I do not own The Last of The Mohicans.
This is the final arc of this story. I hope you enjoy. :)
The Dragonfly Woman and The Turtle Man
In the Blink of an Eye
Nathaniel Poe, Yengee-born and Mohican-raised, stands upon the porch of the small log cabin he shares with his wife.
His wife.
And his son . . .
"Unka! Unka! Dada, Unka go! Unka go!"
. . . who still struggles in his arms.
He stands and he watches his adopted father and brother, the woman that walks with them, and girl-child belonging to them, make their way into the treeline.
He watches until he can see them no longer.
"Unka no go! Unka no go!"
The men with whom for years he walked.
Side-by-side.
Always together they were.
Walking, hunting, tracking, fighting.
When they left Fort William Henry, Nathaniel himself in shackles, a prisoner doomed to be hanged for sedition, they walked with him.
His father, his brother.
Not a word spoken, not in such unfriendly company as that.
There was no need.
Only walked one on each side, never leaving him.
And when the fighting broke out and he ran for Cora, they stayed with him.
Each taking position, doing their part in their flight and fight for freedom, survival.
He has never questioned their bond, never doubted their love for him nor him for them.
Separated they are now, as he stays with the woman he loves, with his son, in the place they have made for themselves here in the West Virginia wilderness.
One day they may go the way of the Camerons though he reassures himself many of his enemies would suffer a swift and brutal end for any threat they might pose to his family first.
Him.
A simple farmer.
Indian and colonizer alike have come to him on occasion in an effort to make peace and understanding between these independents out here on their own.
He is known for this throughout the region.
The man with a foot in both worlds, that can work with both, speak with both.
Though he fears no peace may hold against the relentless march of the white man and his greed.
The white man of whom he was born, whose blood runs in his veins.
His mother and father may have been much like the Camerons, much like others of the world.
Searching for freedom from those to whom they owed debt, allegiance.
They might they have been dispatched by those sharing his adopted father and brother's skin or others of separate nature, he does not know.
He has told Cora the truth, he has not memory of them.
Feelings perhaps, a woman, a man, vague shapes that come to him in dreams, speak words he does not hear, only senses.
It is easy to let them go, he was not of them for long, has lived only this life for his waking days.
This life.
And Cora.
He is content here if she is.
He will no longer travel to Schuylerville, trade with the shrewd Dutch for silver, neither him nor his brother nor his father.
Not to Schuylerville, nor even so far as the fields of Chief Joseph Brandt.
The land to the north and east is riddled with warring white man and Indians who have chosen their side, whether in hopes to rid themselves of the encroaching Yengee or seeking retribution against the murderous French.
No, they walk away from these men and their unending wars, they seek peace when they may, fight only for the survival of their families and themselves.
He does not regret his staying nor even their loved ones walking onward.
They must do as they will, live their lives as they see fit, without a by your leave of any, including him.
So he does not mourn.
Only . . .
"You are crying."
. . . worries for her tears, her discontent.
And he immediately begins to spring into action.
"We will go with them, I will call them back-"
Only to have Cora's hand upon his arm still him.
"No. Nathaniel."
And he turns his face towards hers, eyes searching the face he loves.
"I am only sad my sister is leaving."
"Then we will-"
"No. Nathaniel."
And her hand leaves his arm to raise and lift up to his face.
Smooth back the wild mane of his hair, caress the stubble of his cheek.
He is always in want of a shaving.
She looks much as she did when he gazed upon her so long ago in the fort infirmary.
Tendrils of dark hair escaping their encapture to fall about her lovely, pale face.
Large, doe eyes, straight, thin nose, red lips.
Like such a delicate thing.
But Nathaniel Poe has seen her fire, seen the strength that she possesses.
Upon their first meeting, first journey, even unto the fort itself, he witnessed that strength and fire she unleashed upon those that she felt wished those she cared for harm.
The bravery she set forth, even at her own peril.
She has never once hesitated to tell him exactly what she thought, what she wanted, what she was capable of.
And he has known she is, in her own way, stronger than he has been or could ever hope to be.
And for that reason, and so many others, he loves her dearly.
And would do . . .
"Dear husband."
. . . anything for her.
"I do not wish to go. And I do not wish them to stay."
Cora Poe nee Munroe looks upon her husband, the man who saved her, the man who protected her, the man who reached out to her.
They have been through much in their short time together.
He looks much the same as he always has.
Long, wild hair. Dark, intense eyes.
His body is nothing but lean muscle and callous skin.
So different from the men whose advances she so graciously thwarted in Portland Square.
She was momentarily terrified of him upon their first meeting.
Terrified and, in the dark, waiting out French and Indian enemy forces, intensely allured.
She has followed him into the wilderness willingly, given herself to him with great abandon and passion.
And lived every moment up to this moment glad for her decision to do so.
She still mourns her father, as she always will, mourns the sacrifice of Duncan, once so misguidedly foolish and hotheaded.
She sorrows her sister walking now away from her, that she may or may not ever see again.
But her place is here, this place she has chosen for herself.
This place they have made together, created together.
With their child together.
She does not know what may happen or if they will even be given another day.
And having suffered months ago the very real possibility of her ending upon this earth . . .
I had a dream about my father and the baby.
I can not remember it now.
. . . she is very grateful for every moment now that she lives.
At peace or at work.
Rested or weary to her bones, as is so often the case.
Their son, their little George Nathaniel, is hardy and healthy thus far.
"Unka no go!"
And very, very adamant and loud.
She turns from her gone sister, turns into the one-room home she and Nathaniel have made for themselves.
Nathaniel follows, for want of something else to do, as she suspected he would.
She places a tankard of fresh spring water on the table before his chair, an invitation, a subtle directive.
And he sits, large hands spread out upon the smooth wooden surface.
She breaks a crust of bread from the dense loaf and gives it to her crowing son.
Who immediately sticks it in his mouth, quelling his cries and bringing blessed quiet to her relieved ears.
She places him into his father's lap and kisses the top of his dark little head.
Then she kisses his father.
Quite a different kiss and one to strengthen his resilience in the following moments that may be very bad indeed for him if she is to know him at all.
Still, hope lingers long and Cora offers it a seat at her table as well as she allows herself the rest to sit before continuing with her choring.
She takes her husband's hand, Nathaniel, dear, beloved Nathaniel.
And speaks to him as his toothy smile first begins to break over his face.
"I have joyous news to tell you, dear husband."
And then vanish.
"I am with child."
Without a whisper.
No, Cora did not tell Alice or anyone else besides Nathaniel.
And yes, her omission was on purpose.
Thanks to bcawriter01 for your succinct and accurate review of the previous chapter! :)
Thanks also j8488087 for adding your support to this story.