Ok, I'll admit that I had sort of given up on this story for awhile. I didn't think anyone was reading it, and I was really busy with stuff for school anyways. But then I saw that I had 130 hits and a review (thanks, writachicka!), and so I decided to give it another try. I changed a few details from the show for the sake of the story, but I hope you all still like it as well as I do...

Liberty picked at the roast and potatoes on her plate. She was too nervous and confused to eat. Who was Henri LeFerve, just what was he doing here, and how was she supposed to know him already? It just didn't add up. She decided to listen to the conversation he was having with her parents, hoping that it would provide some answers.

"So, how have things been since we saw you last?" her father was asking.

"Well, in the fall of 1784, I went back to Paris, where some distant relatives of mine helped me through school. I stayed there for the next five years. But the revolution, as you well know, is tearing my country apart. So I left. But before I did, I wrote a letter to you, James, asking you if you would help me get my bearings when I came back to Philadelphia. You said yes, so I packed up, left, and came here. I was met down at the dock, and well, you know the rest."

"Oh, I just can't get over seeing you again," said Mrs. Hiller, "It's been much, much too long, hasn't it?"

"It has indeed."

"But what are you going to do now that you're here?"

"I have taken a room at Mrs. Peterson's boardinghouse, down the street. And if I can get a loan, I plan on opening my own store It's been a dream of mine ever since I went back to France. But everything depends on getting some money. I don't suppose you could be of any help..." His voice trailed off.

"Sorry, but we have no money to spare," said Mr. Hiller, "What with the economy the way it is and all."

"Ah yes, that is a sad state of affairs, is it not?"

From there, Mr. LeFevre and her father began a discussion of money and business. Liberty soon lost interest, and returned to picking at her food, stealing glances at Henri as she ate. He certainly was attractive. Those eyes especially. Especially since they seemed to be fixed on her.

After supper was over, Liberty stood with her parents in the front hall to say goodbye to their guest. She watched her father shake his hand and make plans to get together sometime soon. Her mother wrapped him in a tender hug, saying "I can't get over seeing you, Henri. You seem so grown up."

"As does your family, Sarah." Liberty's mother blushed and laughed.

Then Mr. LeFevre turned to Liberty herself. "It was my pleasure to meet you again after so many years. You've certainly grown into a very lovely young woman. I can hardly believe I used to read you bedtime stories." He took her hand, and giving her no time to protest, raised it to his lips and kissed it.

"The pleasure, Mr. LeFevre," whispered Liberty, blushing, "was all mine, I assure you."

"Please call me Henri," he said fondly, "You used to."

Oh Lord, her face was absolutely on fire. He kissed her hand once more, tipped his hat to her mother and father, and vanished into the gathering dusk.

As soon as he was gone and the door closed behind him, Liberty turned to her mother and father. "Who was he?" she asked, her voice shaking just a little.

Mrs. Hiller took her daughter's hand. "Perhaps you should help me with the dishes, Liberty."

"Not until you tell me who he is and how he knows me, when I can't recall ever having seen him before in my life."

"Well, if you helped me, I would tell you while we worked. Now come to the kitchen and I'll explain it all to you."

Liberty allowed her mother to lead her into the kitchen without another word. While they worked over a soapy tub of hot water, Mrs. Hiller began the story.

"His name, as I'm sure you gathered already, is Henri LeFevre. When I moved to the colonies in 1773, he was already living here with your father and Ben. You remember Ben, don't you? I'm sure you do. But at any rate, he was just a little seven year old boy when I first met him. He was there when I married your father, and he was one of the first people to see you when you were born. But then your father and I moved with you and Mercy and the twins to New York in 1782, and Henri stayed behind. Until tonight, your father and I hadn't seen him, and I hadn't even heard from him. But it's so nice to have him back. He was always such a nice boy, and he's grown up well, it seems."

"You mean, he's known me since I was a baby?" She could hardly believe it.

"Not only since you were a baby. He's known you since you were two hours old, when you were just a little tiny thing. My, how time does fly." And she wrapped her daughter in an impulsive hug.

Later that night, Liberty sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair and thinking about what her mother had told her. Mr. LeFevre-Henri- had known her for her entire life? She tried to think back to her early childhood, the period of her life before her family had moved to New York. She put down her hairbrush and just sat there, deep in thought. And then it began to come to her. Images of her early childhood began to filter back. There she was as a little child, maybe all of four or five, shortly before her parents decided to move. Mercy had been only two then, and the twins were tiny babies, all too young to play with. But there had been Henri. Sure, he had been fourteen or fifteen, but he had never been too busy to play with her.

She remembered asking him to read her stories, or asking him to play dolls with her. Blushing at the thought, she tried to picture his face in her mind. He had always been tall, she remembered that much, and he had always had such perfect white teeth. But the power and intensity of his eyes, that was something new. Or had they always been that way, and she had just been too young to notice? Maybe that was it. A girl of five wouldn't notice the same things that a girl of thirteen would. Oh, he was so attractive that she could hardly stand it. Was it possible that he would ever come to think of her as something more than just a little girl? It did seem like he had been watching her a great deal throughout dinner. But there had to be a logical explanation for that. Maybe it was that he had been surprised at her appearance, not because he found her beautiful, but rather for some other reason. For Liberty often greatly undervalued her own looks. She was a very beautiful girl, she just didn't know it.

Picking up her brush again, she looked over at her sleeping eleven year old sister Mercy, with whom she shared a room. No, it was impossible that Henri could love her. There was about as much chance of that as there was of him falling in love with her sister. She finished with her hair, which now spread shining and golden over her shoulders, tied it back with a ribbon, and climbed into bed.

"Goodnight, Mercy," she whispered, blowing out the candle. Her sister mumbled a response, and Liberty was left to lie in the dark and look up at the ceiling, thinking and wondering about this mysterious figure from her past, this Henri LeFevre.

Meanwhile, Henri was thinking about Liberty. He thought about her as he walked to his boardinghouse in the deepening twilight; he thought about her as he said goodnight to Mrs. Peterson and went upstairs; he thought about her as he opened the door to his room; and when he finally had some privacy, he flopped back onto his bed and thought about her some more.

He thought with satisfaction about her slender figure, her golden hair, her big blue eyes. But most of all, he thought about her lips. How he longed to kiss them, to know what they felt like. But then he had to stop himself. This was dangerous territory, and he knew it. After all, wasn't she the same little girl he'd known all those years ago? She was, though he had a hard time believing it. He thought back to that time, letting his mind wander back over the years. He had been about fourteen; she had been about four. What a cute child she had been, with a little freckled face and bouncy blonde ringlets. What was it she used to say to him? Oh yeah. "Come play with me, Henri! Come read me a story, Henri!" And if he would say no, she would just pout until he changed his mind. But it had been very seldom that he ever said no in the first place. Liberty had been the kind of child you just couldn't say no to. How long ago was it now that she had started to become so dear to him? Close on ten years, it was. Even when she had been little, he had always subconsciously thought of her as his. When there had been nothing else to do, she had always been there to play with. And he had been wrong to dote on her so, but nevertheless, he had. And now she was all grown up, and, he realized with a start, he loved her. He loved her.

Sitting up, he put his head in his hands and tried to fight back the emotions that welled up within him. He hardly knew why he felt like crying, but he suspected that it had something to do with all these newly discovered feelings for her. It was all futile, and he knew it. Not only was she ten years his junior, but she was still only thirteen. And that was a fact that could not be overcome. And besides that, he had known her father and mother for years and years. What would they think if they knew? This love for her was something to keep absolutely quiet, he felt. He owed everyone no less than that.

The clock struck ten thirty, and he knew it was time to be getting to bed. Tomorrow he would begin the process of looking for a loan to open his store. He pulled off his shirt and climbed beneath the quilt, blowing out the candle on his bedside table. And as he said his prayers, he couldn't help slipping in an extra one for Liberty, so newly grown up and so newly beautiful.