The interior of their new home had taken them the better part of the afternoon to finish to their satisfaction, but it was finally done. There was a space for the fire in the center, and a proper smokehole in the roof, and the dirt floor was completely covered with rushes from the stream side. Normally the rushes would have been dried and woven together to create a mat, like the one they'd seen in the aunt's wikwam, but they hadn't time or the knowledge to do this and Cora hadn't wanted to sleep directly on the skins on the ground. On top of the rushes, on either side of the fire, they had arranged skins and hides to create beds that they hoped would be comfortable enough for long-term sleeping.

Though it looked very primitive, Alice did prefer it to staying in someone else's space and she was not finding the air so difficult to breathe so far. Of course, night had not yet come.

They heard what sounded like a rumble of thunder outside and Cora looked up uneasily. "I hope it's not going to rain again."

"If it does, we will at least know whether the roof is waterproof like Uncas said." Alice was idly re-braiding her hair, using her fingers to straighten and comb it.

She felt her sister's gaze on her after she said this, and looked across at her after a few moments. Cora's dark eyes were shrewd.

"What?"

"Alice, I must ask you something..."

They had become attuned to listening for sounds after having followed the men's example for the last little while and Cora paused, her sentence fading away. "Hello?"

"It's Nathaniel. May I?"

"Yes."

Nathaniel held up the wikwam door flap. "Are you getting things organized to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you."

"My father has just arrived. He's been journeying non-stop and is doubtless tired, but he'd like to speak with you."

Nathaniel's tone was deliberately deferential but Alice, finishing off her braid with an irritated twist of her fingers, knew that he was only asking for the sake of appearances. It wasn't really a request they could turn down.

Cora smoothed down her dress self-consciously. Alice finished tying her hair with a bit of twine, and they followed Nathaniel back to his aunt's wikwam.

"Is my face clean?" Cora murmured to Alice as they drew up to it.

"I can't see." The light of day was fading fast. "I think you'll do. We've met him before, anyway. We don't need to go to great lengths to impress an Indian, do we?"

"When he has a hand in deciding our future, we might want to." Cora bent down after Nathaniel and followed him inside. With a last longing sigh at the dark blue sky, Alice did so as well.

All eyes turned to her, she felt, as she sank to her knees and spread her skirts out in front of her. It was impossible to sit down in a ladylike manner since the wikwam was so low overhead. The fire was burning brightly, and cast shadows on the faces of the occupants.

Uncas, his father, aunt, and cousin were all in attendance. With the arrival of Nathaniel, Cora and Alice, there was very little free space. They had to sit in a circle around the fire, so close that each could touch the person sitting next to him or her. Alice was between Cora and Nathaniel. All the others sat cross-legged, but she and Cora had not been able to find that position comfortable and so they shifted between either kneeling or sitting with their legs tucked sideways under their dresses.

Chingachgook reached around Nathaniel for Alice, and she, startled, was unable to help drawing back. He took her arm anyway, ignoring her stiff resistance, and held her wrist. He said something in Mohegan, and then added in English, "Your blood runs weak, and there is no color in you. Have you been sick?"

"She is fine," Cora objected, and Nathaniel said soothingly, "They are still recovering from the journey, Father."

Alice tried to pull away, but Chingachgook's fingers might have been made of steel, so unrelenting they were. Uncas's aunt said something that seemed disparaging, and Uncas, glancing at Alice, replied in a few quick words.

"It is rude to discuss someone when they cannot understand." Cora took Alice's other hand possessively.

Nathaniel said, "That's true, but if you want to compare my father and aunt's manners to those of English gentlemen and women, we might be here all night."

Chingachgook ignored this. "The pale-hair looks sickly. She may not even make it to Al-ban-ee."

Alice barely had a chance to take umbrage at this comment because it seemed that everyone seemed to say something at the same time. Nathaniel and Uncas both spoke loudly in Mohegan, while the aunt began to babble and draw with her finger in the sand, and Cora was expressing her displeasure in English. All the sounds simply jumbled together in her ears. She wished they were not all looking at her. At least Chingachgook had finally released her wrist.

"Father," Nathaniel said, now in English for the benefit of the girls, "I think we can get there before the snow."

Chingachgook took a stick and began to poke the fire with it. "You said that you had no desire to undertake another journey."

"That was...an exaggeration. I originally doubted their ability, yes. But they surprised me. And I don't think it is fair to expect them to live here over the winter. They have nothing of their own, no provisions..."

Alice glanced at Cora, surprised herself by this statement, and saw her sister looking at Nathaniel with a look in her eyes she couldn't interpret. It bothered her a little.

"From here to Al-ban-ee is not a trip of a few days or even of a few weeks." Chingachgook tapped a log for emphasis, and their eyes were all drawn to the way in which the sparks scampered upwards, disappearing in the direction of the smokehole above. "Yet I also believe that the English women should return to where they may find more of their own people. Their way is not our way, and to keep them here even until spring may unnecessarily delay their finding their future path."

But we know no one in Albany, Alice thought. What will we do there?

There was a brief pause while the people gathered all considered the last sentence spoken, and watched the fire burn.

Their own people, Uncas thought, looking at Alice now. Was that what she wanted? He supposed it must be. He couldn't conceive of living in a city amongst whites, and he imagined she must feel the same way about being here.

Strange that his father seemed to look at her and see nothing but ill-health. Uncas knew Alice was not strong, at least not with the same strength of someone like Sanquen or the other Indian women of the camp, but he didn't think she was frail. Where Chingachgook saw Alice's wintry coloring as the absence of life, Uncas saw the beauty and delicacy of it, the way he might look upon a marsh glassed over with the first ice of the year.

The silence stretched and his father turned to look at him, speaking in their own language. "You have heard your brother's thoughts and mine on this matter, Uncas, but we have not heard yours. What do you have to say?"

Chingachgook was looking at him very keenly. Uncas had never intentionally kept anything from his father that he could recall--there had never been a need.

Until now, perhaps.

"I have no strong feelings on the matter," he said resolutely, aware of Nathaniel's eyes also on him. It was, if not a lie, certainly a diversion from the truth, but he did not know how else to answer the older Mohegan's question.

"Then you are committed to bringing them back, along with your brother?"

"I am, Father, if you wish it."

"Yet you seem reluctant."

Nathaniel interposed, "I think it is not reluctance but caution he feels, Father. As you say, it will be a long journey, taking us away from the fall hunt, which you know is Uncas' favorite season."

Uncas felt a swift stab of relief at these words of support, but nonetheless had to glance away, unable to meet Nathaniel's gaze.

"Regardless, you cannot leave immediately. There will be many preparations to be made. Food. Warmer clothing. You will do best to take the canoe downriver and trade with the Wampanoag for horses. From there you can go on to the city."

"I think we can be ready to go in a few more days," Nathaniel said. He switched to English again. "And now, the women look quite tired and ought to get some rest. Come, Uncas, we can walk them back." He rose to his knees, and Cora and Alice followed slowly, uncertain as to what exactly had been decided.

***

Cora touched Nathaniel's shoulder as the four of them moved outside, preparing to head back to the other wikwam. "May I speak alone with you for a few moments?"

"Certainly. Uncas, would you take Alice back first?" They watched as the other couple began to move away in the opposite direction, then Nathaniel, gallantly if unnecessarily, she thought, offered her his arm. "Let's walk, if you're not tired."

"Not at all. In fact, I'd welcome the activity." She accepted the arm, surprised at how natural it felt, and they began to move away from the camp, following one of the many paths that surrounded the area. Most of the paths were intended for single-file use but this immediate one was so well-worn that they could comfortably walk along it side by side, if they moved slowly.

For a short time they said nothing. Cora was trying to compose a sentence that would sound better spoken aloud than it did in her head, and was having a hard time with it. She sensed that Nathaniel also had much he might want to say, but was waiting for her to go first. She knew she would be better to simply come out with it, but it was proving difficult.

He observed, "It's a nice evening."

"I confess I had not noticed." Cora sidestepped an area of uneven ground. "And I also confess that I was rather hoping you might know why I wanted to talk to you tonight."

"I can't imagine. You have plans to build a better wikwam? You've discovered a new variety of corn?"

"Nathaniel, please. Be serious."

"I thought you didn't like it when I was serious."

"I did not say that I didn't like it. I said, if I recall, that I didn't know what to say to you."

"Well, then, if I am serious we can't have this conversation, because it will leave you speechless."

"Nathaniel--"

"You think that my brother is developing feelings for your sister."

The sentence she had been attempting to construct, sent out into the night air like that, seemed to ring in her ears, and for a minute she couldn't speak.

"Do you not?"

"Yes," she said almost breathlessly.

"Very well," Nathaniel said, and suddenly he sounded cold. Even the arm she was holding seemed to harden. "Let us examine this. Of what nature do you believe his feelings to be?"

"Nathaniel, please don't misunderstand me." She stopped and pulled him so he turned to face her. "I do not wish to challenge you, or him, about this, nor do I wish to blame..." She faltered, unsure of what she wanted to say. "I simply needed to know that it was not just my imagination at work. And now I know that you have seen it too."

He appeared to relax slightly. "Have you spoken to Alice?"

"No. She will not speak to me of anything important, and certainly not of this, I think." Cora was suddenly aware that the fact that she had not yet spoken to Alice was a source of some bitterness for her. That she should be talking to Nathaniel about it first seemed wrong on some level, as if she were betraying her sister. Then again, wasn't it a kind of betrayal for Alice to have kept this, if this was something of which Alice herself were aware--and to be fair, Cora realized she had not actually confirmed it yet--to herself?

"If I were you," Nathaniel said, echoing the pattern in which her thoughts were starting to form, "I would find out what your sister has to say on the matter. Before we go anywhere. You have talked before of your duty to her. Then it is also your duty now to give her a chance to speak on it. We may be precipitate in having this conversation."

She knew he was right, but a sense of justice compelled her to prompt, "What about Uncas; have the two of you talked?"

Nathaniel's sigh was audible only in its last few moments. He turned away from her and began to walk again. "My brother has never been one to use words overmuch. I am not at all confident that I can extract such information from him."

"Then I suppose we both have our work ahead of us."

"I suppose so."

Again they walked in silence for some time. Cora, though troubled by the potential these recent developments had to become problematic for their futures, was however taking comfort in the fact that she and Nathaniel had managed to discuss it without damaging their own familiarity.

The night air was soft and warm around them; the stars sparkled through the treetops.

Nathaniel said abruptly, "It is getting very late; I had better take you back to camp. Let us talk again of this tomorrow, once we have spoken to our respective siblings; we may then be better equipped to reach some kind of conclusion."

"Very well," she agreed, and they turned.

***

Uncas had been more than ready to escape the oppressive atmosphere of his aunt's wikwam when Nathaniel had made their departure known; he was not skilled in the art of equivocation, nor even comfortable with its use, and it had taken an extreme exertion of will to deliver the statement that he had, regarding his acceptance of Chingachgook's decision to send the women back to Albany.

He walked Alice back to her wikwam in silence, simply because he had nothing to say and it seemed natural to keep silent in such a circumstance. It did not occur to him that she might misinterpret this silence and he was consternated when, as they paused in front of the structure, the moonlight caught the glint of tears in her eyes. But she said quickly, "Good night," and disappeared within before he could stop her. It seemed cruel to pursue her, and he stood there, irresolute, for a few more moments before he turned away.

Restlessness was an unusual state of mind for him, and he didn't quite know what to do with himself. The thought of simply going to sleep alongside a doubtless snoring Machque and Nachenum did not appeal to him at the moment. He almost wished they were on the trail right now. At least keeping watch while others slept would give him something purposeful to focus on.

He walked around the perimeter of the camp for a while. One of the dogs joined him, padding along behind inquisitively as if it, too, was bored and restless. Uncas murmured to it in Mohegan for a while. The dog seemed to like the sound of his voice.

It was not long before he heard Cora and Nathaniel coming back down the trail. Nathaniel could walk silently when he wished, but was not making an effort to go unheard, and Cora was murmuring something in low tones.

They appeared in the moonlight, looking oddly guilty when they saw him, or at least Cora did. "Goodnight," she said to Nathaniel, and passed Uncas by on her way in to the wikwams.

"Goodnight," Nathaniel answered to her departing figure.

Uncas crouched down and tousled the silky-rough ears of the dog still loyally waiting at his side.

Gazing at his little brother, who had never been far behind and indeed had often been ahead of him, Nathaniel knew he really did not have the heart to have this conversation. And yet he expected the same thing of Cora, and he had promised her.

He wished he didn't have to keep that promise.

He wished things had not gotten complicated.

And he was very, very close to wishing they'd never met the Munro sisters.

"Nimat," he said, trying to sound gentle. It was the word for brother used between men who viewed each other as equals. There was a different word for a younger brother, but Nathaniel had not used that one in a long time.

Uncas looked up then, giving what seemed to be a reluctant smile.

"I don't wish to ask an unwelcome question, but..."

"You, too?"

Nathaniel scrubbed his face with his palms in discomfort. "I'm sorry, Uncas. But Father was right to ask you. If we're to undertake this journey together, I will have to know if your heart is going to be elsewhere."

"I don't know where my heart is." Uncas said it so quietly that Nathaniel had to suspend breathing for a moment to hear him.

The silence stretched as if drawn on a long taut cord. Even the dog, whose tail had not stopped wagging while Uncas's hand rested on its head, seemed to quieten. Moments passed, while the wind in the treetops calmed, then stirred the leaves again.

Nathaniel knew quite well that he was supposed to say something encouraging, or wise, at this juncture, but he couldn't think of a thing that would be appropriate and not sentimental or annoying in counterpoint to Uncas's admission. Maybe I'm the one who's not good with words, he thought ruefully. It is my place to be here now. It is my role. Why is it so hard?

He waited too long to think of something to say, and the moment of vulnerability passed. Uncas rose in an abrupt movement, his features solidifying into their habitually solemn, noncommittal expression, with just a touch of sternness. "No need to worry, Nathaniel. When it is time to leave I will be ready to accompany you."

"And them," Nathaniel said carefully, but Uncas didn't flinch.

"And them."

He could see that was all he was going to get, at least for that night.

***

By the time Cora crawled back into the wikwam, Alice had managed to get her emotions under control, but only just barely. She was confused and upset and was just tired of being looked at. During the day if she ventured out of the wikwam at all it seemed that everyone stared at her. And then there had been that whole unnerving meeting with Uncas' father, who clearly thought she was nothing but a weak, ailing child.

She knew she was more than that, but she actually couldn't blame Chingachgook because she had never felt more weak or useless in her life, with the exception of a couple of points on their way here. Yet she did not know how it was possible that the son looked at her as if he saw what she could be and the father only saw what was not there.

Right now she didn't want to be looked at at all, however. She wanted to be alone.

But Cora was back.

"Alice, are you sleeping?" her sister whispered.

She had wrapped herself in the blanket and had her face away from the fire, and for an instant she was tempted to let Cora think so, but she was in fact nowhere near sleep and to keep up the pretense that she was until Cora herself fell asleep might be too difficult. "No."

Cora touched her shoulder. "Are you all right? I'm sorry that...that their father was handling you, before. He should have asked permission to touch you."

"It doesn't matter. Nobody asks permission for anything here. They just do it." She gazed dully at the hide wall.

"But are you feeling all right, really?"

"I am just tired. It is my time of the month and my stomach is paining," she lied. It was, in fact, her time, but she had no menstrual cramps at the moment.

"Oh." Cora's voice was sympathetic, with an undertone of tension running through it. "Alice, we must talk."

She shifted so that she was lying on her back, and turned her eyes obediently towards her sister. Cora's dark curls were escaping her braid again, framing her troubled face.

"You have been crying." She moved to touch Alice's face, wonderingly, but Alice moved her head back in response, out of her reach. Cora looked startled, then her mouth tightened. She placed her hands back in her lap, as if agreeing to desist.

"What is it you wish to talk about?" The coolness of her own voice surprised her a little. She'd not meant to sound so chill, it was just that she was still working at ruling her emotions, which were still threatening to overthrow her.

Cora took a deep breath and held it. "I want to talk to you about Uncas."

Alice experienced a strange thrill of nervousness. "What about him?" she replied as calmly as she could manage.

"I am concerned that he has--that he may have come to feel--" Cora faltered for a moment, and continued on firmly, "That he may have developed an attachment to you. An attachment which--" she spoke over Alice's groan of protest. "Which I believe must not be allowed to develop any further. Alice, I want nothing but your health and happiness, I pray you understand me when I say this. Do you?

"Do I understand you?" Alice repeated. She felt a little dizzy, though she was lying down. She could not focus on what Cora was saying. Uncas...may have developed an attachment to you. It circled around in her mind. She tried to decide how she felt about it. She was not ready to talk about it with Cora, of that alone she was certain. "Sister," she said, speaking firmly too, as firmly as she knew how, "you do not need to worry. I admit I was insulted when Nathaniel questioned my behavior before, and I considered resisting his and your authority...but...you were right. I behaved badly. I shall not do so again. I have no desire to...to..." It was her turn to stumble over the words. "To dally with a...sa--a native."

Cora looked at her searchingly. "I believe Uncas to be a fine example of his race, Alice, and I am not trying to convince you to think otherwise. It is just that--"

"I know. I know. Now please may we not talk of this further?"

Cora's mouth softened as she regarded her little sister. "All right," she said gently. "Get some rest, you do look tired."

Alice turned over, pulling the newly washed and dried blanket around her and tucking her arms under her head to provide a pillow.

It was their first night in their own wikwam, and she lay awake for a long time.