The Christmas Tree Keeper: A Novel Read online

  Caroline looked at her mom with pleading eyes.

  “Yes, go ahead. See if your friend wants to go too,” Angela said, and watched Caroline run off so she wouldn’t miss the ride.

  She looked back at Mark; another customer had stopped him. He was answering the woman’s question with his full attention. She tried not to stare, but it was easy to see why Mrs. Shaw spoke so highly of him.

  She gradually walked away from them as the customer continued to engage him in conversation.

  “Angela,” he called.

  Surprised, she turned around. He was following her.

  “I owe you that tour. I can’t show you as much as Papa can with his hayride, but if you’re interested, we could take a walk,” he said.

  Did he just say we could take a walk? The answer is yes. YES. Okay, don’t look so obvious.

  “Are you sure you aren’t needed here?” She nodded at the customers milling around.

  “They can manage without me for a few minutes,” he said as he flashed a good-natured smile. “Here, this way.”

  They walked side by side between the craft barn and the farmhouse on a path that took them beyond Papa’s cabin to the back lot of trees. He described how their business had grown over the last ten years, and how they had tried to build and plant to keep up with it.

  This was different than the first night she came to the farm. She was less annoyed, yes, but she could see Mark better, not because of the daylight. He opened up about the farm. He explained all the work he and his family put into the trees. She didn’t think of Papa as a pushy salesman anymore. This was their life.

  “Look, I’m sorry about accusing you of giving money to me for publicity. I jumped to conclusions,” she admitted.

  “Don’t mention it. I’ve been accused of worse things.” He laughed. “I wish I knew who gave it to you, though, and how the news picked it up. That created a stir around here.”

  “Wasn’t that good for business?”

  “In one way.” He looked off above the tree line. “But we didn’t need the story about the miracles trees getting out of hand. It doesn’t help business if we’re the laughing stock of Sutton.”

  “You couldn’t be that. You and your family are loved by so many.” Like Mrs. Shaw, for one. “So what is it with the trees? Do they cause miracles?” she asked, checking his face for clues.

  “My grandfather says they do.”

  “Do you see them differently than your grandfather does?”

  “That’s a good way to put it. He certainly has his own way of seeing things.” He stopped at a tree, reached out, and held one of the boughs. “He’s been the keeper of these trees, or grown them, his whole life. I don’t know what he knows.” Mark glanced at Angela.

  “So are they miracle trees?” she asked, more interested now that he wasn’t giving her a straight answer.

  He reddened. “They could be. Papa’s convinced there are ‘believers,’ and they are the ones who get the miracles. Who am I to say they don’t?”

  “They are the ones who can see the miracles? Is that what he means?”

  “Maybe.” Mark shrugged and changed the subject. “What did you do with the money? Didn’t you need it to pay rent?”

  “Yes, I paid it.” She paused. “And then we had the fire. Thanks again for bringing another tree. And inviting us today—this has been fun for Caroline.”

  “And what has it been for you?” He looked at her and back at the trees.

  “Me? I’m fine. I mean, yeah, this is great.”

  This would be a good place to say something nice.

  “I hadn’t noticed until now how peaceful this place can be, at least out here. It’s quiet and serene. I think it’s having a calming effect on me,” she admitted. Was it the farm or Mark, though? She couldn’t tell.

  She continued, “Do you love working with the land? How fun was it growing up here?” She ended her sentence abruptly, as she remembered what Mrs. Shaw had said.

  Mark stopped and looked directly at her. He didn’t say anything for a minute. He pivoted and looked behind her at the back of the farmhouse. “You’ve heard about the fire we had here?”

  “I’m sorry. I should stop talking.”

  “It’s fine—most people know. And to answer your question, yes, I loved growing up here, but it changed when my parents died. I’ve tried, but it’s hard to love it the same way they did.” Mark didn’t turn back around and resume the direction they had been walking. Instead, he took slow steps back the way they came. Angela turned around too.

  Way to mess up the moment.

  “I can understand. Is there anything else you love?” she asked.

  Mark was less talkative and continued to look ahead to the crowds at the sales lot.

  “Yeah, music. I plan to go into music production.”

  Another musician?

  “Would you leave the farm?” Was that too personal?

  He didn’t answer. “What about you? Do you want to work somewhere else besides the apartments?”

  “Um, I didn’t mean—yes, I do. I don’t plan to stay at the apartments. I studied music before ...”

  Before I got married and then divorced.

  He looked at her with a question on his face.

  “I’d work here over the apartments in a heartbeat,” she said.

  Mark didn’t respond and looked like he was focused on something up ahead.

  Now it sounds like I’m asking for a job. What is the matter with me?

  Angela noticed the hayride coming to an end and quickened her step to get there.

  They arrived in time to greet the children. Caroline asked if she could go on the next ride and if Angela could ride too.

  “Another one? We need to go, Caroline.”

  Angela turned to thank Mark for the tour. Before she could speak, another woman approached them. She stood close to Mark. Very close. Her hands were deep in her pockets, but she leaned into him with her shoulder, all while staring at Angela.

  “Natalie, I’d like you to meet, uh, this is Angela,” he stammered. “Angela, this is my ... Natalie.”

  “Wait, Angela from the news story—Mark you didn’t tell me we had a celebrity at the farm today.” Natalie trained her eyes on Mark as she spoke the disingenuous words.

  “We’re going now.” Angela said and nodded at Caroline. “We have boxes to unpack at home. It was nice to meet you.” She said to Natalie.

  If nice can mean awkward or awful, then yes, nice to meet you.

  “Hey, I’m glad you came to the farm today. I hope you enjoyed the ride,” Mark said, but his tone was different and he focused his attention more on Caroline.

  “Thanks.” Angela tried using her disinterested face, but she wasn’t sure if it worked.

  “So do we still get to come back for Christmas dinner?” The question burst from Caroline like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Yes, that’s right, Christmas dinner. We’d love to have you.” Mark’s arm went around his girlfriend’s shoulders.

  “Oh, I’m not sure—” Angela said.

  “She’s going to call my grandma soon. I’m sure she’ll say yes because we haven’t spent Christmas together for years.”

  Thanks, Caroline! Let’s get out of here.

  “Great. Hope she makes it too,” Mark said.

  Chapter 16

  The ten days or so before the holiday were the busiest days of the season. There wouldn’t be any let-up in the flow of customers until they closed the farm on Christmas Eve. Donna cooked a big dinner for the “farm family” on Christmas, a tradition that had gone unbroken for decades. Where she found the energy, Mark didn’t know. It was Monday morning, and he was ready for a vacation.

  After breakfast, he helped Papa plow the snow out of the parking lot. His cell phone rang as he was finishing the last section.

  “Hi Mark, this is Dave.”

  “I’m glad you called,” Mark said, but Dave continued talking.

  “I just got a courtesy call
from the agent for the house on Hickory. She said they’ve got an offer. It sounds like an investor, probably out-of-state.”

  “Okay, so what does that mean? We need to beat their price?”

  “It’s a cash offer, Mark, for a little less than what they’re asking. For as long as this house has sat empty, the sellers are more than ready.”

  “What are you saying?” Mark asked.

  “I’m saying that unless you can come up with the asking price in cash, there isn’t anything I can do for you.”

  “But I should have the money for my down payment any day. I can offer more than the asking price.” He panicked. “I’ll call my lender right now.”

  “Mark, do you hear me? It’s a cash offer. I can’t work a miracle.”

  Miracle. He would have to use that word.

  “I get it—I understand. Thanks. I need to go.” Mark said.

  “I’m happy to look for some other houses. You could look into what it would cost to convert a bedroom into a studio. That might be a better way to go,” he said.

  Mark ended the call and jumped out of the small plow truck.

  “Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?” Papa asked.

  “For a walk.”

  “We’re here to talk to Mark Shafer.” Two men stood behind the counter in the front room of the farmhouse. One had a weather-worn face and wore a heavy coat. The other man wore a collared shirt under his sport jacket and held a clipboard.

  “That’s me. What can I do for you gentlemen?” Mark asked.

  They don’t look like reporters. That’s good.

  “We’re from Marshall Brothers, and we’re here for the property inspection,” the man said and handed over a business card.

  Mark nervously checked the room to make sure no one heard them. He tapped the counter with the business card and put it down, out of his hands.

  “I wasn’t notified you’d be coming today,” he said. “This is our busiest time, in about two weeks it will be much quieter here.”

  And I can make sure we won’t have company.

  “The crowd won’t interfere with what we need to do,” the man explained with a resolute tone in his voice. “This is the inspection for the lender. The survey for title insurance takes much longer.”

  “Right,” Mark said. “If I had gotten a call, I could have been ready. I can accommodate you any day next week.”

  The man looked down at the paper on his metal clipboard case.

  Mark glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t act quickly enough. Donna and Brett walked in from outside. He had less than thirty seconds to escort the men out of the farmhouse with as little commotion as possible.

  “Great. Follow me,” he said loudly. The men’s faces displayed surprise. “I’m happy to help you with as many trees as you’d like,” he said. “Brett, can you watch the register?”

  Mark motioned to a side door behind the counter and said thanks to Brett. He saw the interest on Donna’s face.

  “I’ll help you in the barn tonight, Donna,” Mark said.

  The men walked to the door and Mark caught up with them. He ushered them out before they could say anything else.

  Once they were all outside, Mark announced, “Let me show you where the cabin is—the part of the land you need to see is behind it. There’s a private road.”

  “You’re not required to stay with us, if that’s a problem,” the man with the clipboard explained.

  “Thanks, that might be best,” Mark said as he walked them around to the parking lot. “And can you do me a favor? If you happen to meet my grandfather—he wears a green coat and red pin with our farm name on it—can you—”

  “You mean him?” The shorter man asked, pointing.

  Mark turned to see Papa approaching.

  The man continued, “What? Do you need us to pretend to be customers or something?”

  “Could you?” Mark asked.

  “If it’s going to be that much of a problem, we can reschedule.” The man with the clipboard didn’t hide his annoyance.

  “Mark, are these good men leaving here without a tree?” Papa asked. He reached out and shook their hands. “Call me Papa Shafer. Is my grandson taking care of you?”

  “So far,” the shorter man said cautiously.

  “Did you find what you’re looking for?”

  “Not yet.” The other gentleman looked at Mark.

  “Papa, they stopped in to see what we offered. They weren’t prepared to haul a tree. They’re coming back,” Mark said, nodding to the parking lot exit.

  “Sounds good. Don’t wait too long,” Papa warned. “Christmas will come and go before you know it.”

  The men walked off to their truck, while Mark engaged Papa in some conversation as a distraction. They strolled around the farmhouse and back in through the side door. Mark was coming down from the adrenaline rush of the previous ten minutes when he saw Brett and Donna at the counter.

  “Thanks again, Brett.” Mark noticed a few customers standing by the fireplace and one looking at the postcard wall.

  “What’s this?” Donna looked at Mark and held up the business card.

  “Whatcha got there?” Papa chimed in.

  “What are land surveyors doing here?” she asked defiantly.

  “They were looking for a Christmas tree,” Papa replied, looking to Mark for confirmation.

  The next few moments unfolded in slow motion for Mark. He met Donna’s eyes and then Papa’s. He could see the recognition, starting like an avalanche, and there was nothing he could do to keep the mountain from falling on top of him.

  Papa shook his head and muttered. “It’s just as I thought.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mark asked.

  “These trees can survive drought, disease, and a thousand floods.” He paused and continued quietly, “but nothing can save them from fools.”

  Mark opened his mouth, but he had no words, no reply. Not that it mattered. Papa had already turned his back and was heading out the door. Brett didn’t look up from the cash register where customers were beginning to form a line.

  Donna, however, did not hold back. “What are you thinking?” She waved her arms up in exasperation. “You want them to bulldoze the farm and what? Name the streets after the trees? Spruce Ave or Pine Lane? What about Shafer Way? Where will that street lead?”

  In desperation, Mark pointed out that there were customers present.

  “Don’t tell me about the customers.” She started. “Do you really care about them? Or your family? Or anyone but yourself?”

  “Donna, we can keep the craft barn open.” Mark offered weakly.

  “If you don’t care about the trees, or the people of Sutton, or your own Papa—think about your mother and father. Don’t their lives mean anything to you?”

  Again, Mark stood speechless. Several customers entered the farmhouse and approached the counter where Brett was waiting for them. Donna didn’t lower her voice.

  “Dreams require sacrifice, Mark, but you don’t abandon your family. What will the music mean to you if you give up all the wrong things?” She walked away and once out of sight, Mark heard her release a sob.

  What could he say? Was she right? Was he abandoning the family? Is that how she and Papa saw it? He stumbled into the chair by the fireplace and put his head in his hands.

  Mom and Dad had each other. Natalie wants no part of this farm. Papa will not live forever. And then what will I do?

  Hours later, Mark found Papa sitting on a stool by the trees. Wasn’t there time to explain the details of the sale and allow Papa to understand—or at least, not be as angry? The setting sun cast a warm glow over the trees, and Christmas carols played steadily from the lot speaker.

  Before Mark could reach him, Papa was off the stool and talking to customers. Mark watched him come to life as he talked about the trees. The customers looked spellbound too.

  “Christmas miracle ... Shafer trees,” Mark overheard a few of Papa’s energetic word
s. “Believe ...”

  Mark didn’t need to hear everything to figure out what Papa was doing. He was desperate

  wanted to save the farm, didn’t he?

  Did I push him to make things up about the trees?

  How can I go through with this?

  “There’s buried treasure, that’s why,” Papa said to a few young men. Mark strained to hear the rest.

  “My great-grandfather settled this land. We’ve been the only owners for over a hundred years. His treasure is buried on this farm, and the trees are special.”

  What is he saying now?

  Papa moved from one customer to the next, exuberant and animated, no doubt repeating the story of buried treasure. The customers showed varying degrees of interest. Mark couldn’t watch any more.

  He’s lost it. The sooner I sell this place, the better.

  Mark found Donna in the craft barn just after closing time. Her eyes were red, but dry. And by the way she greeted him, he could tell her rage had subsided, but not her distress.

  “Did you sell out of anything today?” He tried an easy question.

  “We’re out of Mrs. Shaw’s crafts. She’s in Oregon visiting her daughter and gave us all she had before she left. I don’t know where she found the time to do it and deal with that apartment fire. She’s a sweet woman.”

  “That reminds me. I forgot to mention that I invited some more friends to dinner on Christmas Day,” he said.

  “Why not? Better invite everyone you can. The last Christmas dinner here should be a big one, right?” she said, a bit cutting and not like Donna at all.

  “The farmhouse will still be here. It’s the trees—”

  “How many did you invite?”

  “What? Oh, three. Well, maybe two. Remember Angela from the news story? She and her daughter and maybe her mother.”

  “Do you mean the one who thought we’d given her money? She doesn’t like us, does she? When did you see her again?” Donna asked as she refilled jars with candy-cane pens.

  “I delivered a tree, a second one, to her. She’s moved to another apartment at Blackstone.” He paused. “And she was here Saturday for the hayride event.”