Title: A Tavington Christmas Carol

Author: Corri

Disclaimer: I do not own The Patriot or any of the characters associated with it.

Feedback: Please! I don’t know how good this is…

 

 

 

Author’s note: This story is set during the events of the movie, after the death of Thomas, after the identity of the Ghost has been revealed, but before the climactic battle at the end.  I don’t know how that works with real event, but I’m going to be like the movie producers and pretend like they don’t matter. ;-)  This story is posted with apologies to Charles Dickens (the writer), Mickey Mouse (whose cartoon version of A Christmas Carol I cry at every December), and George C. Scott (who will ALWAYS be Scrooge to me, go find the movie version with him in it if you haven’t!), all of whom have inspired this in some way, and with many apologies to poor much maligned Will, who turned out a little meaner than I’d planned at the beginning.  And now, without any further ado, here is “Tavington’s Christmas Carol”

Tavington's Christmas Carol

 

 

 

            Colonel William Tavington would always remember that particular Christmas Eve as a cold, dark, dreary, miserable affair.  A dense covering of clouds had moved in over Fort Carolina three days before and showed no sign whatsoever of moving on any time soon.  It was bitterly cold outside, and only slightly less so in the colonel’s office.  Fuel was scarce and difficult to come by, yet Tavington, never one to waste the army’s precious resources on his personal comfort, did not even spare his cold hearth a second glance.  The only sign of feeling that crossed his face as he worked was a look of annoyance when he dipped his pen in the inkpot and discovered that the ink had become unusable due to the extreme low temperature.  He looked at the stack of unfinished reports, and then back at the frozen ink, and scowled.  To make matters worse, his concentration was, at that very moment, broken by the sound of child-like shrieking coming from the courtyard below. 

            He pushed his chair away from the desk.  With three or four purposeful strides, he was standing at the window.  The cause of all the noise appeared to be… a snowball fight.  Several of the children belonging to the families who had attached themselves to British camp were happily engaged in throwing the powdery white stuff at each other.  They were making a ridiculously loud racket, and William wished that some officer would come and tell them to be quiet.  It was then that he took a second glance at the game that was going on below and realized that there were not only children, but several younger soldiers, and even a few officers engaged in the fight!

            “Disgraceful,” he muttered to himself and turned his back to the window.  “Tomorrow is Christmas, and somehow this is a reason for grown men to forget their dignity and act like children? Bah!” He drew the curtains together sharply and went back over to his desk.  Tavington had been irritable ever since the Christmas spirit had descended upon the fort.  Around the middle of December, everyone around him had begun to be needlessly cheerful and friendly, and it was driving him to distraction.  Did they not remember there was a war going on?  What use was talk of Christmas cheer and bright futures if the spring only brought more of the same tiresome battle with the rebels?  They should be planning, not celebrating!

            “I swear, if one more person wishes me a merry Christmas…” he murmured to himself, and imagined visiting violent deeds of retribution upon the offending individual.   

            The door of his office slammed open and a gust of even colder air from the hallway blew into the small room.  The colonel looked up from his work and sighed.  The man who stood framed in the doorway was his manservant, Robert Eastfield.  He carried a bright red officer’s coat and a cloth wrapped bundle.

            “Good day to you, Sir,” Robert said cheerily as he set the bundle on Tavingtons desk.  He carefully handed the coat to the colonel himself.  “I had your shirts washed and folded, and the coat has been cleaned and brushed.”  Tavington accepted the coat and hung it on the back of his chair, causing Robert to wince at his employer’s cavalier treatment of the garment.   The colonel barely even noticed him.

            “Ah, Sir?” Robert said, peering tentatively at the man behind the desk.  William, who was already hard at work again, looked up.

            “Still here, Robert?  Was there something you wanted?”

            “Well, Sir, I was hoping to ask you… seeing how I’ve completed all you’ve asked of me for the next few days, and seeing how tomorrow is Christmas…” Robert looked at the colonel hopefully, only to be met by a pair of cold grey eyes.  The servant shuffled his feet and stared at the floor, coughing embarrassedly. 

            “You would like to have the day off,” Tavington stated. 

            “Yes, Sir,” Robert answered.  “That is, if it’s not too much trouble.  I told my wife and daughter I’d try to be with them on Christmas day, and if you could just see my little girl, Sir, you’d know I can’t refuse her anything.”  The colonel was not amused.

            “Is she contributing to the racket out there, by any chance?” he asked, and jerked his finger toward the window, where sounds of merriment were still managing to drift in despite William’s best efforts. 

            “Oh, no, Sir,” Robert said, and a sad melancholy look passed over his good-natured features.  William took no notice of his servant’s pained expression.  “She’s a quiet little child, sweet and gentle as they come.”

            “Good,” the colonel said, and went back to his reports.  “I have no need of you tomorrow, so you may take the day off.  However, I should tell you that I shall not be paying you on a day that have no need for you.”

            “Of course, Sir,” Robert agreed.   “Thank you, Sir, and Merry Christmas.” 

            The colonel’s head shot up, and he glared at Robert irritably.

            “Christmas,” he growled, “is nothing more than an excuse for men to forget themselves, get drunk, and cause trouble.  It’s unprofessional, if you ask me, and any soldier who goes about with ‘merry Christmas’ on his lips ought to be run through with his own bayonet and buried with a sprig of holly in his heart!  Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do!”  The tirade was a little more vehement than William had intended it to be, and, seeing the frightened expression on Robert’s face, he did his best to smile cordially.  Robert bowed to his employer and made a hasty retreat. 

            “Peace at last,” William grumbled to himself as the door closed behind his servant.  Perhaps I will finish before dark if there aren’t any more interruptions.  He had only just bent his head to his work when the door flew open again.  The colonel didn’t even look up.

            “Mr. Eastfield, I thought I said I was occupied.  Now, get out of here before I…” it was then that his visitor chose to clear his throat, and William finally realized who was standing in his office.  His face paled slightly and he rose respectfully.  “Lord Cornwallis, I apologize.  I assumed that you were…”

            “Someone else.  I know, Colonel.  Sit down,” the general said, and availed himself of the only other chair in Tavington’s office. 

            “And to what do I owe this… honor?” William asked, a slight edge to his voice.  He knew very well that the general had little use for him, and the last thing he needed at the moment was a reminder of the low regard in which he was held. 

            “I had been meaning to mention this earlier, but it must have slipped my mind,” Cornwallis began.  Tavington resisted the urge to sigh.  “I have arranged for Christmas dinner to be served to my officers tomorrow afternoon in my quarters, and wished to extend an invitation.” 

            Slipped his mind?  More likely he didn’t want me to hear it from someone else and feel slighted.  Strange, though, Cornwallis has never taken care not to upset me before, William thought.  To the general, he replied, “Though I am flattered to have been invited, I fear I must decline.” 

            “Decline? Why, Tavington?” Cornwallis looked genuinely confused.  It was not often that any man refused an invitation to dine with one of the more powerful men in the colonies.

            “I fear I would not bring much to Your Lordship’s table.  I don’t make merry at Christmas, and those who do are sometimes offended by my lack of cheer.”

            Cornwallis frowned, and Will winced inwardly.  Now I’ve gone and offended the man.  Wonderful.  Simply wonderful. 

            “You’re telling me that you don’t see reason to celebrate on Christmas?” the general asked.  There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, but Tavington answered honestly.

            “It is just another day, Sir,” he said quietly. 

            “Just another day?  Christmas, Colonel, is a day to celebrate the brotherhood of all men, and to remember the birth of Our Lord.  You would be wise to bear that in mind!”  Cornwallis when angry was a truly formidable sight.  Lesser men would have acceded the point, but William simply stared back at him.

            “Well then, I only ask that you remember Him in your way, and let me do so in mine,” he said. 

            “As you wish,” Cornwallis said.  “If you change your mind, know that you are still welcome.” 

            “Of course.  Thank you, Your Lordship,” William said.  The general nodded and slipped out of the room, letting in another gust of cold air as he went. 

……………………

            Hours later, and long after the sun had sunk beneath the snow-covered horizon, Tavington was making his way through the drafty hallways of the third floor of the colonial mansion that was serving as officer’s quarters.  His room was small and cold, but at least it had a real bed, and it was inside, surrounded by four real walls instead of flimsy tent canvas.  The hallway was dark, and William had only a single candle to light his way.  As he put his hand on the doorknob to his room, he turned and looked back the way he had come.  For a moment, he could have sworn that he had heard something call his name. 

            William… William Tavington…  There it was again! 

            “Who’s there?” William called.  There was no answer, only the sound of the wind outside against the glass of the windowpanes.  “I am tired,” he whispered to himself.  “That is all.  Very, very tired.”  He turned the knob and stepped into his room.  It was a bare, sparse place, with only a bed and a writing desk for furniture, and a frayed rug on the floor.  Will set the candle on the desk and proceeded to hang his clothing over the back of the chair.  He shrugged on a nightshirt and went to pick up his candle.  As he did, his eyes fell on a small wooden box sitting on top of the desk.  He picked it up with his other hand and went to sit on the bed.  Carefully, he lifted the lid.  A soldier’s life left little room for personal possessions, but those that were most important to the colonel were stored in that little box.  From it, he drew a folded piece of paper, slightly torn in a few places and stained in others.  He smiled slightly as he unfolded it, and placed it on the bed.  My first commission, signed by dear old Richard himself. How long ago that seems now!   Richard Setley, his first commanding officer and one of his oldest friends, had died three years ago to the day of lingering wounds received while fighting the rebels.  William, never one to take joy in Christmas, had taken even less after his friend passed away on Christmas Eve. 

            Checking to make sure that the other objects in the box were safe, Will placed his commission back in the box and closed the lid.  When it snapped shut, he heard the sound of heavy footfalls and the clank of chains coming down the hallway.  Wiiiiiilliam… The same ghostly voice called to him again. 

            “Show yourself, whoever you are!” Will yelled.  He turned around in a circle, looking for some sign of the intruder.  The sound of the wind was suddenly very loud, and the footsteps were getting closer.  Tavington grabbed his pistol from where it was laying on the desk and loaded it hastily.  He cocked it and pointed it at the door.  There was no lock, but whatever was out there was going to be quite surprised when it finally got inside!  The door rattled on its hinges, but it did not open.  Instead, a misty translucent figure walked through the solid wooden door.  He was clad in a fine officer’s uniform, but he was draped with chains, off of which were hung pistols, knives, swords, canon balls, and various other instruments of war.  The figure’s uniform was stained with black, thick blood that seeped from unclosed wounds in his torso, arms, and legs.  Though he tried to stop it, William’s hand was shaking.

            “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Will!  Put down the gun before you shoot yourself in the foot!”

            “Richard?  Is that really you?” the colonel asked, peering at the ghost’s face for the first time.  The eyes were the same, blue and clear, and then there was that jutting chin and little nose.  Yes, there was no doubt that this was none other than Richard Setley. 

            “Of course it’s me, you idiot!  Who else would it be?” Richard’s ghost looked annoyed, and Will was at a loss for words. 

            “I… I can’t think of anyone,” he finally murmured.  “But, Richard, why haunt me?  We were always good friends when you were alive.” 

            “And that is precisely the reason I have come!  I’m not here to haunt you, Will, I’m here to help you.”  The ghost sat down in William’s chair, chains and weapons clanging together as he did so. 

            “I hardly think I’m in need of any help,” Tavington said, holding his candle up so he could see his guest better.  “You taught me everything I needed to know about being a soldier, and quite a bit about life, if you remember.”

            “You were a quick pupil,” Setley said, his face expressionless. 

            “Those were good times, Richard.  Upholding the king’s justice, keeping the peace, keeping the rabble in line, hunting down law-breakers,” Will chuckled at the memory.   As he spoke, Richard began to shake his head, and after a while he rose from his chair, agitated.

            “No! We were wrong!  I was wrong.  Sometimes, we should have been helping instead of hunting.  We should have been handing out mercy instead of judgment.”  Richard’s eyes were wild and fevered, and he looked at Tavington with an imploring gaze that made the younger man uncomfortable. 

            “Wrong?  That’s ridiculous.  We were doing as we were told.  We can’t be expected to be compassion – ” 

            “But we are!” Richard interrupted him.  The ghost lifted his arms and rattled his chains. “Listen closely, my friend.  Every man that draws breath on the earth must, in some way, help his brother man.  We all must make some contribution, and those of us who do not do so in life are condemned to do so after death!”

            “But, you did help people,” Will reminded him. “Well, a person.  You helped me, remember?  You were a friend to me when I had no one.  That should have counted for something, shouldn’t it?”   Richard’s face took on a look of infinite sadness and he shook his head.

            “No, Will.  Unfortunately, my friendship with you only increased my burden.  I fear that I have set you down the wrong path, and I am paying dearly for it.” 

            The colonel sat down hard on the bed.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, being able to think of nothing else.  “Is there anything I can do?”

            “It’s too late for me,” Richard said, rising from his chair, “but perhaps, for you, there is still time.”

            “Time?  Time for what?” Tavington asked impatiently. 

            “Time to change!  And change you must, my boy!  I have seen the chain that has been set aside for you, and it was even longer than the one I carry, and that was three years ago!  I am sure you have added to it since!”  Richard was standing directly in front of his former protégé, and William leaned back to avoid being so close to the insubstantial figure.

            “You will be visited tonight by three spirits,” Richard continued.  “They will tell you what you must do.” 

            “Spirits?” Tavington said, and raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t need any spirits telling me what to do, thank you.  In fact,” he poked a finger at the ghost’s chest, and it went right through, “I don’t even know if any of this is real.  You are most likely a figment of my imagination!”

            “No!  You must listen, if only for my sake, Will.  It will do me good to know that you have been spared my fate!”  Setley shouted.  William flinched back at his friend’s sudden vehemence.  “The first will come at the stroke of one, the second at two, and the third will come whenever he wishes. He is not bound by the laws of time.” He turned toward the wall and began to make his way out of the room. “Remember me when the spirits show you what they will, so that you may avoid my punishment!”  His voice sounded as if it was coming from further and further away, and as the last of him melted through the door, it disappeared completely. 

            William stared after him, a little wild eyed. 

            “Just a dream.  It was just a dream,” he whispered to himself, and crawled beneath his covers.  “I need to sleep, that’s all.  Sleep to chase away these dreams of spirits!” He laid his head on the pillow and fell into a troubled sleep.

 

           

Chapter 2