Snow Moon (February)

The second half of winter seemed to drag on interminably compared with the first half. With every week Cora grew more impatient to make the journey back up to the cabin, to see her sister again, and to begin the next part of their life. While she had been enjoying living in Albany, living out of her trunks in a rented room was becoming trying. She longed to have some space that she could call her own. Her own, and Nathaniel's. They had been discussing where they would live once they returned. It was obvious to both of them that they could not all four stay in the cabin; it simply was not large enough. Nathaniel had said that, assuming she were willing, he would build another such cabin close by, which they would then occupy. The idea of being close to Alice and Uncas, while still being able to have their own space, made Cora happy. But the spring was still another month away; and then the journey would take more time, although Nathaniel had claimed perhaps not as much on the way back as it had down; they would have better horses this time, and a wagon of sorts to haul their trunks and supplies.

At the beginning of the winter it had been enjoyable to participate in the new American society, to be surrounded again by food and conversation and excitement of something always happening, but now Cora found herself vaguely bored by it all. It was England all over again but in a microcosm, and, in its own way, more stifling. She often caught herself dreaming of the freedoms they'd enjoyed at the wolf camp, and even on their travels down, in the midst of physical hardship, but mental peace. No constrictive clothing, routines, or expectations. She suspected Nathaniel felt the same way, although he was consistently gallant, never indicating that he despised (as he probably did) all the various social rituals of dressing for dinner, interacting with the other hotel guests, and dealing with townspeople. Cora could still remember what she'd thought of Nathaniel when she'd first met him and how, at that time, she never would have believed that he was capable of playing the role of British gentleman to the extent that he was. She was proud of him for it, and for not voicing the discontent he likely felt.

Mrs. Schuyler had not understood why they should take any interest in Ben's future and initially seemed rather disapproving of the agreement to have him appear at the kitchens twice daily, but when Nathaniel paid her in advance for the meals and with a little extra to what they had agreed upon, she discovered her more charitable side and accepted the proposition since it was only going to be for another month in any case. Cora rather suspected she would be as glad to see them leave as they would be to take their leaving.

The last days of winter blended together, marked only by particularly poor weather that prevented them from going outdoors or spending any time outside of the hotel. On such days they read with their chairs pulled up close to the fire, Nathaniel nursing a goblet of wine, Cora with fine imported tea, while the wind howled outside, a companionable silence between them. As the second month of the year drew to a close they began to make firm plans for travel, though their actual departure date would depend upon how the weather cooperated. The snow was staying later this year, Nathaniel said, after having talked to some of the locals who had previous years to compare it with. He didn't think they would be able to leave until the middle of the third month. They began to pack away supplies in the wagon, especially goods that would be hard to come by once they were back in the isolation of the forest: bolts of cloth, candles, pounds of tea, sugar and salt, and the very basics of building materials for the new cabin. As the days passed, Cora found her mood lightening. The wait was almost over.

Several heavy snowfalls occurred in the days and weeks following Uncas and Alice's trip down to the lakeshore. One morning Alice had to force the cabin door open because the snow had come up past the stone steps and created a windswept seal over the outside of the door. Then she had to employ snowshoes for the trip to the privy. Even when it didn't snow, wind quickly filled in any tracks or paths they made.

Food stores, again, were falling low, and meal after meal largely consisted of the same thing; corn or beans with a little preserved deer fat with the odd chunk of meat included for flavoring. The honey was gone, as were the tea leaves. Uncas found Alice some winter rosehips but after several attempts at preparing the dried fruit into a potable tea she gave up, as it was simply too bitter without another source of sweetening. They had fallen into an unspoken arrangement to share food preparation duties now; Uncas, who was always awake earlier, usually looked after the provision of the morning meal and then Alice would spend some time in the afternoons ensuring that the evening meal was ready before it was dark.

Their days thus passed in a very similar fashion to the ones in early winter; with tasks accomplished by mutual understanding and cooperation, in a spirit of business-like cordiality; an outsider might easily have spent time in the cabin with them during the days and not thought that their relationship necessarily contained anything deeper than friendship and common respect.

It was only in the night that Alice was able to get past her natural reserve and display any open affection towards Uncas. Warm she was, under cover of darkness and in the privacy of the bed they now shared, but if he thought that meant he could make a reference the following morning to a previous night's play, he soon found himself much mistaken. She had not reached that level of comfort with their activities. Uncas realized that would probably take yet more time and he didn't mind waiting. After all, the nights were longer than the days in any case. He had plenty of time to show her how he felt about her, and if that meant he had to be more restrained than he might want to be during the day, he could handle that. Bedtimes were sweet, when she buried her face in his neck with little murmurs, and her body would stretch up to meet his with an odd abandonment. It was at those moments that he had no doubts about what they were to each other or why they were together, and he thought, from her responses to him, that she felt the same way.

The thought of her conceiving a child had occurred to him, and it was not one that he felt entirely comfortable with; not yet, at least, not while they were alone here, with no elders to consult lest something should go wrong. It would be one thing if it happened within the security of the village camp, where there would be plenty of women experienced in assisting with the delivery of babes. Uncas, too, remembered his father's warning that Alice was not ready for wifehood, and if she were not ready for that she would certainly not be prepared for motherhood. He imagined appearing in front of Chingachgook again with a pregnant Alice, after having been told to stay away from her. His father would probably beat him, he thought ruefully, though he would have borne it without complaint; it would have been his elder's right for having been disobeyed. Then there was Cora to consider, who, under the circumstances, considering that he was unable to legally marry her sister, probably would be in her rights not to be too pleased with him either.

If a child did come, in any case, it was not in his hands, it would be the will of Manto and an event that should be considered a blessing of their relationship. Though he might be the only one who viewed it in that way.

Worm Moon - (March)

Alice was sweeping out the cabin. She had braided her hair back neatly in two long portions so it was out of her face, and the cabin door was open, bearing the first hint of spring wind into the four walls of their home. The fire needed to be kept burning, of course, and there was still snow on the ground, though only deep in shadowed places, and these days much of the clearing was muddy as the warmer sun had burned away the evidence of winter.

Uncas had been gone all afternoon; he'd said something vague to her about looking for any early game and had departed after lunch. She didn't mind the few hours alone now; it had given her a chance to clean out and air the stuffy cabin. The cool air held delicious promise; the sun was bright. All their hides and furs were hanging outside on the A-frames to freshen. She had just hung up her dress to dry, having washed it in the stream that was once again running, higher and faster now with winter melt. In its place she was wearing her skirt, now rather worn, and a work tunic she had sewn herself.

Absently, she hummed a tune that had been in her head for the past few days, a simple piece she'd used to play on the clavichord as a child. At the time she'd hated it, but it had returned to her memory unexpectedly. Once the sweeping was finished, she planned to start some dinner, though the thought of the nearly bare shelves gave her a moment of discouragement. It would be beans again, no doubt, though perhaps, if Uncas returned in time with a quail or a rabbit that had survived the winter, they would have meat. And he'd promised her it would only be a matter of days before shoots started coming through the ground and there would be fresh greens.

Alice set the broom back in its place behind the door and was about to fetch the kettle to get some stream water for boiling, when she heard the whinny and snuffle of horses. Convinced she must be imagining, she went out and stood on the stone steps for a few moments, scanning the clearing and trying to catch any more sounds.

She waited there, and was just beginning to think it had only been her mind when she heard more distant thuds, like the plodding of animals, and then, suddenly appearing at a distance through the still-bare trees, she saw her sister, striding towards the clearing in a vibrantly-colored dress.

"Cora!" Her heart leaped, and she flew down the steps and to the edge of the clearing. Cora was running to meet her, too, her hair flowing around her like a wild creature, and they embraced each other in a flurry of skirts and hair and laughter. Beyond them Alice could make out the shapes of dark, heavily-laden horses approaching and the tall figures of broadly smiling Nathaniel and Uncas–she suddenly realized he must have known they were coming and gone to meet them–and another, smaller figure–but right now she had eyes only for Cora, for the sister of her heart who she had gone without this past half a year.

"Alice." Cora gripped her face in her hands. "Let me look at you! What are you wearing? Have you been eating enough? What has it been like?" The questions bubbled out of her and Alice felt tears of happiness sting her eyes because she wanted to ask the same ones in return. "I'm fine. We've been fine...but the winter was so long. When did you leave Albany? Who is that with you?"

Cora turned. "Oh, that is...Oh, we have so much to talk about, and I'm so tired, we've been walking since early this morning to make it here today."

"Come into the cabin!" Alice grasped her sister's hand, and, though she was curious about the boy she could see quietly approaching with the men, she was more interested in Cora. They entered the cabin together, arms round each other. "Are you hungry? There's not much ready..."

Cora laughed. "The horses are bearing everything. Tea, sugar...I just want to sit." She did, settling down at the table with a happy sigh. "Go say hello to Nathaniel while I catch my breath. My feet are aching!"

"All right. I'll just go out for a moment." Alice reluctantly pressed her sister's hand and hurried back outside to see the men. Uncas was taking care of the horses, beginning to unload their burdens.

Nathaniel was holding the hand of the small lad. He smiled at Alice as she approached them. "Sister."

It gave her a strange pang of pleasure to hear that warm word come from him. Uninhibited, she darted forwards and gave him a quick hug. His arms closed around her, and she saw that he was startled though equally pleased by her response.

"This is Ben," Nathaniel said, giving the boy a gentle push on the shoulder forward. "He is our de facto adoptee. He's half-Dutch. His mother was related to the Delaware."

"Oh," was all Alice could think to say, surprised, as she stared at the boy who stared back up at her unblinkingly with dark eyes. "Well, he is welcome, of course. Does he speak English?"

"We're working on that. Ben, go on and help with the horses." The lad evidently understood this much at least because after a moment he darted over to do Nathaniel's bidding.

Alice also went over to Uncas, who smiled at her over the broad back of one of the horses he was working on unloading. Alice paused for a moment to touch the glossy neck of the animal, feeling its caramel-colored mane spilling across her hand. "You knew, didn't you? That they were coming."

He shrugged. "Just a feeling. Glad I was right?"

"Very." She took one of the smaller packages from him and held it up for inspection. "Tea!" Rapturously she hugged it close and hurried back inside the cabin. Nathaniel followed her in.

Uncas set the last of the packages aside and glanced over at Ben, who was standing there a slight distance away waiting for instruction but not volunteering any assistance on his own. The boy was very slight, as if he'd been perpetually underfed. His long dark hair made him look like one of their own children except for the paler cast of his skin. He had a hesitant, nervous air about him.

Uncas crouched by the horse's front legs and ran a hand down the length of it, feeling the quality of the muscles and tendons. He glanced up at Ben. "How old are you?"

Ben blinked at him a moment, adjusting to Uncas' better Delaware. "In summer, eleven," he said, carefully.

He looked several seasons younger. Uncas rose and tossed him a scrap of buckskin, checking his reflexes. Ben caught it instantly and without any apparent difficulty.

"Rub down the horse."

The lad obeyed, but did not seem comfortable and it seemed that he might only have learned to be around animals in the time that he'd journeyed with Cora and Nathaniel. His movements were unsure. Where he was not quite tall enough to reach over the horse's broad back, Uncas took over, and then they moved on to the other animal.

"What's your name?" Uncas said across the horse.

"Ben," the boy replied warily.

"Not your English name, your.." he paused for a moment. "Mother-given name." He was curious to see if Ben intended to keep that private.

There was a flash of hostility in the boy's eyes and then he replied, avoiding the question, "Mother is dead."

"And your father?"

Ben shook his head mutely.

"Well. Ben. Your job to look after the horses. Grain at night until they have grass. No cold water for them, remember. Stream's that way–bring some and let it sit in the cabin for a while." Uncas tethered the animals at the edge of the clearing with their long lead-ropes, and shouldered some of the supplies to be brought indoors. He left the boy staring after him with what he was sure was a touch of resentment, or perhaps it was just unwilling curiosity.

Inside the cabin, the two sisters were catching up at the table while drinking cup after cup of sweetened tea, and the men spent the time storing the goods on the shelves in the pantry. Uncas, after examining some of the contents of the supply packages, asked Nathaniel, "Have it in mind to build?"

"Another cabin," Nathaniel said with a grin. "If you think you can stand to have us around as neighbors."

"We can start when the snow melts." Uncas clapped him on the shoulder. "Good to have you back, Brother."

"Good to be here. City life isn't for me."

"What was it like?"

"Noisy. Busy. Not much of a place to raise a family."

They looked at the women.

"You're not planning on keeping the horses up here, are you?"

Nathaniel shook his head. As they both knew, the terrain was unsuited to the large animals, nor did they have the long-term supplies to feed and house them in the colder months. "Bring 'em back down to camp in a few weeks or so, I guess, but they'll be good to have around for hauling the logs. Don't have grain for much longer than that. And they'll scare off any game for a while, but we brought plenty of food with us, enough to feed everyone. Father been here yet?"

"Came up with Niyum's letter, before the snow."

Nathaniel smiled at hearing him use the Mohegan word for sister-in-law in reference to Cora. "He stay long? How has it gone up here? With you two? You both look well enough."

Uncas grunted. "Long winter."

Cora gripped Alice's hand. "I have something for you. It's in my bag."

"What of our trunks?" Alice said, turning curiously to watch as her sister rummaged through her travel sack, producing a paper-wrapped length of fabric.

"We had to leave them down below with the wagon, but they are safe for now and the men can bring them up at any time. I just had to bring this to you early."

Cora watched as Alice unfolded the paper to reveal a pale blue dress. It was modest and pretty, and with its simple cut and style, far more suited to frontier living than the clothes they had brought from England.

"Oh, it's beautiful."

"Try it on," Cora urged, pulling her behind the partitions. Alice complied, slipping out of her old clothes and pulling the dress over her worn shift. The new material was soft and delightful against her skin. She pressed down the skirt in rapture, then hugged her sister again. "Thank you."

Dinner that evening was a lively event, with the five of them gathered around the kitchen table, new candles burning tall and cleanly atop it, a warm fire in the hearth to banish the spring chill of the night, and plenty of good food. Alice was glowing with happiness and Uncas found himself content just to watch her as she chatted with Cora and Nathaniel about Albany and what their winter season spent in town had been like. He noticed that Ben only remained quiet, and left the table early to go crouch by the hearth and stare, heavy-lidded into the fire. It was easy enough to see that the lad felt out of place.

Rising from the table, Uncas went over and crouched down by him. "Water the horses yet?" Ben's eyes flicked guiltily to the bucket he'd brought in earlier. "I forgot." Uncas checked the temperature of the water, which was barely tepid, and therefore potable. "Bring it out to them now, then."

Ben got to his feet, but hesitated.

"What?"

"Dark." The boy shifted reluctantly.

He looked very young standing there. "Right, I'll come with you. Let's go."

Ben hoisted the bucket and carried it outside, Uncas following. The moon was still only a sliver, so the clearing was indeed dark. Once they drew up to the horses, who whickered in response to their arrival, Ben held up the bucket and let each horse drink.

They returned to the cabin and Uncas gestured to Nathaniel that the lad was in need of a place to sleep. After a quick consultation as to where everyone's respective spaces were going to be (Alice insisted that Cora and Nathaniel take their bed, and said that they would sleep by the fireplace) they laid out several furs for Ben in the warmest spot by the fire. Ben, appearing a little embarrassed by suddenly being the focus of all the adults' attention, laid down on the fur and pulled another over his head. They stood looking down at him for a while, then Cora said, sighing, "It was such a long trip up. It'll be good to sleep under a roof again."

"Another cup of tea first," Alice insisted, pulling her sister back to the table.

The men exchanged glances. "Well, I'm turning in," Nathaniel said, yawning prodigiously, and inspecting the bed. "Though whether I'll get any rest with those women talking all night is another thing entirely, eh, Brother?"

Uncas smiled, though in truth he didn't mind at all.

In the morning Alice woke early out of habit and began the task of preparing breakfast for five people, not daunted by such an undertaking now that she had shelves full of new supplies with which to do it. Contained amongst the packages had been a few shiny new copper pots and utensils, which she was delighted to put to use for the first time. While the others were still sleeping, she prepared an oatmeal porridge for their first meal of the morning and set sweetened cornbread to cook by the hearth for later in the day.

Uncas rose shortly after she did and went out to feed and check on the horses, coming back in before long and taking a moment to capture Alice in the pantry, put his arms around her and whisper in her ear that he liked her new dress. Flattered but embarrassed, she escaped, chiding him that they had company now and could not be so free with their affections in public.

Ben stirred then and sat up, yawning, his eyes still swollen with sleep. Alice brought him a bowl of porridge and he ate with unreserved appetite under their appraisal. Nathaniel and Cora rose before much longer and went outside to wash at the stream before coming back in and announcing their readiness to partake of breakfast as well.

Once they had all eaten, Nathaniel stretched and remarked to Uncas that they might as well head back down to the wagon and start back up on foot with the trunks. Uncas considered the logistics of it. The trunks were heavy, but it was their bulky, uncompromising shapes that would make them difficult to bring up to the cabin; made of solid wood and iron, and valuable even without their contents, disposing of them was not an option.

They eventually decided upon rigging a pole and rope sling system to be carried between the two of them. It would be a slow process, but they could be back by nightfall. Ben and the women would stay behind at the cabin, Nathaniel not wanting to subject Cora to any more journeying, and they would not be able to be of much extra help in any case. Uncas and Nathaniel left with their supplies and upon telling Ben to mind the horses and help out with anything around the cabin that Cora and Alice might need.

Once the men had departed, Alice cleared away the remainder of their breakfasts. "Tea?" she asked Cora with a smile. It was almost a rhetorical question.

"Absolutely," Cora replied with a sigh. "I suppose we'll have to start rationing it soon, won't we?"

Making a sound of assent, Alice poured fresh water into the kettle and set it by the hearth. "I can't imagine the men will want to be making the trip to Albany more than once a year, do you? Would you want to go again?"

Cora considered that. "I don't think so," she said after a moment. "It's such a long journey. And Nathaniel told me that, if we need things, we can send for them at the other settlements, which are only about a week away. It would still be months before anything reached us, of course, but it is good to know that we are not completely dependent on nature's bounty."

Alice dug out the small sugar barrel from the pantry, hugged it, then stuck her finger in it and quickly licked it off and sighed in contentment. "Oh, I have missed sugar this winter."

"We brought seeds, too. Nathaniel thinks next spring we can start a garden where the soil is better, he said that a couple of miles south there are suitable spots, so we will never be very far from each other, even when the cabin is built. But that will take most of this summer. I hope you don't mind us staying here until then, Alice."

"How could I mind? Besides, this cabin is as much Nathaniel's and yours as it is ours."

"But you were here all winter, so it seems more yours…and it's really too small for all of us to live in it. Then we brought Ben without any warning."

"He doesn't take up much space, though," Alice said, glancing over at the boy she'd almost forgotten was still there because he was crouching so quietly in the corner, looking off into the distance. "Still, it is...unusual to have a child around."

"I wonder if we were right to bring him. I thought so at the time, but now, here, there is nothing really for him to do; he is too small to help out much, which is not his fault of course."

"Have you really adopted him? I mean, will he live with you always?" Alice continued to watch the boy.

"Nathaniel wants Uncas to help him adapt to the Delaware language and lifestyle, and then bring him to the camp of their people. And then he would hope for Uncas to stay for a little while to judge if he could fit in there, or if he thought Ben would be treated poorly."

"I suppose that would be best, wouldn't it?"

They were both silent for a few moments, then Cora said brightly, "Well, I must say that while that bed of yours cannot compare to the one in the hotel, it's far preferable to sleeping on the ground."

"We like it," Alice said, and then blushed.

Cora looked as if she knew she ought to be shocked but she could only come up with a surprised little laugh. "Alice! So you two are..."

"It was a cold winter," Alice defended. "More than once I thought my toes would freeze off if I didn't have someone to share the bed with. So..."

"It's all right," Cora said gently. "I am not really surprised...as long as you are happy, that is what matters to me."

"I am," Alice murmured. "More than I realized, I think."

They smiled at each other in mutual understanding, and Alice rose then quickly to check the water, now ready for their tea, which they then partook of companionably, lingering at the table.

Nathaniel and Uncas were back, as they had estimated, well before nightfall with their burden of the two trunks. The women had kept dinner waiting for them and warm water for washing, which the men both made use of. Uncas caught Ben as he was about to slink out of doors and demanded, "Look after the horses today?"

The boy nodded, without providing any supplementary details.

"Good." Uncas squeezed his shoulder, noting how Ben ducked away from the pressure of his fingers. The lad was skittish–but that was to be expected, according to Nathaniel, who had told him more of Ben's story on the trip down to fetch the trunks. Uncas knew he would have to be watched for some time. His penchant for thievery was not a habit Uncas planned to send him off to the camp still in thrall of, or he'd find his welcome considerably reduced. His people, while they didn't maintain a concept of personal property to any extent, would not respond kindly to anyone taking more than what was given to him.

Alice was coming down the path in the late afternoon light in her new blue dress, bearing a fresh kettle of water. She looked as if she were struggling, and Uncas stepped outside to take the burden from her. "Listen," he said, pausing for a moment. There were two crows overhead in a distant tree, cawing madly back and forth.

"They're so loud," Alice said.

"It means spring's here."

They listened for a few more moments, inhaling deeply of the cool air, which had an indefinable difference about it, no longer holding the frost of winter. Then they went, together, up the stone steps into the cabin, whose warm light and mood of good humor welcomed them home.