I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.
Still don't own Eric Schweig.
The Dragonfly Woman and The Turtle Man
Home
As with many others ways in the community, the Delaware abide in ways suited to their individual preferences and needs.
Pairs, trios.
Groups of four, five.
Only those alone who wish to be so.
There are man-woman-child family units, of course.
But there are also more than those.
Daughters with mothers.
Sisters. Aunts.
Women together, men off so long and frequent on the hunt, wandering far and away.
As well as simply women . . .
"Kilunuk nich ahpia ki, Nëwitaemàk."
We would be with you, my husband.
. . . for whom men . . .
"Lahapa kilunuk."
If you would have us.
. . . are not quite so useful.
"Ni a kwichei nkëme, Nëwicheyok."
I would have you with me always, my wife.
Or welcome.
"Nulelìntàm."
I am glad.
On a day to day . . .
"Ntëlkikwi."
As am I.
. . . basis.
And now that her time of bleeding-from-birth has stopped, Alice Munroe may choose to abide wherever and however she wishes.
"Wanìshi, Uma."
Thank you, Honored Mother.
"Nulelìntàm, Ànati."
You are welcome, Young Mother.
And she wishes to abide . . .
"Hallo. Nëwitaemàk."
"Hallo, Nëwicheyok."
. . . with her Mohican.
"Ahhlaa . . ."
And their . . .
"Hallo, Wënichana."
. . . baby daughter.
Life is simple.
The child sleeps, the child wakes.
The child feeds, the child evacuates after feeding.
The mother cares for her.
"What shall we do today, Little One? Shall we fish for our supper?"
"Ahhlaa . . ."
The father cares for her.
"Or perhaps go on the hunt? You are big enough to track bear, I think."
"Ahhlaa . . ."
And they, in turn, . . .
"Hallo. Nëwitaemàk."
"Hallo, Nëwicheyok."
"Ahhlaa . . ."
"Hallo, Little One."
. . . care for each other.
They move easily about the village now.
Alice Munroe . . .
"Hè, Ànati."
. . . and the child upon her back.
And as they go, they are offered gifts here and there.
An apple, a handful of walnuts.
An offering for the child, a shapened doll, perhaps.
And Alice is grateful, she has not expected such an outpouring as this.
"Wanìshi."
Though she supposes . . .
"Nulelìntàm."
. . . she should.
Harvesting is upon them.
"Nëwichinke."
I would help.
"Wichëmi."
We would have you.
The beans, the corn.
The squash.
And her hands, her fingers move across the plant.
Picking the ripe, not harming what should be left.
And this, little by little, providing . . .
Are you quite comfortable, Little One?
. . . for one and all.
Your Auntie Cora would be proud of us both.
These things Alice Munroe does as she can.
Rests as she needs.
Auntie Cora.
All with her baby daughter strapped safe . . .
Mmm . . .
. . . upon her back.
Chingachgook comes.
Her adopted Mohican father.
Him with his lined face, peering dark eyes.
Twisting snake tattooed upon his brow.
A man of necessary violence.
A man of contented peace.
"Hè, Wètuxëmùksit."
"Wënichana."
The early September day is sunny and not yet cool enough that the women in the village who think nothing of presenting bare-breasted in the summer months . . .
I am not yet so Delaware.
. . . have not yet begun to cover themselves against the autumn chill.
And that is alright.
Alice sets down that which she has been tending to here just outside her home.
"How fare you?"
The child safe in her carrier sleeps on without care.
"I am well. And you?"
English, he speaks. This amuses and fascinates her always.
This man, this dear and respected elder.
"Each day is a gift not to be taken lightly."
This man with his mild, gentle spirit.
"I have brought something for you, Wënichana. And my granddaughter."
And he has, items he carries carefully in his broad hand.
Small and woven.
Deer hide and patterned beads.
In the shape of dragonflies, smelling of sage.
Two of them.
Much like the ones he gifted her sister, an autumn ago.
And Alice recognizes them instantly.
"Oh, Wètuxëmùksit."
Totems. Amulets. Talismans.
Attached to deer sinew to form neckcords.
Animal hair in one.
"You remember then."
Bit of her daughter's umbilical cord in the other.
"Yes. Of course."
It is yet again evidence of the acceptance Chingachgook has freely given to the pale girl with whom his Mohican son has bound his spirit.
Alice turns, humble, reverent gratitude swelling within her.
And allows this honored elder, this beloved adopted father, to tie the fetish with a bit of her child tucked safely within around her neck.
Alice will wear it until her daughter comes of age. Then the girl will carry it with her. To keep her spirit serene and even, grounded against the uncertainties of the world.
The other, the one with animal fur inside, Alice takes in her hand, already planning to hang it from the low, rounded roof of their home, the better to misdirect evil spirits that would seek to negatively influence her tiny daughter.
"Thank you, Wètuxëmùksit. I am honored."
"It is I who am honored, Wënichana."
And then he says no more, this man with the snake upon his brow.
Only stands, stands.
Gentle smile upon his cragged face.
Until the child for whom this all turns . . .
"Ahhlaa . . ."
"Ah, Granddaughter. I have come to see you."
. . . breaks the moment with her awakening.
". . . side of a mountain to save me from those who would do harm me."
"What are you doing?"
The flap to their humble home has been twitched aside and she sees her Mohican standing in the light.
He is there, so tall and strong and alive.
Is Uncas.
And Alice smiles.
"I was telling the baby our story."
The corner of his mouth turns up and he seems amused.
"Ah. Were you?"
And he moves to them, reclining himself down next to his little daughter.
"Did she tell you, Chenoa May, of the horses?"
Propped on one elbow, hunkering down close.
"She was very displeased with me."
The baby reaches up with grasping fingers. Find the long strands of black hair to pull.
"She told me so."
The warrior with the gentlest of touch, works the tiny fingers free and begins to play with them with his own long tapered ones.
"Quite loudly, in fact."
Alice squints her eyes at him in false irritation, stubbornly unapologetic.
"I thought we needed them to get out. You did not say otherwise."
Uncas the Mohican smiles slyly.
"You did not ask."
The child has evacuated that which her body has not absorbed.
"So much for one so little, Daughter."
"Ahhlaaa . . ."
And her father . . .
"Made more by your movements. If you would keep still."
. . . is attempting to clean her.
Soft hide and leaves.
And the child . . .
"Ahhlaaa . . ."
. . . is not abiding . . .
"Little One . . ."
. . . her inexperienced father's . . .
"Ahhlaaa . . ."
. . . wishes for cooperation.
He is not losing patience, no, not Papa Uncas.
But he is losing the battle of cleanliness.
Oh dear . . .
For Uncas the Mohican is so focused on the bright eyes of his tiny daughter . . .
"Little One . . ."
. . . that he has not noticed . . .
"Ahhlaaa . . ."
. . . his thick, dark mane of jet black hair . . .
It is spreading.
. . . has cast itself over his broad shoulder . . .
"Nëwitaemàk, . . ."
. . . and into the offings . . .
". . . your hair . . ."
. . . evacuated by . . .
"What?"
. . . his gleefully flailing . . .
"Oh."
. . . baby daughter.
The child is cleaned and sleeps once more after the excitement and exertion following the Legendary Battle of The Excrement-Dipped Hair.
And her mother and father now sit before the fire.
"I am able."
Uncas in front.
"As am I, my husband."
Alice behind.
"If you would allow."
Carefully and with love, . . .
"If you wish."
. . . washing dirtied tips of the long locks.
"I do."
Of Alice's rough and ready battle-hardened warrior.
And as she dips his hair into the water bowl . . .
"Do you think your brother and my sister are looking to our arrival?"
. . . and rubs the coarse tresses . . .
"It is coming the proper time."
. . . between some leftover deer hide.
"I imagine so."
They abide in quiet for a time, Alice and her Mohican.
And then she, leaned forward.
"I suppose our father could make the journey."
Chin upon his shoulder, arms comfortably about his warm sides.
"Perhaps even the two of you together."
And her partner's response is not approaching enthusiastic.
"We could."
Alice broaches the subject . . .
"Or . . ."
. . . further.
"Or?"
Murmuring . . .
"We could go adventuring."
. . . into his listening ear.
It's been awhile, I know, so thanks to anyone who chooses to come back to this story! :)
Thanks to Chiarab87, DinahRay, ELY72, Conbird, MohawkWoman and BlueSaffire for previously reviewing!
I've got a few chapters prepared and actually we won't immediately be leaving for travels just yet.
There's something else that needs to be told first.