I try so hard to write those "everyday moments" but it always takes a turn for the dramatic. Long story short - more James lore ahead.

February, 1777

"Right. How about this one?" James stood taller and, fighting a smile, pretended to unroll an imaginary scroll. "A famous teacher of arithmetic, who had long been married without being able to get his wife with child. One said to her, Madam, your husband is an excellent arithmetician. Yes, she replied..." Here James paused, no longer able to hide the smile pulling at his lips. "...only he cannot multiply!"

"James!" Sarah exclaimed, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. James pointed at her, then banged his hands atop the press in glee.

"Forgive me," he laughed. "But I had to. It is one of my favorites."

"I don't get it," Henri pouted, shuffling a stack of paper across the shop. For the last hour or so, the three of them had been making a show of sharing their favorite jokes as they tarried about the last stretch of the work day. But ever since Moses had departed to repair the broken stall door out in the stable, the activity had begun to spiral into that which polite company would deem inappropriate. Henri had started to lose interest as she and James had begun swapping jests just beyond his reach of understanding. His disappointment did sober her, though, so she quickly moved to tousle his hair.

"Think nothing of it, Henri." James met her gaze from across the shop, his eyes aglow with mirth. "James is just being silly."

"But I do not understand," the young boy insisted. He swiped the back of his wrist across his forehead, nose crinkling as he cast his gaze between them. "What does arithmetic 'ave to do with having children?"

"Nothing," Sarah held, even as James burst into laughter again. Henri's eyes rolled heavenward, muttering something under his breath that she couldn't quite hear. It was a lucky thing Moses was out in the barn, or else he'd be running straight to him for explanation.

"Sarah is right," James cut in, face still red with amusement. "I am just being silly."

"Well I still don't get it," Henri grumbled, moving once more to arrange a fresh stack of newspapers. She didn't wish to upset him any further, but James' joyful disposition - not to mention his naughty anecdote - had ushered in memory of another somewhat like it. She'd heard it told only once by way of an open window, one of her cousins to another, and had thought it rather stupid at the time. But she had the sneakiest suspicion that James would find it funny. And she liked it when she made him laugh.

"How about just one more?" She walked back over to the press where James stood and he eyed her expectantly. "A nobleman, having chosen a very illiterate person for his library keeper…" Here she paused for comedic effect, cheeks already warm with embarrassment. "…heard it said it was like a seraglio being kept by a eunuch."

"God's teeth," James hollered. "Sarah...!" He bent over the press, clutching at his belly as his laugher filled the shop once more. The sound of it was like a warm blanket draping over her shoulders; James did have such a lovely laugh, the sort that made others laugh along with him when they heard it.

"What?" she chuckled, trying her best to look innocent. "It's funny, no?"

"Out of the mouths of gentlewomen," James hooted, face flushed - though from laughter or from embarrassment, she couldn't tell. "I never would have thought -"

"What is a seraglio?" Henri asked, sounding genuinely lost. The innocence of his question - coupled with James still doubled over, pounding his fist on the press - inspired a similar reaction as laughter bubbled up her throat again. It felt so good to laugh like this; to simply enjoy life's smaller pleasures, one of which was present company. The war had taken its toll, these last few months especially - so when opportunity for levity presented itself, she was wont to savor it.

Still, though. Perhaps not at small Henri's expense. His crestfallen expression was enough to fully goad her into guilt, so she smacked James lightly on the arm to get him to stop. Even so, it took a few more moments for him to fully calm down again.

"Right," James chuckled, scrubbing his hands down his face. "I'd better go check on Moses before this descends into absolute madness."

"As if it hasn't already?" She grinned at him as he moved past, suppressing another giggle as he stuck his tongue out at her. In the months since the battle at Fort Tryon, she and James had fallen into some sort of...well, she wasn't entirely sure how to define it. Ease of rapport, perhaps. He'd been notably kinder toward her and she'd been surprised by the profound relief it had inspired in her. Though she'd long considered James her friend, it now felt somehow more...genuine. Mutual, her mind supplied as she watched him leave the shop. He still drove her mad at times, to be certain.

But she'd be lying if she told herself nothing had changed after all that had happened in New York.

"Why were you and James laughing?" Henri pressed, coming up to stand beside her. "Please explain it to me, Sarah. James won't because he is méchant."

"Oh my dear Henri," she said kindly, tapping him lightly on the end of his nose. "I promise you, it will all make sense when you are older."

"But I want to know now," he whined. She couldn't even find it within herself to be bothered by it, though - she felt light as a feather, her heart aglow. She was about to tell him as much when the door to the shop suddenly swung open and a man stepped inside, dusting snow from the sleeves of his coat.

"Hold that thought," she said to her small friend, who sighed as she moved past him to greet their patron. "Good eve, sir!"

"Oh -" he said, looking somewhat startled. "Hello there." She studied him a moment, bewildered - the man towered over her, though she herself stood at a reasonable five foot five. He must be six foot four, at least.

"How might we assist you?" The man paused, straightening up tall as he looked at her - then cast his gaze over the shop.

"Gracious," he said. "It hasn't changed, not one bit!"

"Sorry?" She smiled, then laughed awkwardly as he moved past her and towards the press. She turned to meet Henri's gaze, who looked just as bewildered as she; then turned to follow the man, closely behind.

"Never you mind -" the man cut himself off as he looked over his shoulder at her, seeming surprised by her proximity. "Never you mind, lass. I am only here to visit." He shooed her away with a quick motion of his hands, and the dismissiveness of the gesture deflated her good mood significantly.

"Sir," she said with forced civility. "How may we help you?" His eyebrow lifted.

"Cheeky," he said, then flashed her a smile that displayed a row of too-large teeth. "But you must know, it is rather unbecoming of a young lady to be so forward." His eyes darted briefly behind her. "Is your father with you? Or perhaps your mother? A chaperone of any kind?"

"I...beg your pardon, sir." Chaperone? Confusion clouded her mind before it was availed by sudden understanding: this man thought her a patron, not an employee. She offered her best grin before speaking again. "I work here." The last thing she expected was for the man to burst into laughter, the tenor of which was undeniably mocking. She stiffened as he shook his head, tsking quietly to himself; then moved to peel his gloves off of his hands.

"You work here, you say?" His forehead wrinkled as he beheld her with a doubtful air. "As a laundress? Cook?"

"As a journalist." Good mood now all but dissipated, she tried to hide the sting of his assumption behind another smile. There was no way for him to know, of course, but his manner was certainly off-putting. "And I assist with the printing on occasion. The ledgers. All of that sort of thing."

"Hm. Curious." He tucked his gloves inside his coat pockets, then folded his arms behind his back. "Regardless, I'm here to visit, as I said. Go and fetch one of the menfolk, will you? Tell them Jonathan Shutts is here." He said it with an air of arrogance, as if she should know exactly who he was - but the name didn't sound even remotely familiar. Once more she cast an uncertain gaze to Henri, who was frowning at the man's backside.

"Are they expecting you?" she asked.

"No," he smiled. "I am here on a whim, passing through on business. Thought I'd pop by for old time's sake." Her confusion must have shown on her face, as he leaned forward and spoke slowly: "I used to work here."

Churlish cad, she nearly said, though the words that left her lips were, "I see." Why was he acting as if she was somehow supposed to have known that? She leaned forward, imitating his slow speech. "It's only that - no one here has ever mentioned you before."

"Well perhaps it is only because they do not wish to bore you with tales of the past." He seemed entirely unrattled, his lips splitting into an even-wider grin. "Now. Run along and fetch them, would you?" She half considered pretending she hadn't heard him - if he was going to treat her like she was stupid, then she would act as such too. But the sound of approaching footsteps thieved the opportunity, and she instead silently held his gaze until "the menfolk" stepped into the shop.

Jonathan turned to look at Moses and James, who had both stopped short in the doorway at the sight of him. "By God," he cried, his tone exuberant. "Moses. It's been an age."

"Jonathan?" Moses looked and sounded positively flummoxed. "It's - goodness. I -"

"It's me," he said loudly, as if he were expecting a much heartier welcome. He stepped forward quickly, clasping Moses in a firm hug. "How wonderful it is to see you, my old friend." Sarah's eyes moved to James, seeking explanation. Instead all she found in his gaze was wariness, his eyes now dull with barely-concealed suspicion. Curiosity quickened in her chest.

Who was this man?

"And this must be young James," Jonathan said, pulling from Moses who still looked just as, if not more, bewildered. "I'd know that face anywhere. Though you're a bit taller since the last time I saw you, eh?"

"What are you doing here?" James had successfully managed to mask his tone with curiosity, but still she could see disdain dancing behind his wild blue eyes.

"I'm in the city on business," Jonathan exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. His energy was bizarre, she noted - as if he were trying to compensate for the obvious lack of excitement at him being here. "And I thought, now wouldn't it be a treat to visit the old shop? Share a drink, have a laugh with my old master?" He cocked his head slightly, toward the doorway. "Is the good doctor here, by chance?"

"No," James said. He looked decidedly uncomfortable now. "He's in France."

"Ah. Now that's a shame. But still -" he gestured toward them. "We've so much to catch up on!"

"Sarah," Moses suddenly said. His eyes moved to her, then their junior apprentice. "Henri. May I present to you Jonathan Shutts, former apprentice at the Pennsylvania Gazette. Jonathan - Sarah Phillips and Henri LeFevbre. Journalist and junior apprentice, respectively."

"Oh yes," Jonathan said, turning back towards her with a twinkle in his eye. "We did meet just a few moments ago." Or at least we would have, had you bothered to introduce yourself. "Anyway," Jonathan continued, turning back 'round. "I was hoping I would be able to join you for supper tonight. The shop still closes at nightfall, yes?" Sarah moved closer, casting a wary gaze outside at the setting sun. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, that is."

Oh please Moses, she silently pleaded, trying to catch his gaze. Don't say yes.

"We're awfully busy this evening," Moses said. "Perhaps tomorrow might -"

"Oh but I am leaving town at first light," Jonathan interrupted, either blissfully unaware of the attempt to sidestep, or full aware and entirely indifferent. She suspected strongly that it was the latter. "Surely you can spare a few hours for an old friend?"

A brief silence fell. Moses' dark eyes gave nothing away, though she was now burning with curiosity as to what this man had done to earn his disfavor. "Of course," Moses finally said, his voice low with resignation. "We'd be happy to host you."

"Splendid," Jonathan smiled. "I -"

"But we must close up shop and prepare," Moses continued and she just barely masked her smile at how he spoke over Jonathan. "Come back and join us at, say, six o'clock?"

"I've an even better idea." To Sarah's shock, he began removing his jacket. "You know I've my own shop down in Maryland. Let me assist with closing up for the day."

"Oh no," Moses laughed. "We could not possibly accept."

"Please," Jonathan insisted. "It's the very least I can do. The smallest of thank yous for your most gracious hospitality." From the outside it would seem his offer was genuine; kindly even. But God, there was just something about his gaze - that she couldn't quite pinpoint - that made her skin crawl.

"Sarah," James suddenly said, his voice eerily calm. His eyes locked with hers from across the shop. "Why don't you and Henri head to the kitchen and start preparing supper?"

The suggestion was so daft, it took her a few seconds to fully process what he had just said. He knew that Mrs. Dawson - a longtime associate of Ben's, as well as his cook - was here this evening. Sarah was no stranger in the kitchen to be sure, but she did not make it a habit to cook them supper. Confusion flared; then annoyance. Why was he trying to get rid of her? She was about to ask as much but Jonathan quickly interjected.

"Oh, don't send the boy to the scullery," he laughed. And there it was again - that same, snide intonation from before. "He's learning a trade. I am certain Ms. Phillips will manage just fine on her own."

"I don't think -" she began to say, but James spoke over her.

"Go on, Sarah." He flashed her a smile that failed to reach his eyes. "It would be so helpful." Moses walked past her offering a consolatory look, but James remained in the doorway, staring at her without expression. She kept his gaze for a moment, silently questioning; but he said nothing more. Disappointment filled her chest but she rallied what was left of her pride and pulled her shoulders back, offering him a fake smile of her own. She wouldn't make a fool of herself in front of this stranger. Nor James, for that matter.

"Then to the kitchen I will go," she said coolly. She didn't spare their guest a second glance as she made to leave, antsy now to get out of there. But James surprised her by taking a gentle hold of her arm as she moved past him.

"I promise I will explain everything later," he whispered. She believed that, of course. There was very obviously something more going on here that she did not understand. But still; she could not seem to reconcile this dismissive James, in the presence of company, with the James from twenty minutes previous who had been doubled over laughing at her jokes. Memory surfaced; a warm day, James' laughter, a kind foot soldier offering his "strong arm of protection." And then the snide she thinks she's a journalist from James' lips, his voice laden with that same, damnable ridicule Jonathan had just displayed. A lot had changed since the summer; she knew that. But the familiar offense it awakened hurt just the same.

"No need." She pulled her arm from his grasp, leveling him with a haughty stare she knew he hated. "You boys have fun." She moved past him quickly, swallowing hard against a tightening throat.

Hoping he hadn't seen the tears now pricking at her eyes.

"The mutton is excellent, Ms. Phillips."

Sarah raised her head, startled out of her thoughts by the sound of her name on Mr. Shutts' lips. From the moment supper had begun, he'd been talking endlessly to Moses about the success of his print shop down in Baltimore and she had stopped listening halfway through. She had a plethora of other things occupying her mind.

Most notably, the sullen and silent James sitting just beside her who had not spared her a single glance - nor spoken a single word - since they'd sat down.

"You are kind, Mr. Shutts," she replied, smiling politely across the table at his odd, grinning visage. "But I am afraid I alone cannot take credit for this lovely spread."

"Whatever do you mean?" he replied. It's his eyes, she thought to herself as she studied him. They were dull. Almost...empty.

She forced a laugh from her throat. "Dr. Franklin can afford a cook, I assure you."

"Oh. My." He moved his fork to his mouth without taking his eyes off of her. "My apologies, then."

"Sarah does cook for us sometimes," Henri contributed, happily chomping away on his supper. "The cobbler she makes is the best!"

"A lady of many talents, it would seem." She felt uncomfortable with this sudden focus on her, having been perfectly content to sit in silence as the menfolk talked. She wasn't terribly interested in engaging with this man, but Moses had led the way for the first half of the meal and now it seemed it was her turn. "Do you often spend your time in the shop, then?" Jonathan continued as their eyes met once more. "Or is it mere dalliance for you?"

Irritation flared in her chest. "Hardly," she said, forcing a smile to her face. "I have found that journalism, and all of its affiliated tasks, has grown into quite a passion of mine. I should love to continue as long as I am able." His eyebrows shot up.

"Really!" Sarah's gaze moved quickly around the table, waiting for someone to intervene. Anyone care to change the subject? He dabbed at his mouth in what looked an effort to be nonchalant, but she did not miss the derision in his voice. "How curious."

"How do you figure," she asked thinly, "Mr. Shutts?"

"Well it's not often you meet a lady journalist," he chuckled. "Much less a printer of any kind. It's a man's profession through and through. I'd sooner believe you made this meal than published a story."

"Strange," she said lightly, even though her blood was now aflame. She focused her attentions on her plate as she spoke. "I've met a few lady journalists in my time. It may not be as rare as you think."

"You will forgive me should this sound audacious, Ms. Phillips," he said with a flash of a smile she was sure he thought charming, "but I couldn't imagine ever hiring a woman in my shop."

"Whyever not?" she asked, feigning curiosity with a do go on sort of tone. "Women are just as capable as men, no?"

"Heavens," he laughed. "You are a firecracker, aren't you?"

"Just curious as to your thinking, is all." He studied her a moment.

"I believe that women have their place," he finally said. "Just as men do."

It was pointless to ask the question, for she already knew the answer. But she couldn't seem to help herself. "And what place might that be?"

"As man's helpmate." He popped a potato into his mouth, chewing loudly. She suddenly didn't like the way he was looking at her. "As wives. Mothers."

"I'm left with the impression you disapprove of my employment here, Mr. Shutts." Her patience was waning. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear her mother telling her to smile, to quiet down.

"Not at all, my dear," he replied and the endearment sent an unpleasant chill down her spine. He took a sip of wine, eyeing her strangely over the rim of his glass. "After all, even the lowliest of men enjoy a pretty thing to look at."

"Don't speak to her like that." James' quiet voice cut through the tension building behind her ribs, though he didn't meet her eyes when she turned to look at him. His gaze, dark with disdain, was fixed on their dinner guest.

"I jest, of course." Jonathan's lip curled and it seemed that however James was feeling about him, it was definitely mutual. "I only meant -"

"I know what you meant." James leaned back, hands braced on the edge of the table. "Enough."

"Sarah is working here on Dr. Franklin's invitation, and with full approval from her parents," Moses cut in. His tone was placating but the underlying message was clear: drop it. "And we are glad to have her."

"Ben Franklin," Jonathan exclaimed, shifting his tone entirely as he banged the table with his hand. "Where did you say he was again? France?" Sarah's eyes moved once more to James, but he still wasn't looking at her.

"Indeed he is," Moses said, flashing a quick smile. "Left us this past fall."

"I'm sorry I missed the old chap," he said, sawing through his mutton chop. "It would have been wondrous to see him again."

"A pity," Sarah said sweetly, though truly she thought it was anything but. How did Dr. Franklin ever employ this man?

"What is he doing over there, anyway?" She looked to Moses then, unsure if it would be wise to admit the truth given how politically charged the situation truly was - but James surprised her by suddenly piping in again.

"Dr. Franklin was chosen to serve as a delegate to the French Court," he said smoothly, "in the hopes he will be able to persuade them to fight as our allies in the war." A brief silence fell as Jonathan's eyebrows shot up; then he scoffed, though the sound of it was more amused than alarmed.

"Gracious." He took another bite of food, chewing thoughtfully. "I never would have thought Ben would get involved with that sort of thing."

"Why not?" James' tone never wavered but his face was stony - cold.

"He was always so diplomatic. So..." Jonathan waved his hand around. "...sensible. It behooves the good doctor to live out the rest of his days in peace and quiet, enjoying all that his retirement has to offer. Not fritter away in this rebellion business." Oh no.

"Ben cannot stand by and do nothing in the face of injustice while he holds the power to change it," James said, an edge creeping into his tone. "It is not in his nature."

"I don't believe Benjamin Franklin could stay still even if he wanted to," Sarah interjected lightly, keenly aware of how the tone of conversation was shifting. "Always onto the next, it seems."

"One would not presume it is in his nature to stand in open rebellion against his King," Jonathan replied, ignoring her completely. "And yet...here we are."

"It is not rebellion," James asserted. "Ben is a man of justice. Of reason. He ascribes to the same principles put forth in the Declaration of Independence, that a government derives its powers from the consent of the governed -"

"And during the time when men live without a common Power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called War." Jonathan's eyes crinkled with a false smile. "So says the great Thomas Hobbes in -"

"I have read Leviathan," James quietly interjected. "In which Hobbes calls for social rule by an absolute sovereign -"

"All for the greater good," Jonathan shrugged.

"...and this war, this revolution, is being fought on the principle that the people have a right to abolish the powers that be, should those powers choose to disregard that greater good you speak of." Sarah looked to Moses, silently pleading for his intervention; but when he finally met her eye, all he offered was a slow shake of his head no. James sat up straight in his chair, tapping the table with his forefinger. "Simply put, this is a fight against tyranny. "

"Tyranny, social rule, consent of the governed." A twinkle passed through Jonathan's eye. "So forward-thinking of you, James. So enlightened."

"I do try," James said sarcastically.

"Well. Be that as it may." It almost sounded as if Jonathan was backing off as he took a slow sip of his wine. "All I am saying is that Ben holds no true stake in the war. He ought not have gotten himself involved." A shadow crossed over James' face.

"If you truly think that, then you don't know Ben Franklin."

"Oh but I do," Jonathan laughed, infuriatingly cavalier. "You forget I knew him long before you did."

"Ben doesn't like bullies," James said darkly. Jonathan's eyes slid toward him and though it was brief, something unknown was delivered in the look that passed between them. "You know that."

"No, but he is awfully tolerant of collusive priggers." He smiled thinly. "Wouldn't you agree?"

James shot up from where he sat, sending his chair rocketing backward to the floor with a tremendous crash. "That's enough," Moses began saying, but James - face red, chest heaving - said nothing. He only stared at their dinner guest for a few, terse seconds before turning and storming out of the room. Stunned, Sarah looked to Jonathan who remained as cool as ever, a slow sigh slipping from his nose.

"Goodness," he murmured, dabbing lightly at his mouth with his napkin. "It seems I may have overstayed my welcome."

"Yes it seems you may have," her mouth spoke for her, abandoning the fine manners she'd tried so hard to maintain through the course of the evening. She stood quickly, tossing her napkin onto her plate, damned if she would spare another moment in this man's odious company. "If you'll excuse me."

"Ms. Phillips," he said but she ignored him. She left quickly, heart torn as she followed in James' wake. She wasn't sure why she was following him, exactly. Maybe it was the memory of his lightheartedness that afternoon in the shop. Maybe it was the now-intriguing promise of explanation she'd brushed off. Or maybe it was the biting contempt this man held for him, still shrouded in mystery but so stark and so obvious, that she could no longer bear to sit at the same table with him. Moses and Henri could take care of the rest. Right now, all she cared about was James.

She found him in the shop, hastily pulling on his coat. "James," she called out quietly. "Wait." He looked to her, his eyes glinting with an anger she knew wasn't directed at her.

"I'll hit him," was all he said. He shook his arms to straighten out his coat sleeves as he moved toward the door. "If I stay, I'll hit him. Do not ask me to go back in there."

"I would never," she said softly. He paused, eyeing her strangely. "That man is horrendous. I can hardly believe he was ever employed here."

"Well. On that we can agree," he stated, his voice raw. He gestured toward the door. "I must...go."

"Are you alright?" It was a stupid question because it was so obvious that he wasn't - tension had set his shoulders rigid, and his voice was agitated, coarse. She half-expected him to tell her off. But instead he jerked his head toward the door.

"Walk with me." Surprise flitted through her chest as his gaze softened - only just - and he shrugged. "If you'd...like to."

Well. She didn't have to think twice about that. She moved wordlessly across the shop and grabbed her cloak from where it hung by the door; then followed him outside and onto the street.

The evening's chill lapped unpleasantly at her cheeks as she quickened her pace to match with his. Hands stuffed in his coat pockets, he led her first down Market Street, then through a series of thoroughfares and alleyways until they were clear on the other side of town. He said nothing to her; just kept walking, eyes steadfast on the street in front of him. It was clear he was turning something over in his mind and she wanted to grant him the opportunity to sort it out - but oh, how she longed to break the silence. Offer a word of condolence, whisper some sort of encouragement, ask a pointed question or two. But as they walked on - now through a gentle curtain of snowfall - she began to wonder if he had wanted to speak with her at all, or if he'd only wanted company on this fast-paced excursion through the city.

Then as if he'd read her thoughts - he spoke.

"I got him fired." She blinked, moving her gaze to his profile.

"Got him...fired?" James nodded, mouth twisting.

"He's so forgiving, you know? Moses I mean. It's been years, he said. Maybe he's changed his ways, he said. But a leopard cannot change his spots - so it says in the scriptures. And if that's good enough for the Lord, it's good enough for me." He almost seemed to be talking to himself as he spat out the words. "I tried - I wanted - to leave. But Moses wouldn't let me. Said some nonsense about showing him how I'd changed, how I'd grown, but I haven't. I haven't. And now that, that -" He gestured wildly. "...shit-sack has the satisfaction of knowing, even after all of these years, he can still - he can still..."

"Mr. Shutts?" she asked quietly. James' head snapped toward her.

"Of course bloody Mr. Shutts. Who else would I be -" His jaw snapped shut as remorse fell over his features, blinking rapidly as he turned his gaze street-side. "Forgive me," he said gruffly. "Forgive me, Sarah. I am out of sorts this evening."

"James." She couldn't muster the will to be cross with him, agitated as he was. "James, you do not have to speak of it if -"

"Jonathan was the apprentice at the shop when I first arrived." His voice had quieted to a hoarse mumble, his jaw set; but a few seconds passed before he seemed to gather the strength to continue. "From the very first day, he did not like me. And he did not want me working there."

"Why?" She tried to imagine James as a child and found her mind was drawing a blank. His past was such a foreign thing to her; whenever she had attempted to delve into any part of it outside of the fractured snippets he had already shared, he would shy away from details or change the subject. Truth be told, she'd never given much thought to the brief interlude between James' arrival at the shop and her setting foot on American soil. She'd always assumed James had just slid right into his apprenticeship.

"He didn't trust me." He shrugged, but the sound of his voice was hollow. "Jonathan's family was well connected. Though he wasn't exorbitantly wealthy, he had a comfortable upbringing. I was a filthy orphan with no education to speak of and he hated that Ben let me stay on at the shop. He didn't think it was fair."

"That's outrageous," she said softly, though what he was saying was enough to set her blood boiling. She clutched the fabric at the front of her cloak. "How could he be so cruel to a child?"

"He was keen on working as a printer someday. Always had been. He took it...very seriously. And then I arrived with no connections, no true interest in the craft, no charted course in order to hone it. He did not understand how he could dedicate so many years of his life to learning a vocation and then the same opportunity would be presented to a child who couldn't..." He paused, his jaw working. "...couldn't even read." The breath caught in her lungs.

"You couldn't read?" James' mouth moved into a firm line. He still wasn't looking at her.

"No. Nor did I know how to write." He nodded but the motion seemed more for himself as his gaze moved across the street. "It was Moses and Ben who taught me how to do both. I had a rough go of things at first, trying to make sense of it all. It was also why I spoke like such an idiot when first we met. It had only been a few years. I was still learning." His lip quirked upward in the briefest of grins. "Still am, actually."

"Oh James." Guilt fell over her in swift measure at the remembrance of how often she had corrected his grammar. "I...I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be." He shook his head as his tone cooled. "It is my path in life. That's all."

"Still..." Good God. No wonder he'd hated her so much - he must have thought her a right snob after all of that. She cleared her throat softly, blinking away snowflakes. "Mr. Shutts should never have made you feel as if you didn't belong."

"Oh he did far worse than that." James chuckled but the sound of it was bitter - harsh. "He would beat me, too."

"What?" Horror halted her in her tracks but he kept moving a few paces before he seemed to notice. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her as she balked at him, hoping she had heard incorrectly. "He...he did what?"

"He would beat me," he said smoothly. "For being so stupid. So slow."

"James." Once again she tried to envision what he was describing, but the imagery that came to mind was too awful - too heartbreaking. She swallowed a lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. "Ben and Moses both would have punished him, surely -"

"Ben and Moses never knew." His chin tilted upward. "He would only do it when they weren't around."

Oh, God. "But surely they must have...must have noticed," she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her belly. "Or believed you when you told them."

"I never told them." His voice had gone flat again but his eyes betrayed him, shining with remembrance. Her heart sank.

"Why?"

"Because I do not need anyone's pity. That's why." His gaze moved beyond her again, down the street behind her. "I make my own way."

"Pity doesn't have to be a bad thing," she countered. All at once she thought of how James had always treated Henri - teasing, to be sure. And on occasion there'd been some roughhousing. But never once had she seen him strike him, or be cruel to him, even as their young apprentice had struggled to learn to speak, read, and write English. James loved him as a brother and had always been kind, patient in his instructions as he'd taught him the ways of the trade. The thought of a young James - the same age Henri was now - being treated so badly felt enough to break her heart. She crossed her arms over her chest as she approached him, breath catching in her throat when their eyes met. He looked so hurt, all of a sudden. "In fact it's not, James. It's not a bad thing."

"That so?" he asked softly. "How about you? Do you pity me, Sarah?" It was both a challenge and a sincere inquiry - that much she knew, if the look in his eyes was any indication. Yes, she thought. Now that I know this - of course I do. She pondered the James she had come to know over the last few years; his caustic tendencies, the sharpness of his tongue. How angry he would get over seemingly nothing.

How she had never thought to ever ask why he might be that way.

"I pity the child you were," she finally said, gently. "The child who didn't know any better. Who had absolutely no control over the actions of others." His face didn't change so she pressed forward. "You didn't deserve that, James. None of it."

"Young apprentices are beaten all the time," he replied, though his attempt to sound matter of fact fell short. "It's not as if it's uncommon." She shook her head.

"That doesn't make it right."

"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat, blinking a few times. "It's no matter. It was only for two years, until he had fulfilled his contract. Well...nearly." He could see the question in her eyes, she was sure, so he kept going. "Ben terminated the contract early after...after a particularly harsh encounter."

Her heart stilled. "What happened?"

"Moses caught us fighting one day. In the shop. I'd been..." The breath left his lungs in a rush and he sounded embarrassed. "Jonathan had this book, you see. A copy of Gulliver's Travels. As I'd learned to read, I'd soon realized I loved it - loved the world that was opening up to me. So I would sneak off and read whenever I could find the chance. Anything I could get my hands on. And I wanted to read his book so...so badly. And on that day, he caught me with it, he thought I was trying to steal it but I wasn't. I swear to you...I wasn't." Something tugged in her heart at the sudden plunge of longing in his voice, as if he needed to convince her to believe him.

"Is that why he called you a prigger?" she asked softly. A haunted look filled his eyes.

"Aye. That's..." He nodded. "Aye."

"Did he..." Her voice faltered. "Did he...beat you for it?" He nodded again.

"Yes."

"Just because you wanted to read?" Lord, but how she suddenly longed to embrace him. In the span of a few short minutes, he had offered her more insight into his past than in all the years she had known him. And though she was glad for it - cherished it, even - she hated the pain he'd been forced to endure. Hated how well he had masked it. Hated that that despicable man, easily six or seven years his senior, had laid his hands on him.

"Yes." To her surprise, a slow chuckle slipped from his throat. "He nearly broke my nose."

"James." His grin widened as he shook his head in amusement but she frowned, now troubled by his reaction. "James, that isn't funny." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"It is when you succeed in breaking his." All at once she recalled the night they had fled from the ship in Boston - and how James had clobbered that soldier in the face, with what she now realized was practiced agility.

A life on the streets taught you something about fighting, it seemed.

"Anyway," he said. He shoved his hands back in his pockets and began walking again, so she moved to catch up at his side. "That's where things came to a head, really. He wouldn't work with me, he said. Either I had to go or he would. But he was only a few months out from officially becoming a journeyman, and already had a position lined up in Baltimore. Ben issued his freedom dues. And let him go." He looked at her briefly. "And then I moved into the position shortly thereafter."

"No wonder it was so important to you," she blurted. Memory beckoned once more; of a young man's fear-filled gaze, of Moses' quiet sadness in Life has not afforded James much kindness. "That's why you - you were so angry with me when we were stuck in Boston. And why you so feared losing your apprenticeship." His lips pulled into a small grin as he looked away, almost shyly.

"Don't remind me."

"Oh, James." Her brow furrowed as she studied his face. "I wish you had told me this before."

"There's a lot I would rather forget, Sarah." Not me, she wished she could say as he donned that familiar mask of indifference. I want to know it all, James. An enigma, he was; and a friend, yes, but one who had kept her at arm's length. Until now. She suddenly wanted to tell him how proud she was of him. How remarkable she found him. How strong he was.

But instead she moved close beside him and looped her arm through his. He startled a moment, looking to her with a question in his eyes - but it was soon replaced with the warmth of his smile and a soft, familiar laugh.

"It's a horrid affair, what all you had to deal with," she murmured, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "But -"

"It's fine, Sarah," he tsked. "Honestly. I'm fine."

"Be that as it may," she pressed, "I am...glad you stayed, James." He turned to look at her, his eyes startlingly blue in the glow of the gaslamps overhead; and she was suddenly struck by how - well, how handsome he looked. She'd never really noticed before. "And I'm glad I got to meet you."

"Hm. Well." He nudged her shoulder slightly with his own. "I guess I feel the same."

"Oh that's charming of you." At this he laughed - really, honestly laughed - and the sound of it sent a flutter through her insides, just like it had earlier.

"I'm a street orphan, remember?" He leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in her ear. "We don't have charm. Best I can offer is a bit of cheek." Something about the warmth of his breath on her skin and the proximity of his lips to her ear sent a delighted chill down her spine and for several, dizzying seconds she couldn't seem to connect her brain to her mouth as she struggled to find a comeback.

"Better cheek than the loutish comportments of Mr. Shutts," she finally settled on. He laughed again, louder this time.

"You will forgive me, I hope, for saying this in the presence of a lady." Once again he leaned down close and her stomach flipped. "But that man is a right prick." She couldn't help herself; she burst into laughter, stunned in some way of how little she cared about the vulgar rejoinder or the swiveling heads of passersby. In this moment, all she knew was James' soft smile and the warmth of his body so close to her own. It's nice, she thought. It's just...nice. James laughed along with her, but it faded into a soft chuckle as he steered them through the square. Then quietly: "He liked you, you know."

"Who? Mr. Shutts?" He nodded slowly, pursing his lips in thought. She scoffed. 'No. I don't think so, James."

"He was leering at you the entire evening. Don't tell me you didn't notice." No, she thought. I was watching you. "God knows that's what he was getting at over supper, with his talk of you being man's helpmate."

"I...I thought he was merely speaking in general terms?" He shook his head.

"No. You should have heard how many times he asked after you while we were closing the shop. How did she end up here? She's from England, yes? Is she betrothed?" She bristled at the last inquiry, but James didn't seem to notice as a strange look passed through his eyes. "He thinks himself so charming, but he's a beast. And I didn't..." He cleared his throat. "I didn't like the way he was looking at you."

"I would never," she exclaimed, mind still turning with the inquiry as to her marital status. James shot her a confused glance and she was overcome with a strange compulsion to explain herself. "I would never consider such a horrible man. For him to think he had even the slightest chance, after - after all he said, how he treated you. I cannot even imagine -"

"I must confess something to you." His eyes danced as he beheld her, an impish smile on his lips. "We told him - rather, we had him believe - that you were. Well. That you were my fiancé."

"What?" She stopped short, tugging gently on his arm to face her. "You did what now?"

"It was Henri who came in with it again, the little scamp. It worked so well for us in New York last summer, so I thought - yes. Let's go with that. And Moses played right along with it. It was brilliant." He huffed out a laugh, shrugging. "You should have seen his face. He could scarcely fathom it, jealous as he was."

"Jealous?" She shook her head disbelievingly. "Why jealous?"

"Because he still thinks me a dirty little gutter rat," James shrugged. "And because you are lovely, Sarah."

Silence fell.

And then warmth; draping over her senses, basking her heart in an ember glow that mounted itself against the chill of the evening. James shifted his gaze beyond her, embarrassment creeping up his features - but she felt giddy now, near to bursting at the compliment. "Mr. Hiller," she said slowly, a laugh bubbling from her throat before she could stop it. "Did you just -"

"Alright." He shook his head as his cheeks flushed a bright red, the sight of which only made her laugh harder. "It's not so big a thing. I only meant..." Their eyes met again as he flashed her an enormous smile. "Oh, shut up."

"Hey now," she fake-pouted. "That is not so kind a thing to say to your fiancé."

"Oh boy," he laughed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "I am going to regret telling you that, aren't I?"

"Come now darling," she cooed, unable to resist teasing him so as his cheeks flushed a new shade of crimson. "Do not be cross with me. Not when I am to be your future wife."

"Alright," he said again, moving to pull her along. "Enough of that, now." She couldn't help it; she laughed again, delighted at this self-conscious James, this bashful James she'd never before had the pleasure of seeing. He only shook his head, averting his eyes from her searching gaze; but still he smiled, soft and almost easy to miss in the fading twilight. "I suppose I ought to be grateful," he said quietly, "that our deception did not inspire the same disgust as the last time."

"Oh please," she huffed. "This from the man who told me he thought he was going to be sick after taking hold of my hand."

"I didn't say that."

"Oh yes you did."

"Well if I did, then I was merely jesting."

"So was I just now." She reached over and flicked the edge of his hat, giggling. "I do hope I didn't embarrass you. You know I was only teasing." He stayed quiet for a few beats as she watched him, awaiting reaction. None came and instead another silence fell, one that felt inexplicably heavier than before. For what felt a long few moments, all that met her ears was the sound of their own footfalls upon the street.

"You know," he finally said, "should we still be acquainted when the time does come for you to marry, I hope you will let me meet the chap first." He turned to look at her, his face oddly unreadable. "Can't have you marrying a louse posing as a gentleman, now."

She couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but there was something about his tone that sobered her immediately. "James," she said lightly, attempting a laugh. She didn't know what to say to that; nor how to reconcile the sudden and baffling weight of letdown in her belly.

"Anyway." He smiled, motioning with his head. "It's freezing out here. Let's go home."

And so they did. Walking through the length of the city and back to the print shop doors, still arm in arm but shrouded 'neath a pervasive quiet. Jonathan was of course gone by the time they returned, though a contrite Moses did meet them at the door. Temper now effectively cooled, James only shook his head and smiled, offering him a he's gone, now. Think nothing of it.

And then he had pulled himself from her touch.

Still, though. Tucked in bed that night, You are lovely, Sarah turned countless times over in her mind until she eventually fell into a deep, pleasant slumber, heart still warmed by the memory.

The jokes in the beginning are borrowed from Joe Miller's Jests (AKA, The Wits Vadecum, a literal jokebook originally published in 1739). Ya gotta love humor that stands the test of time.

"Shit-sack," from what I can gather, is an era-appropriate insult that meant "dastardly fellow." It's really funny trying to Google the 18th century equivalent to a**hole. And if you haven't looked it up already, prigger is an antiquated word for thief.

My new year's resolution is to update this story more consistently. The sad part? Most of it is already written but then I go insane with editing. Or adding an extra chapter. Or both.

But a HUGE thank you to all of you reading and leaving reviews. It does my heart so good that anyone out there is enjoying this!