Here I am once again to update! I guess my introduction didn't tell very much, but perhaps this chapter will. It is now a few months after the wedding (the introduction kiss was the wedding kiss) and both couples have been living peacefully. The Hutchinson's found a nice house using Sybil's dowry, and Udtuney found a job as a silversmith. I do not own these characters or Liberty's Kids.

Chapter 1- Startling Happenings

Sarah's P.O.V.

"Sarah! You have a letter! But this time I don't think it is fan mail!" Henri called happily.

I rushed in, in my usual apparel of a simple dress and a band taming my cascading red locks, to read my letter. I informed Henri,

"I've been expecting something from my dear aunt Henrietta."

"It should be Henri-Etta!" Henri joked before slipping outside to cause some sort of trouble on his break.

But much to my surprise, the envelope did not contain an invitation to a family reunion. This is what the letter read in hard to decipher scrawled out pen:

Sarah Hiller,

You have been selected to come to a women's writer's convention. Bring a new piece and yourself to 1808 West Avenue, Williamsburg, Virginia as soon as you can, but at the latest one month. Tell no one; this is not a public event.

-Staff of Women Writers Club

I was quite puzzled by this letter. I inadvertently called James, out of habit. He replied,

"I'll be there in a moment, Sarah."

I then glanced at the letter, feeling there was something I forgot. The words "tell no one" glared up at me, ready to punch me in an instant. James rushed in quickly. Even though his tone had been casual, he is always worried about me these days so he really took it seriously. His exasperated cry only proved my point more,

"Sarah? Sarah, are you all right? Do you need something? Are you-"

I cut him off quickly,

"No, no. I am fine. However I have just received a letter urging me to Williamsburg. I shall pack today and depart tomorrow if that is realistic."

James looked at me sternly. As I said, he has been like this for a while- an overprotective mother. But his reason was at least comprehendible. He pleaded strongly,

"Sarah, please. You know it isn't a good idea to travel in the state you are in. If it is that urgent, I can go myself and do whatever it is they wish you to do."

"James! You know I am not due for months! I'll send articles for the paper by mail. I am going, and I am going alone," I declared, trying hard to be stubborn.

James dared to say,

"But don't you remember what happened the last time we were separated for no good reason and someone never wrote?"

I couldn't believe he would bring up such a touchy subject (Author Note: James is referring to the events in Journalists, Heroes, Love, OH MY!). Especially because we'd agreed to not bring it up. As much as I love James, his headstrong manner gets me every now and then. I couldn't control my anger, so I shot back,

"Watch your potato trap, Hiller!"

I then marched up the stairs. I wasn't yet on my bed before I remembered my last name was Hiller too, and that it was James' bed too. He is James, who I am not supposed to keep secrets from and snap at. He is James, who loves me even more than his writing.

But my heart said James would want me to go do this. If only I could tell him…

Meanwhile

Udtuney's P.O.V.

Right when I saw that horse tied to the front tree of my house, I knew something wasn't quite right. I put my sack over my shoulder so I could open the door. Before my tired hands could grasp the doorknob, the door was slung open by my wife, Sybil.

"Udtuney, it is urgent! Come in, now!" She urged, looking horrified.

I found an officer looking things over in our small parlor room. Everything was shattered or ripped. The beautiful velvet cushion had been stabbed with something. The two paintings on the fireplace had parts of them burned, and their frames had been mangled with. The metal candlesticks had been stolen, and the wax was somehow all over the ceiling. The floor was filled with broken glass from the chandelier. There were deep dents in the wall, and our only tapestry had been torn to a million pieces.

But the worst part was that our hidden box of money had been stolen.

"Our money, officer they took our money! You must do something, for that is all we have other than what we have in our pockets!" I yelped frantically.

Just then, the detective came in. He bombarded me with questions:

"Does anyone else know where you hide your money box?"

"Who are your neighbors?"

"Do you have any relatives?"

"Do you have any enemies?"

I answered these questions with no, the Jones' and the Richardson's, my grandparents in New York, and I don't think so.

Then he asked,

"What entrances are there to the house?"

I suddenly got a horrible, sick, and guilty feeling that must have looked worse than Sybil's earlier expression. I gulped,

"We have the front door through which you came in and a back door in the kitchen."

The detective's stone cold eyes looked ready to kill at any moment. So when they stared into mine, I realized I should tell all.

"I usually go to work coming out of the front door, but today I was running late so I had to go out the back door right after I ate. I think I may have forgotten to latch it in my rush," I whispered, feeling my expression spread through my heart like poison.

The two men marched over and inspected the back door. Sybil, thankfully, had been at the market at the time, so we at least had food. I nibbled ferociously on a carrot to get my apprehension out. I was unsuccessful. Who would rob us? Why would they? Without any money, how were we going to survive?

The officer retorted to me this when they had finished,

"Mr. Hutchinson, if you ride in the rain you will catch a cold. If you kick a pig you will get no fresh meat. If you leave a door unlatched you will be robbed. What comes around goes around!"

I hadn't ever thought of that saying like that, but I also didn't think of life like this and here I was.

-BeastlyBrunswicker of Brunswickers United