The Red Horizon

Epilogue: Part III

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed this story. It means so much to me. I hope you enjoy the final installment of Alice and Uncas's happily ever after.

Pronunciations:

Huritt - (Hoo-ritt)

Meli - (May-lee)

Two Years Later

Summer, 1760

Life on the frontier was definitely not for the fainthearted.

Wiping a hand across her forehead, Alice gave the rabbit stew one last stir before sinking gratefully into the wooden chair beside the hearth. Her back was aching slightly from all the time spent on her feet, but she wasn't complaining. She enjoyed having something to do to keep her occupied, even if there always seemed to be something that needed her attention. If it wasn't planting roots and vegetables, it was harvesting them, drying them or preserving them. At other times it was sewing or mending clothing and bed linens, or cooking and cleaning, or any of the other numerous tasks she completed on a daily basis.

It was hard. Certainly harder than anything she'd ever attempted in her former life. But it was also unquestionably rewarding. She'd never realised the amount of enjoyment she could derive from accomplishing the simplest tasks. Perhaps it was because she'd never been solely accountable for anything in her entire life before Uncas. Now, there was so much that depended on her, so much that others relied on her to do. The feeling was daunting at times, especially when the sheer amount of responsibilities seemed overwhelming, but at the same time, it was also gratifying to know that she was capable of doing whatever she set her mind to. The amount of confidence she'd gained from her many triumphs was what motivated her and filled that void inside that had always made her feel as though she was meant for something greater. With the dawn of each new day, Alice kept surprising herself as she discovered the ever increasing depths of her own reserve and fortitude. Who would have thought that a pampered English debutante would have settled so well into life on the American frontier? She was certain that her old friends would consider her chosen path to be one of hardship and obscurity, and she couldn't disagree. The only difference was that she didn't care. Yes, it lacked an abundance of fine things, but those material elements truly meant nothing to her. She had something far more precious: love. And Alice loved and was loved. Fiercely, passionately, unconditionally.

Sitting across from the open door of the cabin that Uncas had built for them with the help of Nathaniel and Chingachgook, Alice gazed into the clearing beyond. It was a warm, early summer's day, the haze of heat in the distance hovering heavily above the stark forest floor like a transparent, shimmering mist. She was enjoying a rare moment of solitude, a true scarcity when her sister and brother-in-law lived a mere five minute walk away and guests were always plenty. Since they'd arrived in Cantuckee a year ago, Chingachgook visited most often. Having spent the previous winter with them, he was back, enjoying the summer sunshine. Gela and Talee had departed the week before, her friend having eventually settled down with the Delaware brave she'd once claimed to despise.

Hearing a commotion outside, Alice smiled, walking towards the door, the warm breeze stirring the loose hairs at the nape of her neck. Unfastening the apron tied to the front of her simple green cotton gown, she threw it over the back of a chair before stepping outside. Ahead of her, running up the path as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him was Huritt, her and Uncas's son. Just shy of a year and a half, he was precocious, innately curious and absolutely fearless.

His innocent, carefree laughter wafted up the grassy lane ahead of him as Uncas, pretending to be too slow to keep up with him, lagged slightly behind. Witnessing her child's glee at the playful ruse, his cherubic face bright with excitement, a flood of love and contentment stirred within Alice's breast. Watching father and son, she laughed, stepping down from the porch and onto the fine grass.