U-shaped glen, mossy rocks competing with each other in high piles, with a stream running straight through the center of the U, dividing it into two parts. The stream was not big, but, halfway along, it dropped steeply over a rise in the ground, creating a tiny waterfall only about six feet high and a small pool at its base. Sunlight shafted through the trees and sparkled on the surface of the water, which foamed and bubbled in the pool before spilling down into the stream. It was picturesque.
A little uncertainly, she followed Uncas down to the waterfall's edge, where he stopped and waited expectantly, cradling his rifle in the crook of his arm.
"What..."
"You wanted to wash, didn't you? It's not very deep."
"But--I can't." Though she was tempted. She really wanted to scrub off the dirt and sweat from the past week.
"Why not?" He set his rifle down for a moment and crouched by the waterfall, running his hand under it. "Not too cold..."
"Ladies do not...ladies do not wash in front of gentlemen." She blushed. Not that the subject had ever come up, but she couldn't really conceive of bathing in front of anyone other than her sister.
He looked at her with a perfectly bland expression. "I am not a gentleman, Alice. I am a Mohegan warrior, and I will not go off and leave a woman unarmed and unattended. Even if no one is around, there are always animals."
She felt oddly shamed by this, not least because she knew it was true.
"Very well, but...you may not watch me."
Uncas' face remained unruffled, and he gazed out over the forest with a calm, unthreatening mien.
Alice, after a little longer, sat down on the bank and removed her shoes and long stockings. She had never gone barefoot before, not since she was a very small child, and had been shocked to see that it seemed to be commonplace among the Delaware--Uncas, Nathaniel and Chingachgook had all worn moccasins. For a few more moments she hesitated, eyed Uncas, then slipped her feet into the water at the base of the fall.
The water was cold, but almost immediately refreshing to her overworked feet. Alice wriggled them for a while, then, growing slightly bolder, inched her way close to the edge so that her dress began to get wet. The falling water helped to beat some of the mud out of the lower parts of her skirts, and she bunched them in her hands and scrubbed, getting it clean.
As she got accustomed to the temperature of the water, she slid all the way into the pool, holding her breath as her body left the security of the shore, but Uncas had been right--the pool was not deep, and as her feet gently hit the bottom, it only came up about as high as her waist.
The sound of the waterfall was relaxing, as was the early morning birdsong, and helped to alleviate some of her self-consciousness, which gradually began to fade as she grew accustomed to the feeling of being there. She leaned back against the bank and, after a minute, rested her head against it, letting her skirts float up and the bottom half of her body float, though she was careful to keep her legs and toes decently under her dress while she did so.
A woman's neck and even some cleavage might safely be exposed, and indeed fashion dictated that dresses were cut low to a certain degree in the front, but feet and legs were not meant to be seen by anyone except their owners. Alice had seen Uncas's younger cousin as they left the camp that morning and had noticed she wore skirts that came only to knee-length, but her entire upper half had been swathed in a fitted buckskin jacket, with long sleeves. Very strange that they should cover the parts they might leave uncovered, and go about with bare legs and feet! Well, that was why they were savages, she supposed.
"You're getting leaves in your hair," Uncas observed, bringing her out of her thoughts with a jolt. He leaned over and plucked a twig from the back of her head.
His fingers lingered there for a moment, even though Alice had instantly tensed at his touch. In the sunlight, her hair was the color of fresh silk on the maize plant, so different from the coarse black hair of his people.
He was not really a creature of impulse, but at this moment he yielded to one. Standing, and stripping off his woodsman's shirt, he was in the pool beside her before Alice had a chance to react and do much more than squeak in alarm. Then she jumped back nervously, like a deer that had just spotted a wildcat. Her grey eyes were distrustful. "You shouldn't..."
Uncas sank into the water, letting it swell up over his shoulders. The coldness was sweet, taking away all the vestiges of the night's sleep. He ignored Alice. After a few minutes, she relaxed a little, though she kept a wary eye on him.
A little time passed, like that, with them both in the water, Alice trying not to look at Uncas, and Uncas purposefully ignoring her. The sun was warm on his skin.
"Someone might come," Alice said. She was standing now. "I need to wash my hair."
"Need help?"
"No." Her cheekbones deepened with colour again. Carefully so as not to lose her footing, she moved closer to the waterfall and, angling her head, let the flow of water course over her and down her back.
Uncas watched now in unashamed appraisal, as Alice's eyes closed in brief enjoyment of the natural, honest pleasure. But it was only for a few moments, and then he returned his focus to their surroundings, always aware of the need not only to keep an aural but visual lookout. It was never a good idea to let oneself become completely vulnerable to attack, no matter how deserted the area seemed to be. He climbed out of the pool, dripping. The brief soak had made his skin tingle, and he used his shirt to dry off his arms, shoulders and chest.
"You're staring at my tattoos," he remarked, without looking at her.
"I was not," Alice said, but she sounded mesmerized. "It is not polite to stare."
"I don't mind." Uncas tossed the shirt down. He had a clean one in his hunting bag, back at the wikwam.
"Where did you get that?" Alice asked.
He followed her eyes to his wrist, which was encircled by the golden bracelet he'd taken off a fallen Iroquois during a raid a few years ago. He doubted she'd really want to hear the story, though, so he merely said, "I found it," which was, in principle, true. "Alice, you're getting cold. Time to get out."
The sun had gone temporarily behind some clouds and in its absence, she was, indeed, beginning to shiver. He came back to the edge of the bank and extended his hand. Awkwardly, hampered in no small way by her sodden skirts, Alice clambered up onto solid ground and stood there, shedding a fountain of water that poured down from the base of her dress. Uncas wondered what the point of so much fabric was--it seemed like from her waist down there was nothing but layer upon layer of skirts. No wonder they moved so slowly through the wilderness.
Alice spent a few moments trying to wring some of the water out, but it was something of an exercise in futility.
"Come," he said, giving her chin a gentle chuck with his thumb. He thought she might be annoyed, but to his surprise she responded with a very tremulous smile.
They made their way back to camp. Sanquen was waiting for them by the wikwam and could barely hide her amusement.
"Quen," Uncas said, gesturing for Alice to go in and his cousin to follow and assist, "find her something else to wear. Something long. Englishwomen don't show their legs."
"Why, is there something wrong with them?" Sanquen said cheerfully.
He ignored this. "Hurry up. I don't want her to get sick."
Sanquen disappeared after Alice. Uncas went to Machque's wikwam, changed into his other shirt--a dark blue tunic--and, as he was digging through his bag, remembered the Iroquois scalp, which needed to be properly dried. He took it outside and hung it over the tent pole as temporary decoration. It would bring his cousin's husband good luck on his next hunt.