I am so eternally thankful to my many readers and supporters. I know that I have been gone for a long time, but now I am back and ready to write, thanks to all of your support! I shall try to not go away for so long again without warning. Really though thank you to everyone who keeps reading, reviewing and such. As always I love reviews be them good bad or indifferent (no really I'm fine with ALL of them!). I hope you enjoy. As always happy reading.

I do not own Liberty's Kids or most of these characters.

As the three approached the print shop an awkward tension filled the air. There was no real conversation the entire way back; though not for Sarah's lack of trying. Sarah told her about herself, asked her questions about her life, all to no avail. Every time that Sarah attempted to say something, or ask something, the woman simply shrugged or began to whimper slightly.

James, having already stuck is foot in his mouth at the fire, became too nervous to say anything to the girl again. He feared that anything he could possibly say or do might just push her over the brink of sanity and into a pool of weeping and fear; and James did not know how to deal with weeping hysterical women. If Sarah could not make the girl feel any better than he felt very confident that he would not be able to either. This was why, as soon as they pulled up to the shop, James quickly volunteered to take Cesar back into the barn, where he planned to stay for a long time. Hopefully, until Isabelle had cleaned, eaten and cried herself out with Sarah.

As James walked off towards the barn with Cesar, Sarah took Isabelle by the arm, leading her through the back of the shop and into the kitchen. Looking over at Isabelle in her torn and shoot covered dress Sarah decided that what she needed was food, some water to clean up with, and a new dress; that would make her more willing to talk, Sarah was sure of it. She stoked the dying fire in the hearth and soon had water heating up for Isabelle to wash herself with, and then began to search around for food to give her.

"Are you hungry?" Sarah asked her, lifting up some left over biscuits from breakfast before putting them by the hearth to heat up. Isabelle just shrugged back at her not even looking at the food. Sarah simply didn't know what to do with her. She did not want to talk or even acknowledge Sarah's presence. Sarah knew that she should be a gracious hostess and make the girl feel welcome and comfortable, but she really was not making it very easy.

"Here, you should have some water" Sarah directed as she handed Isabelle the bucket of water and a ladle. But she just pushed away on the table. What a silly stubborn girl, Sarah thought.

"You really must drink something. All that smoke getting into your lungs can't possibly be good for you. I'm sure it must be painful to talk, after this is should be easier." Sarah tried to reason with her. Eventually Isabelle did in fact start to sip the water, though it was only have great pleading on Sarah's part. She tried not to judge the poor girl; after all her father was just taken and her family shop burned down. Though still that did not seem in Sarah's mind to be an excuse to completely ignore and scoff at the person trying to help you.

"Well" Sarah started, deciding that it might just be better if she talked to the girl and then maybe she would respond later. "I think these biscuits should be nice and hot. Here you are." She grabbed the two mounds of bread and gave them to Isabelle who merely looked at them without a word.

"You really should try them, they are very good. Either way, pretty soon this water should be warm enough, and Ill call Moses-oh Moses works with us here you'll love him- or James to come and carry the pot up to my room where you can then wash yourself off. I have several dresses that you can borrow and I think they should fit you. They might be a tad bit short but I think that I have one which shall work well and you can wear it; don't worry about a thing." During this rant, Sarah continued to look for any traces on the girl's face that she might be interested in speaking, or eating, or doing much of anything. Yet there she sat, like a statue except for her occasional sips of water.

Sarah kept talking as she worked at cooking food for the afternoon, discussing things of little importance: the city, the shop, the article she was writing. Still there was no reaction from the girl and Sarah only became more confused by her. Did she feel ill? Was she simply traumatized into silence? Was she shy and never was taught proper manors in conversation? Sarah could not understand this girl.

After a minute of preparing the meat for lunch, Sarah put the beef on the fire and checked Isabelle's water, deeming it warm enough for washing comfortably. "Moses!" Sarah called from the doorway to the print room. She heard no reply and ventured into the print room and over by the front door to try to find him. No sign of Moses anywhere though. Sarah turned back to the kitchen figuring that Moses must have walked someplace in town or was in the barn or something.

"Here, Ill just run out to the barn quickly and get James so he can carry the pot up. I don't know what has taken him so long." Sarah said as she started opening the door.

"Why bother?" Isabelle asked; the first words she had said the whole time since they had been in the kitchen together. Sarah, suddenly surprised, whipped around to stare at her, and for a moment was speechless. "It's not that big, it can't be all that heavy for the two of us together." Sarah continued to stare at her. Isabelle's voice was so clear and her face grew defiant. This was a whole different girl from before, and Sarah didn't understand her. "Well fine then. I guess you're just too worried about dirtying your petticoats then. No surprise there. I guess Ill just do it by myself." Isabelle said to Sarah as she proceeded to get up and grab the pot out from the fire. This action finally broke Sarah of her spell and she rushed over to help.

"Oh no, please let me call James or something. That's far too heavy and hot for you." Sarah said, but Isabelle simply started to walk with the pot over towards the print room. "Here let me help you then." Sarah said as she walked after her, scooping her hands down to grab the second handle from Isabelle. "I really don't need help from you." Isabelle spat back, emphasizing the word you in a way Sarah did not understand or appreciate. "Please just point me towards the room and I will happily carry the pot." By this point they were facing the stairs, and Sarah simply pointed up and found herself saying that it was the door on the left. She didn't understand. Why had this girl been so mean to her suddenly. She had ignored her in the kitchen and by now seemed to be almost outright insulting her.

At the top of the stairs it looked as though Isabelle was struggling to keep the pot up and Sarah reached out to help, only to have Isabelle snatch it back up and turn away from Sarah. "I dont need any help from you. I understand you're a lady, and you need to stay clean and have others do things for you. Well guess what? Im not going to live that way. My family and the rest of us Americans are breaking away from your oppressive traditions and rule." Sarah could not believe what she was hearing. Isabelle's voice had suddenly become so filled with hate and anger that Sarah didnt know what to do. This was certainly not the same shy girl she had seen on the walk to the print shop.

"What are you talking about?" Sarah said her head spinning in confusion.

"On our way back from my father's store, you had said something about your boat ride from England. And right then I just knew it: you are a Torry. One of those ladies from England who believes in the sanctity of the crown and looks down their noses at any woman who doesnt know exactly which fork to use when eating fish. So dont tell me what to do. I am happy for your help, I really am. But why don't you just go back to your tea and stitching like a good English lady." And with that Isabelle slammed Sarah's own door right in her own face.

-Thanks for reading-