After the uneventful passage of a few days, Cora was feeling much better and beginning to believe that she had almost completely recovered from the strain and fatigue of the extended travel. Sanquen kept a kettle of tea by the fire, the same strong-smelling stuff that Nathaniel had brewed for her back at the cabin, and Cora drank cup after cup of it, preferring it to water as her body's way of getting its daily liquid. It seemed to give her energy, but just the physical act of sipping the tea was comforting; it brought her back home. She did not require anything other than to sit in the wikwam; she had no desire to venture outside and do any exploring. She had seen enough of the wilderness for the time being.

It was clear that Alice pined, however. Which was odd, because in England, her younger sister had always been the one to stay home by the fire with a cup of tea, while Cora roamed the outdoors at will. Here in this strange colonial land, their positions seemed to have been reversed. Something was different about Alice anyway and Cora could not tell exactly what it was. Alice would not talk to her, though she tried to initiate a conversation on multiple occasions. It might have been the inhibiting presence of the aunt, who was usually there, but this did not make sense to Cora since it was not as if they could be understood. When pressed, Alice said merely that she was tired and needed to rest, although they did nothing but rest.

***

Down on the beach, Nathaniel was helping Machque and a couple of the other men repair one of the dugout canoes, when Uncas approached him. It was an unseasonably hot day, considering it was the end of summer, and the men wore only breechcloths as they worked under the sun.

It was not his younger brother's nature to prevaricate and so Nathaniel was not that startled when Uncas simply came right out with it. "I think the women need their own wikwam."

He said it in Mohegan, so Nathaniel, eyeing his Delaware brothers, who made no comment, responded in kind. "They not getting along with Aunt?"

"Or she's not getting along with them. I don't know. I think they need their own space."

"Hm. I suppose it's not a bad idea." Nathaniel was taking into consideration the fact that he would not want to live with his aunt on a daily basis either. "Not very traditional though."

Uncas shrugged. "Everyone already knows they're different."

"That's true."

"There's an empty one, it needs to be repaired but I think it'll do if we have a look at it this afternoon."

Nathaniel grinned at his brother. "You were going to go ahead and do this even if I thought it was a bad idea, weren't you?" He did not add what he had already realized, which was that he knew Uncas needed something purposeful to do, and also that he suspected it was for Alice's benefit more than Cora's. Not that it mattered. Amused, he said, "Sure. I'll give you a hand after we eat."

***

Cora was attempting to sew a tear in the skirts of her dress, which she had recently changed back into. She was finding it a frustrating proposition using the unwieldy bone needle that Sanquen had provided her with, and had stabbed her finger more than once trying to force it through the cloth without making too large a hole. Alice sat silently by, gazing at the thin spiral of smoke from the cookfire that was kept at a slow burn throughout the day. Cora glanced at her now and again, wondering if it were possible that Alice knew or suspected what had happened to their father, despite their best attempts to keep that information from her. That would surely be an understandable reason for her melancholy, although she didn't see how Alice would have found out.

"I wish we had our trunks with us," she said impulsively. "If only we had been able to bring them..."

The trunks, which had been left in Albany on account of their size and weight and the impracticality of toting them by horseback through the frontier wilderness, had been filled with most of their things from England. Not only clothes but hats and accessories and jewels--whatever they treasured from their home, they had brought with them on the trans-ocean journey. Then again, much of it wasn't suited for this wild land, but they had had no way of knowing that at the time.

Alice gazed at her a little dully, then, seeming to rouse herself with a conscious effort, said, "Yes, I should have liked to have my books."

"It would have been nice to have something to read from at nights," Cora agreed. "I suppose it will be a long time before we have such a chance again."

"I suppose it will."

Cora let her needle rest in her skirts for a moment and they both stared at the fire for a while, lost in their separate thoughts.

"Ladies?" It was Nathaniel, just outside, and she felt a quick, ridiculous jolt of happiness to hear the sound of his voice bringing her back to the present. "Can you come out for a minute? Something to show you."

They looked at each other, and Alice even smiled hesitantly. It was hard to resist the allure of that phrase, particularly delivered in the tone of voice that indicated the speaker knew whatever it was he had to show would appeal to his audience.

They exited the wikwam and followed Nathaniel to the east end of the camp, where they saw Uncas working on lashing a section of deerhide over a small structure that was set just a little bit away from the rest of the homes, near one of the multiple paths that wound in and around the camps.

Nathaniel gestured. "Your new residence, misses Munro."

"Really?" Cora started towards it.

"Uncas said only married people could have their own wikwams..."

"Alice, don't be ungrateful." In an undertone Cora demanded, "You don't want to keep staying with their aunt, do you?"

"No," Alice conceded with some reluctance.

"You'll have to arrange the inside to suit yourself," Nathaniel said. "Home-making is a woman's job, even the building of it. You're lucky Uncas and I weren't busy with something else more important today."

Cora couldn't quite tell if he was teasing or not. He sounded serious. "Thank you," she said, turning to him. "Really, Nathaniel. This will be much better for us. And for your aunt and cousin too," she hurried to add. "I think we were beginning to get in their way."

Uncas finished weaving grass stalks in and around the bent saplings that made up the structure's frame and anchored the skins to it. "Won't know how well it keeps rain out," he cautioned.

"Is it really a woman's job to build this?" Alice stopped beside the wikwam and touched the slim wood and hide pensively.

"Women are better," Uncas said, giving the frame an experimental shake. "More patience."

Cora noticed the look that passed between them; it lasted only a few seconds before Alice glanced away but suddenly she wanted to slap herself for being such an idiot. She looked at Nathaniel quickly to see if he had seen it, but he seemed to be inspecting the flap that served as the door and his expression hadn't changed.

She felt an irrational urge to laugh though she knew there was nothing really funny. She had come all the way from England to marry a soldier in this forsaken wilderness these people called home. And now it seemed that her baby sister was developing an attachment to one of the natives.

Oh, Alice. My beautiful, foolish golden-haired girl!

***

Sanquen trotted along beside Uncas, looking up at him with her curiously bright black eyes. They were both carrying an armful of deerhides and skins to bring back to the new wikwam.

"Why did they move?" she wanted to know. "There was lots of room, and I tried to be nice, like you said. Was it because of me?"

"No, Quen, it's just...complicated."

"What is?"

"Women."

"I'm a woman and I'm not complicated."

"You are not complicated and," he said, avoiding her side kick, "you are not a woman, either, not yet."

She gave a squeal of indignance and disgust.

"I still need you to help out, even though they're not staying with you. Understand me?"

Sanquen shrugged agreeably. Her moods, like her body, were incapable of staying in the same place for long. "What do you want me to do? Bring them food?"

"Yes, but help them to do things, too. Teach the older one how to make that tea she's always drinking."

"Easy. Even if she's stupid."

"She's not stupid."

"I know, but I mean, it is easy to make tea, even if you're not good at learning things. And what about the yellow-haired one, what should I teach her?" She gazed up at him guilelessly.

Uncas thought about that for a moment and could think of nothing to say. Though he could imagine Cora learning how to do at least a few things that the other Indian women did around camp--managing children, tending the fires, cooking or doing any one of a hundred small tasks related in some way to food gathering and preparation--he was having a hard time picturing Alice involved in any of it.

"I don't know," he said at last.

"It would be easier if I could speak their language. How long will they stay here?"

"I don't know."

"There is a lot you don't know," Sanquen observed. He switched the bundle of deerskins to his other side so that he could reach out and give her a gentle clip across the head, but she ducked. "Mother says she is too attached to you."

"What?" He almost dropped the armful.

Sanquen gave him a curious look. "Nothing."

"You just said--"

They had come to the wikwam. Cora was outside, kneeling on the ground, making a pile of small stones and other detritus. Her cheeks were flushed from the activity.

"Here," Uncas said, setting down the burden. "For your floor."

"Thank you." She gave him a tight smile. He sensed the constraint and wondered what it was about. "Where's Alice?"

"Gone to the stream to wash our blanket." Cora indicated with her head. The camp women used the river for a lot of their washing, but there was also a small stream beyond the cornfield, not far away. Uncas could see Alice now, see the light shape that was her dress.

"Quen, give her a hand with the skins," he said, and, knowing that both of them were watching him, headed off towards the stream.

Alice was struggling with the water-logged blanket when he got there. She looked pale and miserable and as if she was getting sick. He hoped not. They were enough trouble when completely healthy. "Let me."

He'd surprised her and she moved with the skittishness that always reminded him of a startled deer. "I can manage," she said, but he took one end of the blanket away from her anyway and began to wring some of it out. Dirty color bled into the ground.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Alice, unexpectedly, blushed. "Yes. Fine."

They finished wringing out the blanket and he took it from her and started back to camp. "I...I didn't thank you," she said, awkwardly, following him along. "For making the wikwam for us."

"It was already there," Uncas pointed out. "It's just weather-safe now. Maybe."

"Well, I still want to say thank you. I do appreciate it."

They drew up in front of the structure, and he was about to look around for a place to hang up the blanket to dry for her when Nachenum came running up. "My uncle's been spotted about a mile off; he should be here very soon."

These were not welcome words to Uncas, who, though he'd been expecting to hear that any time now, was not looking forward to the reunion just yet...

***

"Welcome, my father." Nathaniel stepped in first and embraced the older man warmly, thankful to see he had made it to the wolf camp with no mishap. Chingachgook did look tired, but that was to be expected after half a week of travel.

"I have already heard the news of the fort's defeat," he said, the lines in his face adding to his look of weariness, as he went to set his bag and rifle down, though Nathaniel quickly shouldered them and they walked together toward's his aunt's wikwam. "What of the Yengee women?"

"They are here with us. I was at the fort myself. It's pretty certain that their father is dead."

Chingachgook considered that. "And where is my blood son? Why is he not here with you to greet me?"

"I'm not sure." He had in fact seen Uncas earlier, but he had disappeared shortly thereafter and he was not with Machque or Nachenum.

Entering the wikwam, Nathaniel following behind, Chingachgook greeted his sister and niece.

"It is good to see you, brother. Sanquen, bring food for your uncle, he must eat," she added. "It has been a long time since you last came to the camp."

Chingachgook was not abashed by the pointedness of this observation. He said merely, "When my sons did not return, I knew they must have stopped here."

"Yes. They brought the white women with them." His aunt shot Nathaniel a rather sly sideways look as if she was aware of something he wasn't.

"Well, not to keep," Nathaniel supplied. "It's only temporary. They have no other place to go."

"If they have no other place to go, how can it be temporary?" she demanded.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. She was in an argumentative mood, clearly. "Nohkumis, they have lost everything, and it is not asking much for us to give them a little space and food until--"

He realized Chingachgook's eyes were on him, too. "Until," he said, summoning his thoughts and speaking with an authority he did not necessarily feel, "they can go back to the world they know."

"That time may be farther away than you realize." Chingachgook accepted the bowl of beans and squash that Sanquen put deferentially before him, thanking her with an approving chuck--he was fond of his niece. "Autumn is upon us. It was in the air these past nights. The leaves are starting to fall. It will not be long before the first freeze."

"We can still travel in autumn."

"Yes," Chingachgook agreed, "but it will not be easy. How was your journey here?"

"Not especially eventful," Nathaniel said, thinking of the night at the cave and the ambush of the Huron scout and three French. "Uncas only got one scalp out of it."

Chingachgook helped himself to a hearty ladle of beans. "Where is he?"

"Doubtless with the yellow-hair," Nathaniel's aunt said. "They are always together."

Chingachgook looked at Nathaniel for confirmation of this claim. Nathaniel found himself speechless, torn between laughter at his aunt's snideness and yet bound by a sense of fairness towards his younger brother. "Alice is not strong," he said, by way of explanation. "Uncas is simply trying to help."

His father and aunt grunted almost simultaneously. "And you," Chingachgook said, poking him in the ribs with a strong brown finger. "What have you been trying to do?"

"I have only been doing what I should--keeping everyone safe." Nathaniel raised his palms in a defensive gesture. "It has not been easy. I said that our journey was uneventful but the truth is, if I never have to take a woman through the forest again I shall be more than happy."

Chingachgook chuckled then. "I knew that before you left."

"Yes, I believe you did, although I'd like to know how."

His father scraped out the last of the bowl and looked thoughtful. "All women are trials," he said at last, through his sister's dismissive expulsion of air.

They heard familiar footsteps outside and Uncas knelt at the door of the wikwam, holding the flap behind him. "Father." He bowed his head and remained kneeling, as he should until he was acknowledged. Chingachgook, sitting cross-legged, had his back to him, however, and did not immediately move or indicate that he had heard him.

Nathaniel met Uncas's eyes for a moment and threw him a quick sympathetic glance. He remembered a similar situation happening to him when he had gone through that awkward phase just out of childhood--he'd failed to be there when his father came back from a hunt, and had shown up several hours later. For this bit of filial rudeness, Chingachgook had ignored him for a week. The memory still hurt, sometimes. At the time Nathaniel hadn't understood why what he'd done was so wrong.

Their aunt's eyes glittered in the firelight as she looked from one face to the other. Sanquen tried to catch her cousin's gaze as Nathaniel had done, but he was looking down now, and she was unable to communicate her own private sympathetic message.

"Father," Uncas repeated quietly, his black head bent.

There was silence in the wikwam for a few more minutes. Nathaniel saw Chingachgook's jaw tighten for an instant and then his face softened. He turned and looked behind him. "Uncas, my son."

Relief wrote itself over the young Mohegan's features, and he came forwards on his knees, accepting his father's hand on his head for a moment before Chingachgook turned back to the center, but it was enough. Chingachgook was not angry.

Nathaniel, feeling a twinge of jealousy, had to remind himself that his lesson had been harder to learn because he had been so much younger at the time.

"Now that Uncas is here, and I have eaten," Chingachgook stated, "you must summon the Yengeese. We will talk."

He met his brother's eyes and in their black depths saw clearly the question there: So soon?

"Nay, Nohsh," he said respectfully, rising to leave the wikwam, and finding himself hoping the girls were in a tractable mood tonight.