For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son. That whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. -John 3:16

Mary

"Please ma'am, may I have some more?" Mary did her best to open her eyes wide and look as pitiful and as hungry as possible.

Mrs. Brown snorted. "And where did you learn that line?

"Oliver Twist, Mrs. Brown," Mary said.

"Hold on a minute, let me see what we have left over." Mrs. Brown bustled to the kitchen and returned with a small bowl of porridge. "I'm afraid this is all we have left for the day."

"No meat?"

Mrs. Brown chuckled. "You'll have to ask one of the boys. They were the first to ask for the extra meat."

"Growing boys gotta eat," One of the boys shouted from across the hall. "Didn't you hear that on TV?"

"Growing girls gotta eat too," Mary replied. Turning to Mrs. Brown, she tried to look as adorable as possible. "Mrs. Brown, it's Christmas season. Shouldn't we be having ham and ham and more ham? Like last year? Just call Mr. Francis and I'm sure he'll send some more."

Mrs. Brown sighed. "I wish I could, child. I wish I could." She patted Mary's head and went back to the kitchen.

*******

Later that day, as Mary was playing alone in the yard, a black car drove in, stopping at the orphanage door. An old man climbed out, his brown coat flapping in the wind. Mary's eyes widened when she saw the salt-and-pepper hair and rushed over.

"Mr. Francis, Mr. Francis!"

"Mary," Mr. Francis said warming. He dug around in his coat pocket and fished out a couple of sweets. "How did you know I was coming? Good job avoiding the others." Mr. Francis always carried sweets in his pocket, for the first child that found him. It was a game he played with the whole orphanage.

Mary took the sweets and stuffed them in the pocket. She would figure out how to share them later. Now, she had more important things to do.

"Mr. Francis," she said sweetly, "you know it's Christmas season, right?"

Mr. Francis beamed at her, "Yes, I know. Have you written to Santa?"

Mary nodded seriously. "Yes," She leaned in and whispered: "I asked him for a new doll. I had to give Elisabeth my old one because she's a baby and wanted it."

Mr. Francis nodded, "That's a good Christmas wish. I'm sure —"

"Anyway," Mary rushed on, "since it's Christmas season, don't you think we should have more ham? Like last time? The TV said growing boys and girls gotta eat." She made sure to stress the word 'girls'.

Oddly enough, Mr. Francis made the same sigh as Mrs. Brown. "I hope to bring you more ham soon, Mary, but things are different this year."

"Different how?"

"There was a family who promised to give ham, or money to buy the ham, but they are... shall we say late. But don't worry, I'll make sure there's enough ham for everyone on Christmas day."

Mary thought quickly, "What if I go over and ask them? Mrs. Brown says I'm cute, and she can never say no to me. They'll say yes to me, right?"

"No," Mr. Francis said quickly. "Wait a while." He turned around and opened the car door, digging around inside. Finally, he took out a whole packet of sweets. "Why don't you go and share this with everyone. And John will be coming back from school soon, he says he's looking forward to playing with you."

"Really?" John was the best. He was older than the oldest boys, but he always played with them. And he knew all their names.

"Yes, really. Now, go along and play."

Clutching the packet of sweets, Mary ran into the orphanage in search of the other children. They were going to have ham for Christmas. Mr. Francis promised.

Francis

The 2:50 train pulled into the station and Francis felt the crowd around him surge forward. The mass of parents, just now waiting so patiently, began yelling, hoping to catch the attention of their child.

For their part, the children paid no attention to their parents. Most were talking at one another, trying to make one last good impression before they had to leave to the loving arms of their family.

Francis tip-toed, straining to see above the crowd. Almost all alighting from the train wore the same smart white-and-navy uniform, blazers slung carelessly across their shoulders or tied around their waists.

"Dad!"

Francis felt himself lifted up and spun around.

"John, when did you manage to sneak up on your old man?" Francis reached up and ruffled his son's hair. It had only been a term, but his son had grown so much. John was now a tall young man, though his black eyes had not lost their childhood spark.

"I knew you'd be standing here, so I convinced Jeff to switch places with me. I got out from that cabin," he nodded towards the cabin behind him. "Not bad, huh? Anyway, what's for supper?"

Francis smiled. "Your favourite, beef stew with banana pudding for dessert."

"Sounds great," Francis smacked his lips and rubbed his stomach. "You can't believe how terrible the canteen food can be at times. Anyway," he grabbed his bags, "shall we go?"

"Not yet." A deep voice came from behind. Francis and John turned around to see Gabriel. The policeman had dark circles around his eyes, and his uniform was crumpled. "Good to see you, John. What's in the food over there? You're sprouting like a bean sprout. Anyway, Francis, I need to talk to you. Perhaps young sprout here would like to say goodbye to his friends?"

John took the hint. "I'll go say bye, then. Would it be ok if some of them came over for dinner now and then?"

"Sure, sure."

As soon as John was out of earshot, Gabriel moved closer and began speaking in a low tone. "Bad news, Francis. They've killed Miguel. We strongly recommend that you let us send a team in to take them in."

"No, no," Francis said automatically. "Miguel? Poor Miguel. His wife is pregnant with their first child. A girl. He told me just before he left. Are you sure?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yes. Francis, the team? We need your permission if we're to enter the farm. They might think they own it, but legally, it's still yours." He lowered his voice even further. "Between you and me, the boys at the station can't figure out why you're being so nice. Apart from Ray, who was the first, they've killed every single person you've sent. Oh, they're smart, they send one of their own to take responsibility, cry 'intimidation' and bail him out. Francis, let us help you. Let us send a team in. You cannot let them keep killing!" His voice rose on the last sentence and the crowd around him turned to stare.

The two men chuckled nervously.

"Just a play we're thinking of putting on this Christmas, right, Francis?" Gabriel said.

Francis nodded, and the crowd went back to their business, reassured that there was no gossip for them to hear.

"Please, Francis," Gabriel begged, "Just say the word. Say the word and I'll have a team down there in ten minutes. It'll be over."

As tempting as it sounds, Francis shook his head. "They're good people," he said slowly, "I can't do this to them. There are children on that farm, and who knows what they'll do. I'm not asking a lot, just for the yearly donation to the orphanage they promised as rent."

"The children will be fine in the orphanage. Your money goes to making it the best in the county."

Francis shook his head again. "I can't do that to the children. And I don't want to evict them. They love that land; it's an irrational love, but they love it."

"Some would say they love it too much. With them thinking they're the boss. It's only been, what, five years?"

"Six this year," Francis corrected Gabriel absentmindedly. He heard the whistle for the next train and his eyes lit up, "Gabriel, I'll go. They'll listen to me. It's my land. It's all my fault, if only the other investments had done well, then I wouldn't need to pressure them for the rent. I have to go."

"What, dad, no!" John sounded outraged. "Didn't Gabriel just say that they killed Miguel?"

"John, when did you get here?" Francis asked.

"Lower your voice, John," Gabriel said at the same time. "We don't want to cause a panic."

John lowered his voice, but the outraged remained. "I finished my goodbyes. But seriously, dad, it's too dangerous for you. They might see you as this weak, old man, and who knows what they'll do. I'll go."

It was the two men's turn to shout.

"Are you crazy, John?" Gabriel roared, not caring that the whole platform could hear him. "What is wrong with your family?"

"Gabriel, you're too loud," Francis said quietly. "Don't worry folks," He said as cheerfully as he could manage, "Just rehearsing. You know how Gabriel is, always anxious to perform."

"Well," A nearby parent said, "I sure hope the orphans appreciate the play this year." He ushered his child away, towards the waiting car. Around them, other families did the same, breaking up the farewells between the students and heading back home.

The trio waited until the crowd around them thinned. "It's a good idea," John insisted. "I'm dad's son, so they'll respect me. And since I'm young, I don't think they'll try to harm me. They know I can put up a fight."

"Not against a farm full of people," Gabriel objected. "Francis, say something."

Francis opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of a good reason. John did make sense, they would listen to his beloved son, and maybe this senseless standoff could be resolved. The farm had a good year, it wasn't like they couldn't pay. They just didn't want to.

But Gabriel was still objecting. "Francis, please tell your son why this is a ridiculous idea. Does he know how many people you've sent that have never come back? Or died from injuries a day after coming back? All but one."

"Dad. what do you say?"

Francis opened and closed his mouth a few times. "What about your dinner?" He finally managed to say. He could hear Gabriel's groan next to him.

"Don't worry, dad," John said with a smile, "if I catch the 3:16 train, I'll make it there and back in time for supper. How long can it take to talk to them and get the money?" The train whistled, and John ran across the platform and into the cabin. "Save me some banana pudding!"

Francis felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine," Gabriel said. "He's your son, they'll listen to him. Here, I'll help carry his bags to your car."

Staring at the disappearing train, Francis made the sign of the cross. "I hope you're right," he said sadly. But Gabriel was already out of earshot.

Benedict

"He's coming!" The shout came as a young man walked down the driveway. The police guarding the entrance had parted for him, strangely. No one had been allowed in or out for weeks, except that man's servants.

"Is that another servant of that man?" Benedict asked his father.

There was a strange gleam in his father's eye. "No, better. This is his only son."

"Master John?" The words came out before he could stop it. Immediately, his father reached out his hand and calmly slapped him.

"No, no longer our master. And after today, the lands will be ours." His father had a strange gleam in his eyes, and his face was flush.

"I don't understand."

"Of course you wouldn't. You're just a stupid boy. Go to your post, and make sure your gun is trained on the boy."

Benedict picked up his gun and went to his post by a window. The driveway was long, and made its way past the apple orchard, where Benedict used to play. There wasn't much time for playing now. Just lots of adults yelling. He hated that. He didn't like being treated like an adult.

Master John, no, just John. John was now halfway down the path. He was walking slowly, as though he was enjoying the view of the orchard.

"Benedict," Susan came into the room, holding Amelia by the hand. "I heard that," she hesitated for a while, "John is here."

"Susan, does that mean we get to play the rocks game?" Amelia asked excitedly. Poor girl, she was only four.

"No, Amelia. Not today. I think the adults will want to talk. Why don't you go look for mom? I've got something to tell Benedict."

"Are you going to get married? Mom says you can't. You're only fifteen, and Benedict's only sixteen."

"Hush, now go," Susan ordered Amelia out. The little girl protested a bit, but wandered away. "What?"

"Aren't you supposed to take care of Amelia? It's not safe to let a little girl walk about, especially now."

Susan sighed and made her way over to the window. She glanced out at John. "Maybe. But I need to tell you something. Amelia and I overheard our fathers talking."

Benedict sat up a little straighter. "Are they finally going to negotiate? I saw the news last night, the orphanage looks terrible. Little Mary was crying. We had a good harvest, I don't see why—"

Susan clamped her hands over his mouth. There were the sounds of footsteps and gruff voices could be heard.

"It's the best time."

"You think the lad knows?"

"He's not stupid, even if he's father is. Be careful, he might have a gun concealed somewhere."

"If he had a gun, it must be tiny."

Benedict and Susan didn't move until all was quiet again. Susan finally took her hands away, her cheeks turning red.

"Are you insane," she whispered. "Do you need your father to give you another beating, and don't deny it, the whole farm could hear."

Benedict just mumbled his thanks. "Anyway," he said, trying to change the topic, "What were you going to tell me?"

Now it was Susan's turn to mumble. "Our dads, well, all the farmhands, they plan to kill John too. They think it'll end things."

"What? Are you sure? Won't the police just come?" Benedict could barely keep his voice under control. After every question, he looked towards the door, hoping that no adult was passing by and heard him.

Susan nodded miserably, then shook her head. "I'm sure, but I don't know. I think it'll just make that man move against us, and I don't know why our parents are doing this. The harvest was so good this year." She buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

Just then, John reached the farmhouse and knocked on the door. Everyone went silent.

knock

knock

knock

Benedict quickly left the sobbing Susan and ran to the staircase. He heard the door open, and the honeyed tones of his father, inviting 'Master John' to please come in. As he looked down from the top of the steps, Master John looked up and the two locked eyes. They weren't that far in age, Benedict recalled. And Master John had always played with him on the visits to the farm.

Today, the smile Master John had was no different from the ones in the past.

Benedict opened his mouth to give a warning, but Master John held his finger to his lips.

Don't worry, he mouthed silently, everything will be fine.

"Master John?" His father had doubled back. "Is anything the matter?"

"No, not at all," Master John said pleasantly. He followed the farmhands into the living room, just like a lamb to slaughter.