Alice spied covertly at Uncas as he cleared the dishes from the tables in the dining hall. He had not changed much in eight years with the exception that he had lost his rangy build and was more heavily muscled and ripped now. He still moved with a sinuous, athletic grace that was both lethal and assured at once. And damnest to hell - he was still as handsome as ever, Alice noted sourly.
Her pettiness dissipated when Ichante loped up silently to his father and touched his arm lightly to get his attention. Alice's heart melted when Uncas looped his arm around his son's shoulder and squeezed it briefly, before tugging the boy's single braid playfully. The two were so alike in speech, nature and stature. Alice realised a little despondently that there was nothing of her in Inchante - except mayhap their shared dislike for carrots.
She saw Uncas gesture at her as he rapped out instructions to Ichante. Ichante gave a quick nod and walked over to Alice. When he was in front of her, he dug into a little pouch hanging on his belt. Alice belatedly spotted a knife strapped to the belt, too. Did he have his own tomahawk? Alice wondered a little fearfully, the thought of the eight-year-old swinging one disturbed her a little though she was aware it was all part of their way of life. It has hard to believe he was the same baby who cuddled up every night with his favourite stuffed blue elephant.
Alice was trying to peer around the back of Ichante's belt when he suddenly spoke up in an unruffled tone, "I don't carry a tomahawk." When Alice gaped at him in incredulous disbelief, he shrugged nonchalantly, "I can tell what you are thinking." Seven years ago, Uncas had uttered the exact phrase to her several times. Before Alice could recover from the fact that her son was as chillingly discerning as his father, the boy retracted his hand from the pouch and extended his closed fist towards her.
"What do you have there?" Alice inquired gently, plopping herself on a chair in order to be at eye level with Ichante. He opened his fist, "Berries. Papa says you like berries. We picked them from the forest earlier." Alice's gaze flew to Uncas. She knew Ichante had not been aware of he was going to meet her when he had picked the berries, it was a terribly sweet gesture instigated by his father. Her very first present from her son. She took the berries from him and popped them into her mouth, her chin trembling in an attempt to stem the tears bubbling up her throat.
"Thank you. They are the best berries I have ever tasted." Alice proclaimed with a shaky smile as she cautiously enveloped Ichante's hand with hers. Ichante stiffened uncomfortably but he did not pull away. His silver eyes looked straight into her darker grey ones unwaveringly. They were such a beautiful, unusual hue, Alice thought silently. "Your eyes... remind me of lightning in a warm summer storm. Electrifying, brilliant and bold." Alice commented softly, a wistful expression settling over her features. Ichante's eyes widened fractionally but did not respond. "Time to wash up and sleep," Uncas issued genially, speaking English for Alice's benefit. At that, the boy bade Alice good night and disappeared from the dining hall. "I should be getting to my room, too. Mikayla needs a bath," Alice excused herself and left.
Uncas soundlessly shut the door of the room he shared with Ichante, who had fallen asleep instantly after his bath, exhausted from their journey. It was too early for Uncas to turn in so he decided to grab a nightcap in the kitchen. As he walked down the hallway, he spotted the door to Alice's room ajar. He paused by the doorway and looked in. The room was still lit. Mikayla was sprawled on the bed deep in slumber, while Alice was propped against the headboard reading a book. Her damp blond tresses trailed down her white nightgown to her waist and her legs were drawn up to her chest. She looked so young like that. Uncas noticed with a pang. She looked eighteen.
"Nightcap?" Alice jumped at Uncas' voice. He stood at the doorway, dressed in fresh clothes, his ebony hair still wet at the ends. "Gonna have one in the kitchen, " he revealed, leaning his shoulder lazily against the door. Alice thought to refuse but quickly chastised herself. She was no longer a naive young girl. "Of course. Thank you." Alice accepted his invitation graciously, draped a shawl around her shoulders and clambered off the bed. They walked to the kitchen in cagey silence.
Uncas poured them each a shot of whisky and they sat across each other on the kitchen table. Uncas drained his shot and refilled his glass. "Mikayla..." he started, but did not continue. Alice glanced at him warily, "Yes?" "Has she never spoken?" he finished curtly, fixing his gaze on her keenly. Alice opened her mouth to protest but under Uncas piercing regard, she knew she could not lie. If she did, he would know. Alice was unnerved that he had discovered Mikayla's condition though he had barely spent a day with her. Mikayla's own parents had taken months to discover her ailment. "Never." Alice confessed in a small voice, tracing the rim of her shot glass.
"Can she hear?"
Alice's head snapped up defensively but when she saw genuine concern knitting Uncas' features, her indignation evaporated. It was a logical question.
"Yes, she can hear perfectly well. We brought her to practically all the physicians in England and none could really diagnose her...ailment. There does not seem to be anything physically wrong with her. She does make sounds when she cries or when she is upset. But she just would not speak." Alice explained in a rush, gulping down the liquor for courage. "Some children take longer to speak than others. Don't worry too much." he comforted gruffly. Strangely enough, Alice felt better. She stretched out her hand to pour another shot.
"Ichante didn't talk proper until he was about two." Uncas divulged, his lips twitching with bemusement as he watched Alice toss back the shot and slosh more whisky into her glass. Her cheeks were rapidly turning pink. Alice pursed her lips, "What do you mean by 'proper'?"
"All he said during his first two months here was 'Mama'. Then he stopped saying that and didn't speak another word until he was two."
Alice's breath hitched at that piece of information. "What was his next word?" she rasped, clutching her glass tightly.
"Papa."
Alice thought she would bawl like a baby there on the spot.
"He probably learnt from Nathaniel's children. And Cora always referred to me as that instead of using the Mohican word."
"Thank you," Alice whispered, "For raising him so well." Sniffling, she topped up her glass yet again, gulped it down, and added more inside.
Uncas felt his heart flop inside him. He was the one who had cruelly driven her away and yet she was here, thanking him.
"Alice?"
"Hmmm?"
"You should be cursing me or driving a knife into my heart. "
Alice swallowed the contents of her glass and shot him a glassy stare. She was more than partway drunk but she was lucid enough to know he was alluding to what happened eight years ago. She mumbled, "I heard you that night. I was not asleep."
Uncas frowned. Which night?
Alice gave her head a hard shake and slowly enunciated a few phrases in Mohican. Uncas was so startled that he nearly dropped his glass. He knew which night she was referring to. But how did she know what he had said?
"Your father. I asked your father what those words meant." Alice blurted out groggily. She was swaying slightly on her chair now but she managed to pull the bottle of whisky towards her. And heartily filled her glass and emptied it again.
Uncas was stunned speechless. He could not make up his mind whether he was more stunned that Alice had asked Chingachcook; or more stunned than his father had actually shared the meaning of the Mohican words.
Eight years ago.
Alice stood numbly at the window of her bedroom at Reverend Wheelock's cottage. She was setting sail for England in a few hours. Alice felt as if she was dying inside. Uncas did not want her. He thought her the biggest mistake in his life. She found that almost impossible to believe since he had been nothing but incredibly tender to her since the they met three months ago on George Road. He had almost died trying to save her at the cliffs. Nathaniel and Chingachcook arrived in the nick of time to rescue Uncas and her.
Something must have happened but for the life of Alice, she had no clue. It was out of character for the gentle warrior to make such a hurtful comment. They had been staying at the Delaware camp for the past two months and to her knowledge, nothing of import or unfortunate had happened.
Lightning streaked across the midnight sky and a few seconds later, thunder clapped ferociously. It was pouring outside. It had been pouring since they had arrived in Albany. Alice loved summer storms but she especially loved them here. She loved watching lightning crackle brilliantly, lighting up all that darkness. There was something powerful yet mythical about it. But that night, Alice was too heartbroken to admire the silvery phenomenon illuminating the heavens.
A while later, she lay huddled on the bed. Her eyes were screwed shut but she was unable to sleep. Cora was in the next room with Nathaniel, while Chingachcook was sharing a room with Uncas. Everyone had been at supper except Uncas. No one knew where he was. Alice's eyelids finally began to droop out of sheer exhaustion since she had not slept since her devastating conversation with Uncas.
Alice felt a hand stroke her hair. Uncas. She was sleeping on her side and her hair covered her face - he thought she was asleep. His hand tunnelled deeper into her hair and his breath grew ragged. His fingers skated down to her cheek and stayed there. His shirt sleeve and arm brushed Alice and she managed not to flinch. His skin was icy and he was soaking wet. He had been out in the storm.
In a choked husky voice, he uttered a few lines in Mohican. As he caressed her cheek tenderly, he repeated those lines again. Something wet and warm fell on her arm. Tears. Answering tears pooled in Alice's eyes. It was hurting him to let her go but Alice somehow knew it would hurt him more if she stayed. She did not know why - but she knew her departure would ease his pain somewhat.
What did those words mean? Despite not understanding at all, Alice's heart ached when Uncas recited them. Funny how the heart understood even when the mind could not. Uncas stayed by her side for the next two hours, shivering, keeping watch over her.
The next morning, Alice phonetically reiterated the words to Chingachcook and asked him what they meant. To her surprise, the elder Mohican told her.
Present
"Now I feel the rain...as each of us is no longer shelter to the other." Alice slurred, propping her chin atop her hands on the table. Uncas' heart started to thud with slow, excruiciating beats. "Now I feel cold... as each of us is no longer warmth to the other..." Alice trailed off, her head pitching sideways and landing clumsily on the table. She heaved a long sigh and her eyes fluttered close. Uncas stayed seated across her for the next two hours, unmoving, watching over her.
For the first time in her decorous twenty-six years, Lady Alice Munro Nicholson, Countess Craven, woke up to a raging hangover and a splitting headache. At least she had woken up in her bed - and not in Uncas'. Alice was mortified that she had allowed herself to be beaten by the tipple - in front of Uncas, of all people.
Her memory only served her till the point when he informed her Ichante's second word was "Papa". What had he said after that? Alice vaguely recollected something about a knife and a curse. Had they talked about killing each other? Alice groaned and buried her face into the pillow. She was too embarrassed to see Uncas. Mayhap she should jump on the next steamer back to England.
Someone knocked on the door. Alice sat up gingerly. It must be Cora delivering breakfast. Judging by the intensity of the sunlight streaming through he windows, it was probably a couple of hours after sunrise. "Come in," Alice croaked, running her fingers through the tangled knots in her hair.
The door swung open and to Alice's horror, Uncas stepped in balancing a tray in his left hand, Mikayla cradled in his right arm. Alice momentarily forgot her embarrassment at the sight of the Mohican warrior holding the little girl. There was no awkwardness or ill ease between adult and child, and Alice sucked in a breath when Mikayla patted Uncas' cheek with her small hand, and he bumped her nose with his in return. He murmured something in Mohican and Mikayla giggled at the guttural sound. Her daughter had never been that comfortable with her own father. The earl while indulgent towards his daughter, he, like most of the British aristocracy, did not show much ready affection.
Uncas finally turned to face Alice and bit back a smile when she threw the covers over her head to hide herself. "You'll feel better after drinking this."
Alice's head popped over the bedclothes and she winced. Uncas sat on the chair beside the bed and handed her the bowl. Alice took it and began to spoon the thick liquid into her mouth. Alice made a face, "What is this? It tastes vile."
"Something our people eat after a night of too much alcohol," Uncas supplied, "Cora makes this for Nathaniel whenever he needs it."
Alice nodded and finished the soup without another complaint. Mikayla sat on Uncas' knee, watching her mother curiously. Alice leaned forward to kiss her daughter's cheek, "Good morning, darling. Have you eaten your breakfast?" The child nodded and pointed at Uncas. "Uncle Uncas fed you? Have you thanked him?" Alice reminded, fascinated that Mikayla had taken so quickly to Uncas. Mikayla shook her head and before Alice could instruct her further, her daughter squeezed Uncas' arm with a big smile. Thank you.
Uncas blew a lock of hair off Mikayla's cheek and she erupted into boisterous giggles. Alice could not help but break into a reluctant smile of her own at how happy her daughter seemed. Uncas set Mikayla down on her feet, " Go outside. Ichante's waiting for ya." She tottered out of the room instantly.
It was just the two of them now. Alice cleared her throat noisily, "Thank you for helping me back to my room last night."
"You're welcome," Uncas responded courteously.
"Did I say...or do anything foolish?" Alice squeaked, blushing.
Uncas dragged his chair closer to the bed.
"I'm the foolish one."