I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.
Have missed it tho.
The Dragonfly Woman and The Turtle Man
Babe in the Woods
Alicia Elizabeth Munroe is once again walking.
Walking through densely treed forests in the wild and wonderful land of Can-tuck-ee.
Sun high and golden in the cloudless blue sky.
Loam under her feet, fallen leaves crunching.
Following rippling stream and brook.
Following her Mohican and his father into wilderness, away from what has become known and familiar.
Her Mohican, his hair pulled back, tied with sinew and beads, his feather.
Golden bracelets upon marked wrists, silver earring dangling.
Green shirt open at the throat, loose sleeves rolled upon dark forearms.
Breechclout, leggings, moccasins.
Possibles bag, powder horn.
Long gun in hand, knife tucked into the belt at his waist, tomahawk secured in small of his back.
She is put into a remembrance of when first she saw him, saw Nathaniel, Chingachgook.
In a hysterical trauma she had been, under attack, men slaughtered and slaughtering all about them.
Outnumbered and outmatched, only their brave and stalwart Duncan to protect and defend their helpless, female selves.
And them, these new men, appearing as savage and frightful as the ones that had just been fought off, dispatched.
These new men.
Not gentlemanly and proper at all like the English gentlemen of Portland Square, the well-to-do men of Boston, the stalwart soldiers of the company.
The shirts they openly wore, these wild men (as the one she herself wears now), were meant to be but undergarments, worn under cravats, waistcoats, outercoats.
Breaches and stockings and hard buckled shoes.
All neatly and rightly buttoned and trussed and covered.
Hair tied back under proud tricorns, curls at the ears.
All stiff upper lips and coolly detached demeanors.
Instead, these men, these savage red men whom she has heard so much about, who dare to chase off the horses, they do not attend to the right and proper way of things.
Even in their mannerisms they do not heed decorum or proprietary, actually grunting at her upon her lack of understanding . . .
"Leave track. They can be heard for miles."
. . . instead of addressing her with gentility and respect.
"Find yourself a musket."
Pardon?
Me?
Her sex deserves.
I am a woman.
Her own hidden musket now bounces comfortingly against her hip, the single shot reserved for an absolute time, it can only be fired once, then the bullet is spent.
And Alice smiles to herself and watches her Mohican, up and to the left of her, walk.
She had understood nothing at the time, such a naive girl, so ill prepared.
How poorly she must have shown herself to be in those first days, first months.
But now . . .
I am grown.
I am changed.
I am a new me.
And she smiles.
She would be nigh unrecognizable to those in Portland Square now, almost unrecognizable to herself.
Had she not been with herself the entirety of her own private journey thus far.
For gone are the cumbersome, constrictive clothings, accoutrements of the proper and fair lady she had once been growing herself to be.
Has put away her precious deerskin dress.
Is garbed again in her traveling clothes, garnered and pilfered from across her travels.
A man's undershirt from the bastard Fort Cumberland, where she first directly tasted the racism of the white man against the Indian, her beloved Indian.
Belted now around her waist, near as tight to the poked holes before she became great with child.
Her petticoat, her stockings.
Moccasins made with the strong, careful hands of the one she loves and who loves her, his first gift to her, so long it seems, ago.
Her possibles bag, hidden knife.
Musket with a single shot.
All these things as they once were.
Now added the am'pisun upon her back, the child within.
It weighs her down, slows her steps.
She will not make the leagues she could before.
The child will need attending, feeding, cleaning, caring.
The mother, rest from the burden.
And that is alright.
The wheel of life turns, things are not as before.
To accept this, to embrace is to know peace, feel contentment rather than irritability and resentment.
For now, she will breathe deep the traveling air.
Revel in the uncertainty, the excitement, of a new adventure about to begin.
The hopeful anticipation of once again seeing her sister.
The mischievous satisfaction that dear Cora may not recognize her as she did before.
Alicia Elizabeth Munroe adjusts the straps that hold her little one safe to her.
"Come, Little One."
"Ablaaa . . ."
And continues to walk into the east
As they weary and the sun hangs low, they make a fire, sit before it and commune.
Chenoa May, babe in the wild woods, wiles away her time of innocence here and there among them.
Propped upon her grandfather's knee, nestled safely in the crook of her his arm.
Grasping her father's long dark hair between pudgy child's fingers.
Suckling hungrily at her mother's breast.
All contentedly within the circle of firelight.
That pushes back the darkness of the wild.
She sleeps as close to the fire as she may, Alice does.
Cradles her daughter close to her side so that the child may keep the warmth.
Under a blanket, body heat warming them both.
Similar as she did in their Delaware village, stars and moon and chasing clouds wheeling about slowly overhead.
Rather than the thatched mats of their snug, close Uncas-made wigwam.
The one she loves and who loves her paces away, leaned upright against a tree.
Their father on the other side of the perimeter.
The two of them keeping watch.
As safe as they may be . . .
I would sleep with his warmth next to me again.
. . . in the wild.
And the next day with the rising of the sun, . .
"Ablaaa . . . ablaaa . . ."
Yes, Daughter, I am awakening, I am.
. . . they attend to their necessities.
Must you clamp so tightly . . .
Before setting off again . . .
Give us a few leagues, Little One.
. . . toward rising of the sun.
Else we may never reach our destination.
And their destined Virginia homestead.
Thanks to DinahRay, blanparbe, and BlueSaffire for your sterling reviews!
I've grinning so big and happy since I got them.
Thanks also to some gentle readers I have neglected to mention on this return who've added their support to this tale since I've been away. Thank you, Jilly90, Iaintcreativeenough, Amdiriel, brigitta10, stlscape, Elientjeuh, olivepixel, Bangor, and anyone else I have neglected to properly appreciate. I do appreciate you, I really do.
:)