The clock on Tavington's desk chimed one, and the colonel stirred restlessly.
"One in the morning," he muttered. "And no sign of any spirits!" As if his words had the power of summoning, a bright light suffused a spot on the floor beside his bed, and when the light dimmed and he could see again, a small girl child was peering at him expectantly, and a large candelabra with five cheery flames had mysteriously appeared on his desk. The girl was no more than five years old, with golden curls and large blue eyes. Her dress was simple, but well made. Something a well-to-do farmer's child might have worn, perhaps?
"What are you doing here?" William demanded. "And how did you get in?" He rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while groping for the candle with his right. It had to be his imagination that the child had just appeared out of thin air! Besides, she looked familiar, for some reason.
"You saw me arrive," she said quietly. Her voice was soft and childlike, but authority and power far beyond her years were present in her speech. "Come, you must get up. We have much to do, and my time is short." She gave him a wide-eyed smile, and he suddenly remembered where he had seen her before.
"You're one of that farmer's children! The one who tried to hide the rebel spy!" he said, his voice rising with every word. The little girl whom he supposed to be Susan Martin smiled.
"I knew hers was a face you would remember, Colonel, and that is why I chose it," she said. She threw back the blankets on his bed with her tiny hands and pulled on his arm. "Now, we really must be going!"
"Going where?" he asked.
"To the past, of course," she answered. "I am, after all, the Ghost of Christmas past."
"The first of three?"
"The very same." She went to his window and pushed it open, then picked up the candelabra and sat on the windowsill, waiting for him.
"What are you doing? Close that at once!" he ordered. "It's cold enough in here already!"
"This is how we're leaving," she explained. Her young face was beginning to look impatient.
"Must we go outside? Can't you just… show me what you must right here?" In response, she handed him his coat and boots. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that was hanging on the wall as he rose from the bed. His coat was hastily pulled on over his nightshirt, his boots looked ridiculous poking out from beneath the long white garment, and his hair was a tangled mess around his shoulders.
"No one will see you, William," the Spirit said from her perch on the windowsill. "Now, take my hand." Reluctantly, he closed his fingers around her small hand, and felt himself being pulled out of his window, out of Fort Carolina, and out of Time.
……………….
Will found himself on a quiet street, with prosperous-looking homes stretching off into the distance. He breathed in the fresh, crisp evening air, and smiled.
"I know this place," he said, his voice low and reverent.
"Of course you do!" the Spirit said. "You were a boy here! We are near your family's home in Liverpool, where you were born!"
"It's been so long since I'd seen it, I'd almost forgotten…" Will mused, his face taking on a slightly softer cast than was usual for him.
"Walk with me?" the Ghost of Christmas Past offered, and held out her hand again. He took it, and the man the small girl made their way down the street. Above them, one of the windows burst open, and a dark haired boy thrust his hair out into the cold.
"It snowed last night, Mother! Everything is covered in white for Christmas!" he yelled. The colonel stared up at him in amazement.
"That's me!"
"You as you were at eight years of age," the Spirit corrected him. Tavington didn't hear her. He still stared up at his younger self. The boy was smiling, and could almost have been called a pretty child with his dark brown, nearly black hair, pale skin, and strange grey eyes. Still, there was a liveliness about him that had faded as the boy grew older and was now almost completely hidden in the colonel.
"William! Shut the window!" a woman's voice called from inside. "You're letting in the cold, and your Christmas will be no fun for you if you catch some sickness or other!" At the sound of her voice, Tavington's eyes widened. The boy in the window quickly obeyed her words, but the man down below continued to gaze at the house after he had gone.
"That was my mother's voice," he told the Spirit. She nodded.
"I know, William. Why don't we go inside? No one will see or hear us. We will be observers only."
He allowed her to lead him up the steps and through the door. As he stepped across the threshold, he could hear the sound of laughing voices. Even after many years, he knew his way to the parlor where the family would be gathered. Everything was just as he remembered. His father, just beginning to go grey, sat in a large, comfortable armchair near the fire, reading a newspaper and occasionally glancing up to see what his wife and son were doing.
William had to steady himself against the parlor doorframe when he first caught sight of his mother for the first time in more than twenty years. Christiana Tavington was a beautiful woman. Her hair was coal black, and though it was pinned up stylishly, curled ringlets hung down on either side of her face. Her eyes were bluer than her son's, and her lips seemed to be curled upwards in a permanent smile of amusement.
"I think you should open your gift, Will," she said. She sat on the floor next to her son, her skirts arranged daintily about her. Young William sat next to her, holding a long package wrapped in cloth and tied closed with string. He eagerly pulled off the string and unfurled the cloth. A wooden sword fell into his lap. It was just his size, about two and a half feet long, with a grand looking letter 'T' carved into the hilt.
"I wonder what ever happened to that old toy sword," Tavington mused to himself.
"Your father bade you leave it when you moved to London, don't you remember?" the Spirit told him.
"Yes, that's right. That was one memory I would rather have left forgotten." He grew quiet again as he watched his mother and his child-self laughing together on the parlor floor. "She was a wonderful mother," he said after a while. "Look how she plays with me and humors me! How many women would take such joy in their sons' little games?"
"She loved you very much," the Spirit said sagely.
The boy William brandished his new sword while his mother looked on in admiration and his father watched tolerantly from the corner.
"I'm going to go to sea, and be a famous captain, and fight pirates!" little Will announced.
"Pirates?" Christiana said, placing a hand over her mouth and pretending to be worried. "Don't you think you'd better stay here in case they decide to attack the house?"
"Do you think they would?" Will asked seriously, and glanced towards the window. "I'll stay here then. I don't want them to get you. Besides, there might be bandits, or wild wolves, or kidnappers!" His father muttered something about there not being any wolves for miles, but Christiana shushed him.
"Let him have his dreams, Henry," she whispered to him. Henry raised his newspaper and started reading again.
"Speaking of dreams, isn't it time for someone to be in bed?" Christiana said. William nodded and grabbed his sword. Colonel Tavington and his Spirit friend followed them upstairs.
Christiana tucked the covers around him tightly, but one arm was still exposed, and it had a tight grip on the wooden weapon.
"Can I keep it with me, Mother?" he asked. "Just in case?"
"I wouldn't feel safe if you didn't!" she answered with complete seriousness. She kissed his forehead and brushed his cheek with her hand. From his vantage point across the room, the older William caught a glint of blue on her finger.
"Mother's sapphire ring! I still have that, you know," he told the Spirit. He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt the need to justify himself to her. "It was the one thing of hers that I managed to keep Father from selling." He took one last look at the mother and son, and turned away. "Spirit, these memories are… painful. Please, take me away from here." She nodded gravely, and regarded him with her ageless eyes.
"This was your mother's last Christmas," she said.
"Yes, she died in the autumn of the following year."
"And many things changed," the Spirit stated. There was a note of finality to her voice, and she offered him her hand again. Again, he took it, and felt the strange melting away of time and place.
……………………
His eyes opened on a room glowing with candles and filled with people dressed in fine clothing. Despite all the finery, there was little gentility in the atmosphere of the party. Well dressed ladies, dripping with jewels, laughed raucously at jokes told by men in tailored coats with white powdered wigs. William sucked his breath in through his teeth.
"I remember this," he said, and sounded as if he wished he didn't. "After my mother died, Father insisted that we move to London. He thought that our 'prospects' would be better there. Our prospects! Ha!"
"You certainly don't look very happy to be here," the Spirit said, and pointed at a pale boy. He looked to be about fourteen years old, handsome in a dark green coat and standing behind one of the players at a noisy card game.
"I hated Father's circle of so-called friends. Just look at them! These are the dissolute and depraved of London's upper class, for the most part. We have here the younger sons, the bastard sons, the unmarried daughters of poor, titled families, the unmarried daughters of rich, untitled families, and the people who are amused by watching their scheming," he said. "They always invited father because he was free with his money, and couldn't play a decent hand of cards if his life depended on it. That's probably part of why I hated coming to these things. He always insisted that I come, though. He said I needed to be 'out and seen' in society."
The card game across the room exploded in laughter, and William and his small companion walked over to the table. He glanced at each player in turn.
"These were some of the worst," he said. "Especially that one." He indicated a man in an extravagantly embroidered purple coat, with a large diamond pin at his neck and rings on every finger. "Sir James Waterton, second son of Lord Waterton. He was cruel, uncaring, and one of the best card players in London. My father ended up practically selling his soul to pay off the gambling debts he owed to the man." What the colonel didn't say was what everyone knew, but no one ever spoke of. Waterton's tastes tended to run to young soldiers and even younger boys.
"Well, Henry Tavington! It looks as if you are out of funds!" Waterton announced, waving his hand at the empty space on the table in front of Will's father. Behind him, both the young and old versions of his son stiffened, identical looks of embarrassment and hurt pride on their faces. Henry grabbed a class of champagne from a passing tray and took a long drink.
"How about this, Waterton, if you beat me, you can have my son for the night!" he offered jokingly. The boy stared at his father with a horrified expression as the entire table laughed. The older William's face remained calm, but when the little Spirit girl by his side hugged his arm, he put a hand on her shoulder, glad to have someone with him. Waterton pretended to consider the boy seriously, visibly enjoying Will's discomfort, than shook his head and laughed.
"He's not pretty enough for me, Henry, I'm sorry. I would, however, be willing to extend your credit…" he suggested. Young Will didn't hear the rest of the conversation. He quickly left the party and excused himself to a balcony that could be reached through the double doors at the other end of the room.
He leaned his elbows on the railing that ran around the balcony and let the cool air wash over his face. It was obvious that he was close to tears, but by an incredibly strong act of will, he kept them in. Anger, loss, and a mix of other emotions fought for control of his face. After a few minutes, a cold, passive calm won out.
"How could any man do that?" the Ghost of Christmas Past wondered aloud. "And to his own son, no less!"
"I often wondered that myself," the colonel said. The words came out less steadily than he intended. The Spirit gave him a knowing look, but didn't say anything.
"You endured great pain, but you were not without friends. Look!" As she pointed to the doors, they swung open and a man in an officer's dress uniform stepped through to join William on the balcony.
"You're lucky that you're handsome instead of pretty," he said. "Your father just lost to Waterton again," Richard Setley said.
"What a surprise. I don't know if I'll live through the shock!" Will shot back. Setley laughed.
"You didn't get that sense of humor from your father, boy, I know that for a fact!" he said.
"Why is that?" William asked, finally turning to face Richard.
"First of all, your father doesn't have one, and second, that sounded like… something your mother would say."
"You knew my mother?"
"She and I were old friends. I remember seeing you when you were just barely walking…" Richard's voice trailed off at the fond memory. "Which is probably why you don't remember me. I'm Colonel Richard Setley."
"It's an honor to meet you, Sir," William said formally. He glanced worriedly through the window. It appeared his father had lost yet again. A dark anger blazed in his pale eyes, and Richard saw it and took a step back.
"Don't let him get to you, William," he advised.
"And how can I not? He gambles, and he loses. He spends money we don't have. By the time he gets around to drinking himself to death, the family isn't going to have a penny to its name!"
"Those are grown up words for a young boy. How old are you?" Richard asked.
"Fourteen," Will answered curtly.
"Almost a man, then." He put a hand on William's shoulder. "If, at sometime in the future, there is anything I could do to help you… a recommendation, a letter of introduction, a loan, a commission in the army, perhaps, you let me know. There is nothing I wouldn't do for Christiana Tavington's son."
"Did you love her?" Will asked tentatively after several moments of silence.
"I asked her to marry me, but she turned me down. We were always friends after that, though," Richard said.
"I wish, for her sake, that she had married him sometimes," Tavington observed to the Spirit standing next to him. "Richard would have been good to her. I found out later how much he loved truly loved her."
"And that love passed from mother to son. He cared for you as if you were his own," she said. "And he was not the only one who cared for you!" Not two seconds after Richard went back in to join the party, a boy about Will's age came running through. He was taller, and blond, with a round, honest face.
"Andrew…" the colonel whispered. "He's so young…"
"And so are you," the Spirit reminded him.
"Are you going to wait out here all night in the freezing cold?" Andrew asked, giving William and friendly punch on the arm.
"It's a boring party," Will lied.
"Are you kidding? Olivia Atherby just went into hysterics because she found out that David Mewborough proposed to someone else… and you really don't care about all that, do you?" Andrew asked. Will shrugged.
"Not really."
"Well, I have something that will make it even more interesting!" Andrew patted his pocket. "I was doing some exploring down in the cellar, and you'll never guess what I found that had crawled in there to get out of the cold!" He reached in and pulled out a thing green garden snake. He held it out to Will, and the boy stepped back. "Oh come on, Will! You're not afraid of it, are you?"
"No, of course not," he said, quickly shaking his head. The Spirit looked amusedly from young Will to the colonel, who had identical expressions again, this time of disgust.
"What?" Tavington demanded of her. "I'm not frightened of snakes! I just… don't like them."
"Oh, I believe you," she said innocently.
"I'm not!"
"No, you just get wide eyed and even paler than usual every time you see one," she said. Tavington looked at her in amazement, opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again.
"Speak of this to no one," he requested, a slight glint of humor in his eyes.
"Your secret is safe with me," she promised. Back inside, the two boys were surreptitiously making their way over to a group of young women only a few years older than they were. Will nodded slightly to Andrew, and the blond boy quickly drew the snake from his pocket and set it loose on the floor near the feet of the nearest young woman. The boys then removed themselves a safe distance and watched. Sure enough, thirty seconds later there was a chorus of loud screams, and the party guests were treated to the sight of a frantic group of girls jumping up on chairs and tables and lifting their skirts above their ankles to make sure there were no creatures slithering around near them. Will and Andrew winked at each other and laughed. Their mission complete, they found two empty chairs and sat down.
"I made you something," Andrew said, and stuck his hand in the pocket that hadn't contained the snake. Will blushed a little and stared at his feet.
"You didn't have to. I don't have a present for you."
"It's all right! I wanted to give you something, and well… it's not much. Just something I made in my spare time. I thought I'd give it to you now since my family is going to the country in the morning." Andrew pulled out a wooden horse with a rider on its back. It was roughly carved, but he looked proud as he handed it to Will. "I tried to paint some soldier's clothes on him, but I don't think it turned out very well."
"No, it looks good," Will said, and turned the carving over in his hands. "Thank you." Andrew just shrugged, as if it was nothing.
"Come on, let's go see if there's anything else we can find that'll scare the girls!" he said.
"You boys were quite the trouble makers," the Spirit said.
"Andrew was always coming up with mischief, and I was always trying to get us out of it," William told her, closing his eyes for a moment. "We were practically inseparable. He was always such a good friend…"
"Yes," said the ghost, "but you were not always such a good friend to him."
……………………..
William didn't realize the scene had changed until he opened his eyes and found himself in a tidy bedroom, empty except for one person. It was himself, a few years older than he had been in the last remembered Christmas scene.
"You and Andrew both joined the army, you because you wanted to, and he because his father forced him to. But, he was terribly unhappy," the Spirit said.
"He wanted to go to America, try his luck in trade in the Colonies," William continued. "So, he left his regiment. He deserted." He sat down hard on the bed and rubbed his forehead. He knew what was coming.
There was a loud, hurried knocking on the door. Tavington watched as his younger self strode across the room and answered it.
"Andrew!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? They've been searching all over for you. Rumor says you've deserted."
"I did, Will," Andrew explained. He had grown into a handsome man, tall and well built. His blond hair had darkened over the years, but it was still light enough to sparkle in the late afternoon sun. "You have to understand. Not everyone wants to be in the army. Like you do. Heaven knows I don't! I can't do this any more, so I'm leaving."
"You're running away?" Will's voice was contemptuous.
"Will, I'm miserable. I've been miserable since the day father forced me into this."
"You've come to say goodbye, then?"
"No. I've come to ask for help," Andrew said. He looked pleadingly at his friend. "They're looking for me, I know that. You have to help me hide."
"You want me to hide a deserter? Are you mad?" William shouted. "If they find you here with me, do you know what it will do to my reputation? I could be dragged to trial along with you!"
"Can you at least give me some money? Something to help me on my way?" Andrew asked.
"You know I don't have any to spare," Will told him. "I'm still paying off the creditors father left me." He laughed cynically. "Some inheritance, eh?" Andrew's face fell.
"You won't tell anyone I was here, will you?" he asked. Before William could answer, there was another knock at the door.
"Tavington!" a voice shouted from the other side. "Open the door at once!" Will did as he was told, but only opened the door a crack. A pompous looking officer was standing on the other side. "I'm searching for a deserter, Andrew Eastman."
Will turned his head and looked Andrew in the eye for a long moment. Andrew frantically shook his head, but Will slowly opened the door to admit the search party. On the bed, the colonel forced himself to watch as his friend was taken away. His eyes were shining, and he was closer to tears than he had been in many years. The Spirit, seeing his pain, crawled into his lap and hugged him, then touched his face with her small hand.
"There's some of that emotion I thought I saw earlier," she said gently.
"Andrew died. In prison," he told her. "There was nothing I could do, nothing I could have done…"
"You could have hidden him, or spoken for him," she said. "But no, you wouldn't have your name connected with that of a deserter!" Her voice was a little more harsh and reproving at the last.
"Enough!" Will said, and stood up, unceremoniously dumping his small companion on the ground. "These memories are… painful, Spirit. Take me home… please." She picked herself up off of the floor and brushed off her dress.
"I have shown you what you must see. Do not forget, William," she warned him, and disappeared. Tavington looked around to see where she had gone, and found himself back in his own bed.