I do not own The Last of The Mohicans.
I have been away for too long. I apologize.
The Dragonfly Woman and the TurtleMan
Nothing Of It
They have been taken from her.
Taken.
Without her consent, without her by-your-leave.
No consideration whatsoever for her or her preferences, her needs, her wants.
Making her way through this life she has created for herself.
Without them, she is not whole, she is incomplete.
She is without.
Disconnected, discontent.
Vaguely adrift.
And she does not know when, if ever, they will be returned to her.
One by one, they were taken.
Taken.
Naught she could do, naught any who care for her could do, to stop it.
Gone.
And in the place of what has been taken from her, that which she accepted and utilized without consideration for the alternative, replaced with lonely longing, pain.
Pain that comes and goes in waves.
That ebbs and flows.
Now is dull and throbbing, now is sharp and needling.
And cuts so much of her off from this world in which she lives, this world she loves.
This world she has taken for granted.
She has been cast down, down into a hollow cave, a deep well.
Metaphorically, yes.
But complete and absolute, nonetheless true.
Removed from the rest of the world, it is her experience.
She may still touch it, the world around her, smell it, taste it even.
But the hearing of it, the good seeing.
Not as she once could, not as she once did.
And the human language of it.
Gone, gone from her.
She has been removed back, disconnected from all she has taken comfort in, all her life.
This Alice has suffered for days, more than a week.
Nothing can be done to relieve her.
They have tried, all of them.
Her sister, concocted evil-smelling poultices, sticky compresses, hot teas.
Her adopted father, taken smoke from his fireside pipe, blown gently to ease the pain.
Uncas, dear Uncas, has stroked her face, her hair, held her close to him, shown her she is still of his spirit, not without his love and acceptance.
Nathaniel brought forth his own remedy.
". . . honey. To soothe pain. Mixed with a spirit to deepen restorative sleep."
And succeeded only to stupefy her senses most unpleasantly.
"I do not . . . I do not . . . feel so well . . ."
All her remaining family has done what they can for her, loving, gently.
To no avail.
Even Chenoa, dear darling daughter, Chenoa May . . .
"Mama! Mama!"
. . . has taken notice of her mother's misery and changedness . . .
"Baaa!"
. . . been discomfited by it.
Batting at her face, her mouth, harder and harder.
"Baaa!"
In frustration and displeasure . . .
"Mama!"
. . . at her mother's extended and complete silence.
Baby girl, baby girl, there is nothing to be done.
Abuse will not suffice, will not assuage, will not even palliate my plight.
Mama is still here.
Please. Stop.
All they may do.
"She has spoken or heard some slight against God and rallied not."
"Yes, well, thank you for your council-"
"That is why He has stuck her down so. She has sinned and must repent."
"I am sure that is not it-"
"Mark my words, she will not be restored until she repents."
"Please, I feel I have summoned you in mistake, Mistress Smyth, my sister is not to blame-"
"Harboring her will only bring retribution down upon you. Think of your unborn child-"
And fear is struck deep within Alice.
Fear and misunderstanding . . .
Might I and my ailments harm my sister and her unborn child?
Already George seems to be vexed, eye reddening as mine.
. . . and frustration . . .
I would not have it.
I would not curse her, them, so.
. . . at her continued unrelenting plight.
"Do not dwell on her, sweet sister. It was a mistake to bring her here and I apologize. You have done nothing wrong. Nothing, do you hear?"
Do I hear?
A jest, you are clever.
As it trods on, day after day.
And they try, they try, lighten her, lift her.
"You know, in her younger years, my sister was prone to lively chatter, less and less now as she has grown and matured."
Yet inevitably, Alice, thoughts dulling, demeanor dimming as she begins to accept this miserable fate and inevitably withdraw into herself.
"But now, I fear I have gone deaf without her voice to keep me company."
She has before practiced being silent and still.
Like him, spirit of her spirit.
But that was a choice.
This has been a takening.
A takening of her voice.
How shall I shout?
A takening of her hearing.
How shall I hear unsafety?
A partial takening of her sight.
How shall I see?
So much that is her.
I am . . .
I am . . .
And the her she sees herself to be through the eyes of others.
. . . not me.
And yes, she does try to rally.
It will not last forever.
In the centuries to follow, generations past her and her kin, strong medicines will be developed.
It must not last forever.
Men, women, children, young and old, rich and poor, will be attended to, prescribed treatments, antibiotics.
It cannot last forever.
They will suffer so much less than their ancestors, they will understand so much more.
And they will . . .
Can it?
. . . think nothing of it.
Days pass, a week, then part of another.
She slowly regains her faculties little by little.
Her ears drain, sometimes all the way down her neck, much to her chagrin.
Her eye clears, moistens little.
Her voice returns, hoarse and unrecognizable at first.
Then, little by little, back and forth, it strengthens.
It would seem she is not abandoned by God after all.
Miracles abound and the children, her husband, her sister, her adopted father and brother do not fall ill with fevers and all her suffered ailments.
Her bleeding comes to pass as well during this time and she keeps herself to herself as much as she can, she wonders if this distancing aids the continued wellness of her family.
And finally . . .
"Hallo, Nëwitaemàk."
"Hallo, Nëwicheyok."
. . . she returns to . . .
"I have missed you."
. . . herself.
"I have missed you as well."
And her family . . .
"Mama! Mama!"
"Hallo, dear darling daughter."
"Mama."
. . . as well.
Yes. Alice has pink eye, strep throat, and laryngitis.
Do you know why?
Because I do, well, did. Last week and this. End of the school year and hallelujah, bam, triple whammy.
I'm on my second round of antibiotics, since the permanent holes in my eardrums laughed at the first, weaker round. They doubled my 'script.
*flexes in Amoxicillin*
And I had to put it somewhere.
So, it is here.
Why here? Dunno. Why not? ;)
Thanks to MohawkWoman, blanparbe, and bcawriter01 for your generous support, as well as BlueSaffire and DinahRay and your kind support, always taking care of me.
Thanks to Mikaelag, NoNames22, brimeyer95, and khira47 for adding your new support to this tale, even when it was on hiatus, wow!
I don't know if I'm 'back' or not, but I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! :D