Sorry that one had barely any information about the girl in it. But she'll progress in the next couple chapters. Being the idiot I am, I'm not sure if Benjamin Franklin was an actual doctor (you know, the kind who say if you've got a cold). I am also confuzzled on whether they had gas lamps back then or not. Please enjoy and review. I don't own Liberty's Kids sheds tear to cancellation I'll be ok.

"Who is she?" Henri, the French boy, asked eagerly. His accent was as thick as molasses.

"Frankly, we don't know yet." James replied.

"She looks really sick," Moses observed, "I think we should get her to the Gazette right now."

"Who?" The girl wondered aloud, still dizzy.

With care, Sarah and James brought the girl to the Gazette headquarters, where she was settled in James' room (James complained about having to share Henri's room). Then, once she was in bed, the girl passed out.

Later, Dr. Franklin came out of James' room.

"She has an infection on her arm," He explained to the three children (Moses was out buying things in town), "But she refuses to let me fix it. Would one of you go in and do so?"

Sarah, James and Henri all looked at each other.

"It's James' room." Henri said.

"Henri!" James scowled.

"Just go. You've been voted against, 2 to 1." Sarah said firmly.

James reluctantly took the bandages and medicine and went into the room. There was a lamp burning by the bedside where the girl was sitting upright.

"You again," She muttered, "John…I think."

"Actually, it's James," He said, closing the door behind him, "I forget your name, too."

The girl visibly gulped when she saw the door shut.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, her voice a bit panicky.

"I'm not going to hurt you," James said slowly, "I'm here to help you."

She still looked at James like he was pointing a gun at her.

"You've got a cut on your arm," James said, carefully approaching her, "And I'm going to put some medicine and bandages on it. See?"

She just stared at him, seemingly lost in her own thoughts to reply.

James sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her arm. She quickly drew back.

"First I want to know where I am." She said assertively.

"You're in Benjamin Franklin's print shop," James explained calmly, "We print The Pennsylvania Gazette here. Dr. Franklin was the man you saw earlier."

The girl's eyes grew wide, "You mean I'm in America? Still?"

James nodded, "Err, yes. What do you mean, 'still'?"

She looked away, "I've just been through an ordeal, that's all."

It was obvious that she was too shy or upset to tell James anything about that.

"Well, could you please tell me your name?" James asked boldly.

She looked back at him, eyes glassy, "I am Marie-Claire."

James' mouth dropped open.

"You're French?" He asked, "But you don't have an accent."

Marie-Claire shook her head, "That's because I was only French for a while."

James frowned, "What does that mean?"

"I'd rather not say…" Marie-Claire replied, sniffing. She was trying to hide tears.

James remembered the reason he was there, "So, are you going to let me repair your arm? Or do you want me to just leave? I will if you want me to. I understand; you've just met me and maybe you're unsure about it-"

Marie-Claire extended her arm and silenced him. James silently began to apply the medicine.

She winced and flinched a bit, but didn't move.

"Sorry." James said.

"It's ok," Marie-Claire said, "I've had worse."

He continued to put on the medicine. It still stung like it did the first time, but Marie-Claire never moved at all. She was noticing James' gentle touch, and wondering what he was like as a person. So far he seemed okay.

"Are you Benjamin Franklin's son?" Marie-Claire asked after a while.

James shook his head, "No, I was actually a street boy before he took me in. I helped with the press at first, but now I'm a journalist. The same with Sarah, the girl with red hair who found you in the ocean. She's British, you know."

"I lived in England for quite some time when I was younger." Marie-Claire said.

"So then you're British?" James was growing tired of asking.

"I don't know," Marie sighed, "We, being my little brother and I, lived in London with mother and father until I was ten. Then we came to America, and-"

James finished wrapping the bandage around her arm, "Yes?"

Marie scoffed, "I've told you too much already. Please swear you won't tell anyone of much importance in politics or such, Mr. Hiller."

James nodded, "Umm…ok then. Are you hungry? We have some soup downstairs if you want any. But I didn't make it. Henri says I'm a terrible cook…"

Marie-Claire laughed. Her laugh was light and happy, like a cool summer day. James' heart skipped a beat when she did, not knowing particularly why.

"Is Henry that little boy with the French background? He must have been quite the little food thief out on the street, I'd say?" Marie said.

James frowned, "How did you know he was a street boy?"

Marie swallowed visibly, "You mentioned it."

James cocked an eyebrow, "I did?"

She nodded quickly, "Yes, you did. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to get some rest. Our little talk has tired me out."

James stood in the doorway, staring for a moment as the strange girl nestled herself in the bed. He was certain he didn't mention Henri being on the street. And he was more than positive that Marie-Claire was hiding something very out of the ordinary.

Thanks to P.I.D. for the wonderful review! I was very happy to read it, and I do hope I haven't disappointed you. As to anyone else reading, don't be a stranger and review!

Loverly yours,

Autumn