I do not own The Last of The Mohicans.

And I know exactly where this chapter came from. ;)

The Dragonfly Woman and the Turtle Man

Discontent Discourse

The frost comes and goes, the days warm, then cool.

It is a long, slow process, this bringing of life back to a wintered earth.

As the earth begins to awaken, Alice Munroe grows increasingly restless.

That which she has kept locked away in her heart begins to bat at the bars of its cage, struggle and call out for release, freedom.

Her discontent grows, fed and cultivated by her care for her sister.

Chenoa May is rapidly approaching a year, Little George having soared over it as his mother lay close to dying.

Alice tries to think on how to approach her sister, convince her of her reasoning.

Finally, in the suffocating confines of the dark, stuffy cabin, it bursts forth from her, full of love and desperate worry and care.

"You should leave this place, Sister. Travel with us."

Cora, attending to the stew pot always bubbling in a fireplace so large she may almost stand in it, replies without turning around to her.

"Leave? Why?"

Alice's eyes track from her sister, down to the floor at her her feet, over to the rope bed in the corner.

The places these things happened.

"I . . . Cora, this is a cursed place. Bad things have happened here."

And Cora, dear Cora, still does not turn.

"Alice, it is not cursed."

Only speaks in that calming, soothing voice all older sisters have.

That enragingly placating voice that means they are not listening with their minds, only their ears, and that by half.

"It is my home."

And Alice gawks, spluttering.

"Your daughter died here! You almost died here! Right here in this very room!"

Cora nods, again seeming to attempt equanimity, comfort.

"Yes. That is true. But it is still my home."

And Alice finds her disbelief growing by leaps and bounds.

"But . . . your daughter-"

Cora turns now, approaches. reaching out her hands.

"Yes. My daughter. I will always mourn her. But that is no reason to leave."

Delicate, thin, work-roughened hands.

"Life must be lived, Alice. And I might have lost her anywhere."

And Alice finds herself shying away, suddenly distrustful and angry.

"Is Nathaniel-"

Cora stops her attempted soothing.

Voice still a calm, quiet, even response and tone.

"No, Alice. Nathaniel will do as I ask. He built this homestead as I asked. He would walk away from it with me if I asked."

And Alice strives toward hope.

"Then-"

"No."

Finds it blocked by tall, wide boulder of immovability.

"Why?"

"Because I do not wish to."

And Alice is at a loss. She opens her mouth, closes it.

Her sister, brave Cora, seems confident.

"I do not know what the future will hold. None do."

Quietly assured.

"You may return in the fall-"

Alice's ire spills out in a gush, a flood.

"Return?! I will not return. I am not leaving!"

Her sister continues, seeming to outright ignore this exclaimed statement.

"You may return in the fall to find an empty house and mounds more burial dirt near that one out there."

Alice is momentarily shocked into silence.

"And you may return to find us as we are."

Cora, not.

"More even."

And Alice balks.

"More? You wish to have more children?! After what happened?!"

Her sister shrugs.

"I may. That is the way of it."

And Alice's outrage at this helpless acceptance boils over.

"Cora, it does not have to be! I can gather the herbs, I can teach you which ones! I can show you how to brew the tea!"

Her mind is wild with worry, with building rage.

"You can deny your husband!"

Cora shakes her head, smiling gently, hands folding in front of her in that prim, modest Portland Square way.

"I could. But I do not wish to do any of those things."

Alice shakes her head, unable to comprehend the inner workings of her sister's self-persuasion.

"But you-"

Cora reaches out again.

"Yes, Alice, I know. I was there."

Alice shies away again, hurt at this calm dismissal.

"Yes, you were there, but you did not watch! You did not see!"

And now she really is on a rage.

"It was awful, all of it!"

Cora, still so calm, is so much more infuriating.

"Yes, I know. And I am sorry that you did, my sister-"

"I do not wish for apologies, I am not invalid schoolgirl! I only-"

And Cora tries to reach out again.

"Alice, dear Alice, my sister, I love you. Please, still yourself and listen to me."

With her hands.

"Life will be what it will be. I do not wish to die, nor my husband, nor any child I may have."

With her words.

"I only wish to live, dear Alice. As I may. As we all do."

And Alicia Elizabeth Munroe . . .

"Please, can you understand that? Please, understand that."

. . . cannot.

Thanks to blanparbe for reviewing the previous chapter!