This fic was originally published on August 2, 2009. A while ago I noticed that I had never posted the final chapter, so I decided to polish it up, make some minor edits and update the entire fic. The fic has already been updated in its entirety on AO3, but I neglected to post it here so I'm back to post a chapter a day until it's all updated.

Here follows the original 2009 author's note:

Why hello there. I've been lurking around the Liberty's Kids category for quite some time, so I figured I might as well write one myself. This is slightly based off the great work by William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, but only some of it.

Disclaimer: Dude, if I owned Liberty's Kids, they would have grown up. And James and Sarah would be in love by now.

Without further ado,

1776

James was leaving the following morning. He was finally old enough to fight as a soldier in the Revolutionary War. And we all knew him well enough to know that he would grab the opportunity as soon as possible.

I felt as if a great weight had been thrust upon my shoulders. After all, he was my best friend and the first person I met in America. You would have cried too, wouldn't you?

When I'd gotten word that he was leaving I'd locked myself in my small room. I spent hours upon hours in despair, crying my eyes out. There would be times when the tears would dry, but then they'd start anew. At the time I didn't even know why I was crying so much in the first place.

I'd suspected that I would cry some. Even Henri cried. But he's French. Therefore, easily brought to tears. He was moved when we ran out of flour. I'm telling you, moved without difficulty. Sometimes it's quite funny, actually.

But that is beside the point. The point is, I was crying in my bedroom for hours about James Hiller. You heard me right: James Hiller. Stop looking at the text that way! I know you are doing it, mysterious reader. I'm writing this story so you don't make the same mistakes I did. Now stop laughing at my misfortune and finish this prologue. Where was I? Oh right: James Hiller. I was quite sure that I was slowly losing my insanity because I was crying about the possibility of never seeing James again! After all, it seemed like we hated each other if you just saw us walking down the street to get some ink. Anyways, I attributed my torrential downpour to the fact that Henri was no fun to correct.

He would do whatever I asked without a complaint. When we met him, he was a very impressionable eight-year old. Now he's ten. But he's told me that I'm the closest thing he has to a mother.

James would do the tasks, of course, but he would grumble and mumble the entire time. It was quite amusing.

Back to the point. The tears were falling so fast that I did not hear the door open. I glanced up and saw James's reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, James, it's you," I stammered. I grabbed a clean handkerchief from my nightstand and dried my tears. Or attempted to at least. I was quite unsuccessful. A warning to all, never attempt to stop the flow of tears. When you are truly sad, the waterfall drops anyways.

"Sarah," he began, and I could hear him as he took a step towards my bent form on the bed. A fresh spout of tears dripped down my face. "I had no idea my leaving would cause you so much pain."

"In truth, neither did I," I answered. "The tears simply will not stop. I guess correcting your poor grammar has become such a daily occurrence that you will be sorely missed." The tears began to fall even more rapidly than before. I heard his footsteps as he walked around the bed. I felt the mattress sink as his weight came upon it, and suddenly he embraced me.

"I'm going to miss you too," He said. I blinked back tears and saw that he was crying too, and then buried my head in his chest. So we just sat there, hugging and crying. I had to think that we looked like one of the more tearful scenes of those romance novels that Moses enjoys, although every time someone asks him he denies it. (I don't care what he says; Henri saw him and that's good enough for me.) Except of course, this was not a painful tear-jerking romance and I most certainly was not in love with James. The very idea was just preposterous! Oh dear, I am rambling again. This account will never get finished if I keep getting side tracked. On with the story.

"I'll be leaving early tomorrow morning. You probably won't be up." Those words only made the tears fall harder.

"Shh, shh…" James comforted me, stroking my head. A queer tingling feeling appeared in the pit of my stomach.

"I promise I'll come back," He said.

"But when will that be?" I wondered.

"I'll write you letters."

"Thank you. For all you've done. I guess this is good bye." I said. I gave him one last hug and then he walked out of the room, leaving me to wallow in my tears. I fell asleep to the rhythmic patter of tears on my pillow. My last thought before drifting off into dreamland was, 'When will these confounded tears stop?'

The next morning the house was eerily quiet without James's presence. Henri only begged me for food once. I saw on their faces that they pitied me. I did not know why.

"Sarah, c'est dur de perdre ton amour, mais peux-tu nous faire quelquechose à manger, s'il te plait?" Henri asked.

"Sure," I answered. Even though I had no idea what he said. My three years with him had taught me some basic French, but I was slow to translate. I did know that "quelque chose à manger" meant "something to eat". I didn't know what the rest meant.

As I began to make breakfast I began to translate the rest of what Henri had said. Well, I knew perdre meant lose, and ton meant your. I was pretty sure amour meant love. 'Wait a minute…' I thought. Lose… your… love. That's what he said. But what could he possibly mean? I wasn't in love with anyone at the moment, and the only one who'd left recently was James… oh.

I nearly laughed out loud when I figured it out. Henri thought I loved James. As I'd mentioned earlier, the very idea was ridiculous. James was handsome; I admitted to myself. Blonde hair and blue eyes are amazing in almost any girl's book. To be sure, he's smart, but his grammar is sometimes very poor and he's so opinionated.

I grabbed an egg and cracked it into the batter. Yes, James is funny, but he's so bold and brash. But he can be gentlemanly too… I reminded myself. I fingered my locket with my free hand. And he's sweet and honest (most of the time) and… oh. As I cracked the second egg I came upon a startling revelation, and I cried out.

Henri burst through the door, his thick French accent resounding through the Kitchen.

"Sarah! Are you all right? I heard you scream… is la nourriture alright?" he asked. Typical Henri.

"I'm fine, and don't worry, the food is fine too."

"Oh," Henri replied. "Okay." He skipped out of the kitchen and left me to my thoughts, which were beginning to frighten me. For dear reader, I had just realized something most strange. I had fallen in love with James Hiller and no amount of denial would make it go away.