I guess this is the place for the disclaimer, so here it is: I do not own Liberty's Kids. I am a big fan, though. I used to watch it every day after school until they took it off the air. There are enough stories about Sarah and James, though, so I decided to write one about their daughter Liberty, who is a character of my own creation. I hope you guys like it. Please read and review, but be gentle, since this is my first try at writing something like this. If I get enough positive reviews, I'll submit the rest of the story; I already have it all written.

August 1789: "Good gracious, child, come set the table!" Thirteen year old Liberty Hiller scowled at the sound of her mother's voice. She didn't want to set the table, not when she would much rather be reading a book. Folding down the top of the page to mark her place, she stood up and went from the parlor to the dining room. She paused before the china cabinet.

"Do you want me to use the regular dishes or the fancy blue ones?" she asked her mother.

"Better make it the blue ones. Your father said he was bringing a special guest."

"Do you know who it is, Mama?"

"Not for the life of me. I simply cannot imagine who your father would invite that he feels he can't tell me about."

Pursing her lips and trying to think who it could be, Liberty took down the good blue china dishes and began to set the table. She had just finished when she heard her father at the front door.

"Papa!" yelled her two year old brother Peter, who was just learning to talk. The front door swung open and her father stepped into the front hall, hanging his hat on the hook in the wall. Mrs. Hiller came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"James," she said in her clipped British accent, which she still had even after living in America for the past sixteen years. Mr. Hiller pulled his wife into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips. They had been married for thirteen years, but they were still obviously, passionately, in love. Liberty sighed at the sight. She would give anything to have a love like her parents' love. To know that she was everything to a man, and to know that he was everything to her... But she supposed that such love was too rare for her to find.

The sound of her mother's voice brought her back from her own thoughts. "Who have you brought to dinner tonight? I've been dying to know all day."

"I think you'll be surprised, Sarah." He motioned for whoever was standing outside to come in. "May I present Mr. Henri LeFerve, just off the boat from France."

Liberty's mother gave a little shriek, clapping her hands to her mouth. "My God! James! What? When? How? Why?"

Liberty was puzzled by her mother's reaction. Henri LeFevre. Why did that name sound so familiar? She took a good look at him as he stepped into the entranceway. He looked to be a young man in his early twenties, tall, with smooth olive skin. She took him in from head to toe. He had a good head of dark brown hair, matched in brilliance only by his perfect white teeth and well muscled arms. But his eyes... Those eyes were something else entirely. They were a deep, warm, rich brown, just perfect for losing herself in. And she was just starting to, when she felt her father's hand on her arm.

"Shake hands, Liberty," he whispered, anxious that his oldest daughter should not embarrass him.

Recollecting herself, she took Henri's proffered hand in her own and gave it a firm shake. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. LeFevre."

"Please do call me Henri," he said, surprised by the firmness and boldness of her handshake. He took a good look at her. My, she certainly had grown up since he had seen her last, seven and a half years ago. Then she had been only a little girl, with freckles and blonde ringlets. But now... She was most definitely all grown up. Her hair was just as blonde as ever, but now, instead of being in ringlets, it fell in one long French braid down her back, shimmering in the sunlight that came through the window. Her skin, once so sunburned and freckled from playing outside, was now so smooth, like porcelain, with just the hint of pink in her cheeks. And her lips...so full, so pink, so lucious. He shook himself from his reverie. What was he thinking? She was still ten years his junior; she was still only thirteen. He wouldn't allow himself to feel such things for her, he just wouldn't allow it.

Liberty felt her cheeks flush at the sound of his voice. His English had the most attractive foreign twist to it. Where was it her father had said he was from? Oh yeah, Paris. How fascinating! "Call me Liberty," she said in a half whisper. What was it she was doing? He was only one man, an attractive man, granted, but still, and here she was, letting down her guard so soon after they had been introduced.

"Yes, of course," he was saying, "that's what I called you seven years ago. Although I do remember you looking a bit different then."

Seven years ago? What was he talking about? She tried to think back that far. How old would she have been? Six. She would have been six. That was the year her family moved to New York City, where they had lived for two years. Was that where she had met him? But no, she seemed to remember his name from before then. She stole a glance at her parents, hoping they could explain, but she noticed that they both looked a bit uncomfortable, and that her mother was biting her lip.

"Shall we go eat?" Mr. Hiller asked, "I'm sure the three of us have a lot of catching up to do."

"I think that's for the best," replied his wife, "We've saved the best place for you, Henri."

"I would be honored to sit and eat with you," their guest replied, "I've waited so long to see you all again. It would be a pleasure."

Mr. and Mrs. Hiller lead the way into the dining room, followed by Henri, with Liberty at his side. The rest of the Hiller children, all eight of them, trailed behind. They all pulled out the dining room chairs, dark cherry with stars carved into the backs, and sat. Liberty's father said the blessing, the dishes were passed, and the meal began.