I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.
I love them so much.
The Dragonfly Woman and The Turtleman
Beautiful Among The Dying, The Living
She has gathered the most beautiful flowers among the dying she could.
Arranged them.
And brought them to the cabin.
Her daughter is upon her back once more, Alice is reclaiming her place as ànati, mother.
She feeds upon demand, she rests upon demand.
She cleans and cares for the child.
Singing and cradling and cooing, rediscovering joy and peace she once felt.
Her term as constant caregiver for her sister is ended, the time concluded.
Thus, the flowers.
For laying upon the grave, an offering of love and missing and remembering and all the things that come with life.
And death.
The door to the cabin opens and a solemn, quiet-eyed Nathaniel emerges from within.
"I have them. Is all ready?"
He nods, turns back within.
Alice waits patiently, there is time now, all the time in the world now that all that may has been said and done.
Chingachook and Uncas stand on either side of her, the former holding a for once complacent boy-child.
Her new family are all around her, all that she has left in the world.
It is small, it is unconventional, by English standards.
But it is good, the best it may be.
And she, through these trying times, has been grateful for it.
I will love you for all days I am given.
All of you.
There has been much hardship as of late, much tribulation and loss, much strain.
Without them beside her, Alice is not certain she would have found the strength to survive it all as she has.
And now it is time to honor one no longer with them.
And step into the future, what dreams may come.
Her wandering, yet fully connected, musing are interrupted as Nathaniel returns, slowly and by increments.
He must not move quickly, stumble or stagger in any way.
The burden he bears is far too precious and important to him to be jostled or mishandled in any way.
"Will you let me carry you?"
She has been through so much and she must be delicately cared for . . .
"No, no. I can manage, my dear Nathaniel."
. . . even now.
"I must not be an invalid schoolgirl."
Cora Poe, nee Munroe, appears in the doorway, clothed and shod.
Her dark hair is pulled back, revealing a face that is still too pale, too hollow, for Alice's taste.
Alice, on whom the pointed statement not lost.
That we shall discuss later at greater length, dear Sister.
Who simply joys in her sister alive.
And well.
A sight better than you have been, at any rate.
Cora does hold tight to her husband as they move out of the cabin.
She holds fast to his arm, he holds fast to all of her.
Down the steps, one at a slow time.
And into the yard.
She is still weak, still sore, she still bleeds from her early birthing.
She must measure her movements, too quickly and dizziness and weakness overtakes her.
Her heart still aches for her gone daughter and sorrows for all her family has had to endure on her behalf.
But she is alive, though she vaguely remembers a feverish time when she might not have been.
A dream. There was a dream that now eludes my memory.
The cool air is refreshing to her, having remained within dark, stuffy cabin for so very long.
Almost as refreshing as escaping the hold of the ship that brought Alice and I from London to Boston.
My dear sister was so very weak and sick. I cared for her until I thought I would drop.
A wonder how we have taken the other's roles of late.
She squints against the bright sun and autumn leaves flitting down from the tall trees.
There seems to be somewhat more of them than there were the last she looked.
She has lost days, she still does not know how many.
She knows her stay fits looser than it did before and that it mustn't only be the reduction of her belly.
Her face feels thinner as well, another evidence of an interrupted gestation.
But there is more.
She has been unwell, in body and spirit.
She has lost life and time.
And without the doctorings of Nathaniel's adopted father and her steadfast sister, . . .
"We can stop if you life."
"No. No, I am alright, Husband. Thank you."
. . . she would have surely left this mortal coil.
And no more joyed in the lives of those she loved about her.
Her long departed mother spoke of Heaven, Aunt Eugenia as well.
Her father. All of those under whom she tutelaged in Portland Square.
Streets of pure gold, transparent glass.
Always the bright sun of night, no night, no rest.
All most glorious and divine reward for the longsuffering and miserable upon the Earth.
Cora always accepted it as it was taught to her.
But . . .
Sacrilegious as it may be . . .
My Heaven is here.
With my husband, my son.
My sister and those she walks with as they come to call.
And that offers her more comfort, more encouragement, than Heavenly riches on some ethereal plane . . .
They say we shall spend all our time is singing and in praise.
What time leaves that for winter stories by the fire?
A warm meal with friends and family?
. . . could ever be to her.
They go to the grave of her dead child.
The dead child that almost took her mother with her to the Next Appointed Place.
Cora still grieves her loss, knows Nathaniel does in the deep night as well.
They weep together, wipe tears of grief from one another's faces.
Though Cora believes he grieves the near passing of Cora herself as much as the child.
And she worries for him.
The autumn breeze blows cool and she pulls her wrap 'round her shoulders with the hand not holding fast to her husband.
That hand is upon his arm and covered with a strong, warm hand of his own as he gazes from the grave to her face, 'round and back again.
She feels she must reach out to her family.
"I miss my child. I always will."
Those gathered here that love her.
"I am also grateful to still be among you, my dear family."
Have cared so diligently for her.
"I am sorry you have all suffered so on my behalf, I would not have had it."
She loves them all, these men and the children and . . .
"But I am grateful for you. I am honored by your love and devotion."
. . . and . . .
"I love you, so very, very much."
. . . her little sister.
Okey dokey, *now* we're all out of the woods.
:)
Feel better?
I hope so. I do.
Thanks to blanparbe, bcawriter01, and MohawkWoman for so kindly reviewing the previous chapter!
elizatheOdd, wow, thank you so much for your lovely words, I am very humbled. *hugs*
More to come!
