It seemed to the colonel that he had passed only a few minutes in troubled sleep when he became aware of a bright and cheerful light penetrating his eyelids.  He groaned and pulled the covers over his head, but his clock chimed twice and pulled him back into consciousness.  He opened his eyes, and immediately shielded them with the back of his hand.  The entire room was ablaze with light.  A roaring fire filled his hearth, and large torches had somehow appeared in the sconces on the wall.  A lanky young man with sandy blond hair was sitting in his chair with a leg slung over one of the arms.  He was munching on a well-cooked turkey leg and managing to drip grease on the floor.  Tavington glared at him.  The young man smiled mischievously and waved his hand.  The brightness in the room lessened to a level that actually allowed the Colonel to see.  He blinked in surprise.  The floor of his room was completely covered with food.  Fresh fruits and vegetables, pies, cakes, cooked birds with all the trimmings, puddings, sides of meat, bottles of wine, and casks of beer spilled over and onto one another.

            “Where did all of this come from?” Tavington demanded.  “And who are…” he cut off in mid sentence after taking a second look at his guest and recognizing Gabriel Martin.  “You’re that rebel spy!”

            “No, I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present,” the Spirit corrected him, though it was a little hard to understand what he was saying, as he was chewing turkey and talking at the same time. 

            “You’re the what?” William asked.  The Spirit swallowed his mouthful. 

            “I said, ‘I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present.’  I took this form because you know it.  I’d have thought you’d have figured it out by now, seeing as how you just met my sister.”

            “She was your sister, eh?” William said.  “I don’t seem to recall her making such a mess.” He gestured derisively at the bounty that was covering his floor.  Despite his cold words, he reached out his hand to pick up a strawberry tart.  Just as he was about to grasp it, the food vanished. 

            “Where did it go?” the colonel asked. 

            “I bring with me the fruits of the human spirit,” the Ghost said.  “Compassion, kindness, gentleness, love… you have no right to such a feast, colonel, but I’m going to show you some people who do!”

            “That hardly seems fair,” William mused, and the Ghost chuckled. 

            “You’ll be deserving of them soon enough, if I have anything to say about it,” he said.  He went to the window and opened it, then picked up the candelabra left by the Ghost of Christmas Past.  “I’ve told her not to leave her things lying around…” he murmured to himself, then seemed to remember William.  “Well, come on!” he said.  “I don’t have all night, you know.”  He grinned broadly, and William thought he could make out traces of faint black stains on the Spirit’s teeth. 

            “Did someone put ink in your tea, Spirit?” William asked, amused. 

            “I don’t want to talk about it,” the Ghost replied, and took another bite of turkey.  That, at least, had not disappeared with the rest of the feast.  “Little siblings can be such trouble!” he grumbled, and with that, he grabbed William’s arm, and the colonel was pulled out of his window for the second time that night. 

.............................

            They stood in the middle of the encampment that sprawled around Fort Carolina.  It was a grey, frosty morning, and the colonel could see his breath hanging in the air.  He shivered and wished that he had thought to bring his overcoat. 

            “I’ve been here many times, Spirit.  Why bring me to this place?” he asked.  “I don’t fancy being seen by the men I must command looking like this.”

            “As with the Ghost of Christmas past, we shall be neither seen nor heard.  Now, observe carefully.  You come here often, but you do not really see.  Come.  Over here.”  The ghost pulled him over to a tent on the edge of the camp.  A small fire was built in front of it, and a man with a heavy cloak pulled tightly around his body was trying to warm his hands.  “Do you know this man?” the spirit asked. 

            “Of course I do!” William said.  “It’s my servant, Robert.  What is he doing outside in the cold?  Why isn’t he in his tent on a morning like this?”

            “He’s making Christmas breakfast for his family.”

            “Does he not have a wife? Or did he marry a woman who couldn’t cook?” Will asked.  The spirit threw a disgusted glance in his direction. 

            “His wife, Colonel, was up all of last night caring for their daughter.  He is kindly letting her sleep.” William said nothing in reply.  They watched as Robert made biscuits and put three meager slices of ham over the fire.  When the meat was cooked, he covered the skillet with a tin plate and ducked into the tent.   Childlike noises issued from inside, and shortly thereafter a Robert emerged with one arm around a small, tired-looking woman and the other holding a little girl with light brown hair and soft eyes.   

            “Hold your plate out, Sarah darling,” Robert said, setting her down on the fallen log that had been positioned by the fire.  The child obediently did as she was asked, and Robert placed the largest slice of meat and a biscuit on her plate. 

            “Thank you, Papa,” she said.  Her voice was high and reedy.  It seemed to be coming from somewhere far off and distant. 

            “Not much of a breakfast, is it?” William said.  The ghost scowled at him.

            “No, it’s not, but it’s all Robert can afford!”

            “I pay him well enough,” William grumbled.  The spirit’s angry gaze didn’t alter.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I pay the man well for his services, and he is able to provide for his family.  Without me, there wouldn’t be any breakfast on Christmas morning at all!  Besides, I don’t see why this man and his family are any of my concern.”

            While the colonel was speaking, Robert finished his meal and reached inside the tent.  He brought out two wrapped bundles and placed on in his wife’s lap, the other in his daughter’s. 

            “Open yours first, Sarah,” his wife said.  Sarah timidly pulled at the string that held the bundle together.  The paper fell away to reveal a doll, obviously second hand, with a painted face and blue dress.  Sarah looked from the doll to her father, her eyes wide with disbelief.

            “For me, Papa?” she asked. 

            “Of course she’s for you!” Robert said happily, and scooped his daughter up into his lap.  “A pretty doll for the prettiest little girl I know.”  Sarah smiled and hugged her father’s neck with one arm while holding the doll close with the other.  “Open yours, Martha,” Robert said.  His wife pulled the string on her package, and gasped, putting one hand to her mouth.  A goodly length of fine green fabric lay in her lap. 

            “I thought you could make yourself something pretty,” Robert said bashfully.  Martha leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

            “If you’re going to see me in it, it will have to be breathtaking!” she said, and smiled for the first time that morning.

            “You already are, my dear,” Robert murmured and pulled his wife close to him for a longer kiss.  Sarah, who had fallen asleep, shifted fitfully in his arms. 

            “Here, give her to me.  Let’s get her in out of the cold,” Martha said.  The child was handed from one parent to the other, and Martha disappeared inside. 

            “I must not pay him so badly if he afford frivolous presents for his wife and child,” William said, a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction on his face.

            “Just be quiet and listen for once in your life, will you?” the ghost said angrily.  William was about to say something in his defense when a worried-looking Martha came out of the tent.  Robert patted a place on the log next to him, and she sat down and put her head on his shoulder.

            “You shouldn’t have bought those things.  I don’t know what you were thinking.  We scarcely have enough to live on, and you’re buying dolls and dresses...”

            “I didn’t exactly buy them...” Robert said, embarrassed.  Martha gave him a hard look, as did the colonel.

            “He stole those things?” the colonel demanded of the ghost.  “I’ll not have a thief in my employ!”

            “Be QUIET, William!” the spirit snapped. 

            Robert hung his head sheepishly.  “Truth is, I was given them,” he said.  “Mrs. Bryce, the lady who’s head of the kitchens in the big house… I see her often in the course of my duties.  I’ve talked to her about Sarah once or twice, and she saved the doll for me when it was going to be thrown out.  It’s the same with the cloth.  That I got from the tailor who makes Colonel Tavington’s shirts.  He said it was a few seasons out of fashion and wouldn’t sell anyway.  Second-hand, I know, but at least it’s something…” 

            Martha reached over and squeezed Robert’s hand.  “They are marvelous gifts, Dear,” she assured him. 

            “Your manservant must be quite a fellow to provoke others to such acts of generosity,” the Ghost of Christmas Present observed to William. 

            “Yes, Robert always has had a kind and cheerful nature.  It’s… why I hired him, I believe,” William said.  He looked away from Robert and his wife, suddenly uncomfortable in the presence of two people who shared such deep affection. 

            The sound of a dry, wracking cough came from inside the tent, and Robert and Martha exchanged worried glances. 

            “She’s not getting better,” Martha said at last. 

            “Perhaps when spring comes, and it’s warmer…” Robert started to say.  He looked to his wife as if pleading for confirmation of his hopes.

            “Yes, of course,” she said, but her words were empty of belief.  “I’ll go see to her,” she said, and ducked inside the tent.  She held the flap open long enough for those outside to see Sarah lying under a pile of blankets, her eyes wide and her face flushed with fever. 

            William turned to the Spirit. 

            “What is wrong with his little girl?” he asked.

             “A weakness of the lungs.  Not an uncommon thing, but she needs a doctor, better food, a warmer place to live.” 

“Spirit, tell me… Will she live?” William asked.  He did not remember when he had felt so touched by the suffering of another.  Disease and death were as much a part of the soldier’s life as the turning of the seasons, and he had long since learned to harden his heart to them.  But this child… this child was different.  It had been a long time since he had looked upon the face of innocence and known it for what it was. 

“If these shadows remain unchanged, I see an empty cot in your manservant’s tent.  I see a small, shallow grave, and I see Robert’s wife weeping and alone while he is gone.”  The Ghost shrugged.  “But what are these things to you?  Yes, the child may die… No matter, though.  She was none of your concern.”  He gave the Colonel a pointed look and lifted the candelabra he held high into the air. 

Before William could reply or defend himself, the snowy field outside of Fort Carolina faded away, and he found himself standing in a place he knew very well. 

“What are we doing in Lord Cornwallis’ personal quarters?” he hissed at the Spirit.

“Do you know what is through that door?” the Spirit asked. 

“The dining room,” William said, impatient at having to answer such an obvious question. 

“Yes, William.  And today is Christmas Day.  We are here to be invisible guests at a gathering I believe you were invited to,” the Spirit said. 

“An invitation I declined,” William said grumpily.  “So I don’t see any use in my going in now, visible or no.” 

The Ghost sighed.  “Just open the door, why don’t you?  Time is the one thing neither of us has in abundance.” 

William glared at the Spirit, but anything he might have said was drowned out by the noise of many voices.  A servant had opened the door to the dining room and stepped out into the hall.  The Spirit grabbed the Colonel by the arm and pulled him into the room just as the door closed behind them. 

Lord Cornwallis’ table was splendidly arrayed.  Steam rose from food piled on silver platters, and the General and his officers were eating from fine white china.  The General had not skimped on light, either, and the glow from a hundred different candles danced on the faces of the men around the table. 

General O’Hara, who sat at Cornwallis’ right hand, had apparently just made a particularly witty remark, and everyone around him was chuckling.  William tried to catch what they were saying, but he could not.  Cautiously, he made his way across the room until he was standing behind Cornwallis’ chair. 

“They seem to be quite jolly without me,” Tavington observed. 

“You could have shared in their merriment,” the Spirit reminded him. 

William’s eyes hardened, and his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile.  “I would not have been truly welcome here.” 

“You might be surprised,” the Spirit said.  “Listen.” 

General Cornwallis lightly tapped his fork upon his glass, and the room fell silent. 

“First, I would like to thank all of you for coming,” Cornwallis began.  “It is a pleasure to share this fine Christmas dinner with you gentlemen.”  There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the assembled company.  “Also,” the General continued, “I would like to express my gratitude for your faithful service as officers of the Crown.  I am privileged to work with such a fine group of men.”  He looked around the table.  “It is a rare occasion that all of us are able to gather together, and I suggest we make the best of it and enjoy one another’s company and friendship.” 

Someone at the far end of the table cleared his throat.  “Not all of us are here,” said a voice William knew very well.  “Colonel Tavington is absent.” 

“Bordon?” he said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.  “I didn’t know he’d been invited as well...”  He looked at the men in the room once more and realized that there were several lower-ranking officers present—good soldiers, all of them, and worthy of the General’s notice. 

O’Hara laughed.  “Perhaps that’s for the best,” he said.  “I don’t think that Colonel Tavington would know how to act in pleasant company if his life depended on it!  He’s probably off in his room alone, being gloomy and morose.”  Several of the other officers laughed.  William scowled at the prissy little man and took a step toward him, but the Ghost of Christmas Present put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.  

General Cornwallis, however, was not laughing.  Instead, he leveled a disapproving look at O’Hara.  “I, for one, regret that Tavington was unable to join us,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear.  The laughter at William’s expense stopped abruptly.  “We have had our disagreements, yes, but I have always found him to be a fine, loyal soldier,” Cornwallis continued.  

“And he’s a good officer too,” Bordon chimed in.  “I couldn’t ask for a finer man to serve under.”  William looked surprised all over again.  Bordon was usually silent as a stone in the presence of his superiors, and yet this was the second time in one evening William had heard his second in command speak in his defense.

“Perhaps next year, he will see fit to join us,” Cornwallis said. 

“Next year, if it please God, this war will be over and we’ll be having our Christmas feast in England,” O’Hara said.  William nodded.  For once, he agreed with the man. 

“Hear hear!” someone said, and raised his glass in the air.  The rest of the officers followed suit.  For a moment, William looked as if he wished that he could join them. 

The Ghost of Christmas Present was rubbing his chin, deep in thought.  “Oh no,” he said sarcastically, “you have no friends here at all.” He gave William an impudent smile and guided him toward the door.  “There is one last thing I must show you before my time is spent,” he said as the familiar halls of Fort Carolina melted away. 

William found himself standing near the hearth in what appeared to be a poor farmer’s house.  A rough wooden table was set up in the center of the room.  William noticed that those who sat around it were mostly young children, though there was one man who was sitting with his back to the Colonel.  He walked around to the other side of the room to get a better look at the fellow, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  He had thought that the children looked familiar.  He knew the man who was the father of this family.  He would have recognized that stubborn, wind-blown face anywhere. 

“That’s Benjamin Martin!” he said, almost shouting.  The Ghost of Christmas Present nodded affably.  “That man is The Ghost!  The one I’ve been seeking...” William turned to the Spirit with a gleam in his eye.  “Where are they, Spirit?  Can you tell me?  If I could only...”

“No!” the Spirit said.  He sighed.  “That isn’t why I brought you here, and you have learned nothing if you thought for a moment that I’d tell you where this man and his children are this Christmas day.” 

“Then why bring me here?” William asked, his voice seething with irritation. 

“I know that this man is your enemy.  I even understand that it must be so,” the Spirit said.  “But I have brought you here to show you that Ben Martin is a man as well.” 

William scowled. 

“Look!” the Spirit commanded. 

William did as he was told.  “None of them seem very happy,” he said.  The children were all eating quietly, and none of them seemed interested in looking at one another. 

At last, the oldest girl raised her head.  “I miss Thomas,” she said in a small voice. 

Ben Martin smiled gently at her.  “We all do, Margaret.” 

“He always did like Christmas,” Gabriel Martin said. 

The Ghost of Christmas Present nudged William in the ribs.  “Good looking boy, that, don’t you think?” he whispered, and pointed at Gabriel, whose face the Spirit still wore. 

William shushed him.  “You wanted me to listen, so be quiet, would you?”

“Thomas wouldn’t want us to be sad on Christmas,” one of the younger boys said quietly.  He attempted a small smile, and Gabriel ruffled his hair. 

“No, Samuel, he wouldn’t,” Gabriel said.  “Come on everyone, cheer up.” He looked imploringly at each and every one of his family members.  “It’s Christmas, and we’re together.  That should give us reason enough to celebrate.” 

Samuel tried to swat Gabriel’s hand away from his mussed hair, and the older boy grinned at his brother’s annoyance.  The youngest girl put her hand over her mouth and giggled. 

It seemed that the Martins were about to have their first happy moment of the evening when one of the other boys said, “Thomas can’t laugh with us.  Because he isn’t here.” 

Margaret put a hand on his shoulder.  “Nathan...” she whispered. 

The boy looked straight at where William was standing with eyes that were far too hard and cold for one so young.  “I wish I could kill the man who shot him.  I wish I had.  That day...”

Ben Martin looked as if he himself had just been pierced through.  William studied the man’s face as he tried to come up with a response to his son.  The emotions that played across Ben Martin’s face were many and varied—sorrow, regret, anger, loss.  Without realizing it, William held his breath while he waited for Martin to speak. 

“Let us... not speak of revenge this Christmas Day,” he said at last.  The children nodded.

“Maybe that mean man who killed Thomas was... only a mean man because he had no kind mother or father to love him,” the youngest boy offered.  He looked hopefully at his father, and Ben Martin smiled. 

William was taken aback.  His face paled a little and his jaw tightened. 

“I have no need of that boy’s pity,” he hissed. 

“Whether you have any need of it makes no difference,” the Spirit said.  He suddenly looked very cold and other-than-human.  “The fact remains that this small child from whom you took so much can still find some kindness in his heart for the likes of you.” 

“I do not ask for it!” William said.  His voice was almost shaking.  “No more.  Take me home, Spirit.” 

“Look here, William Tavington!” the Spirit cried.  They were no longer standing in the room with the Martins, but in a misty, snow-covered field.  Two children had appeared at the Spirit’s side, each of them deathly thin.  They were dressed in rags and the looked up at the Colonel with hungry, hollow eyes. 

“Who are they?” William asked.  The words stuck in his throat. 

“The boy is Ignorance,” he said, and he put his hand on the shoulder of a boy with a dull and lifeless face.  “The girl is Want.”

William turned his eyes away from the little girl who seemed to have the suffering of all the poor in since the beginning of time written on her face.

“Look at them!” the Spirit commanded.  “They may be your destruction, for they are the doom of all who doubt their existence.”  

“I see them,” Tavington said at last.  “I do not doubt.” 

There was no answer, and his words echoed in the empty air.  He was alone on the snowy hillside. 

“Spirit?” William called.  “Where have you gone?  You must take me home!” 

As if in answer, a harsh wind began to blow.