The Christmas Tree Keeper: A Novel Read online

  “Come on back, Mark,” Papa shouted. “There’s not much we can do tonight.”

  Mark walked over to Papa, who looked like he hadn’t even moved.

  “Of all the trees. These are the ones we planted after the fire,” Mark said.

  “I know. I remember.”

  “I’ve been the keeper of the trees for less than a month, and look at them.” Mark’s eyes stung with tears.

  “This is my doing.” Papa said. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I got carried away, told too many people about the treasure.” He hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “This mess here is a perfect example of why we look for the believers. We only tell the ones with the light in their eyes,” he explained wearily.

  Mark listened as he scanned the dark silhouettes of tree stumps and broken limbs. Ruined, so many of them. Years of work and growth, gone.

  Papa turned around to walk inside and said, “It doesn’t matter now, does it? This is nothing compared to what it will look like after you sell it.”

  The resignation in Papa’s voice hurt more than the devastation. “I don’t want to sell anymore,” Mark said.

  “What did you say?” Papa asked, turning back around.

  “I’m not going to sell,” he said as he looked Papa in the eye. “I’m going to make this right.”

  Papa didn’t speak for a moment.

  “Unless ... is it too late? Will it take too long to—?”

  “To replant? Doesn’t matter how long it takes. We did it after the fire and the trees have come back strong. We can do it again. But you have to want it, Mark.”

  “I do. I finally do.” Mark walked to the cabin door with Papa. “I’ll need your help, though. You said it yourself—I have a lot to learn.”

  “That you do.”

  “One more thing. Donna said something to me about the buried treasure. Is it true? Is there buried treasure on this land?”

  “Why else were those vandals out there? They had that backhoe for a reason. See how they tried to dig? Dumb criminals—ground is frozen. Probably wrecked my machinery.”

  “So where is the treasure?” Mark asked.

  “Don’t know exactly. I know where it isn’t. I have my theories, based on what my father told me.” Papa’s gaze wondered back over the south ridge of trees.

  “So you’ve never seen it? Donna said my dad found it.”

  “I don’t know ‘bout that. He liked looking for it, I can say that. He’d go around at night digging holes and filling them up by morning.” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him—I don’t have to see the treasure to know it’s there.”

  Papa looked at Mark, and after a long pause, he asked, “Did I hear you right? You said you’re not going to sell?”

  “You heard right.”

  Between the clean-up effort and the outpouring of love and sympathy from the community, Mark and Papa didn’t get much sleep. The temporary employees pitched in on the back lot. The weather cooperated and allowed them to clear many of the felled trees.

  Mark called his sister, Kate. She wasn’t planning on making the trip home, but when she learned of Donna’s passing, she said she’d find a flight.

  “If I can’t fly tomorrow, I’ll take the red-eye or something. Does it matter what time I get in?” she asked.

  “No. Of course not,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry, Mark. Will the funeral be next Monday?”

  “Can you stay that many days?” he asked. He heard a clicking sound on her end of the phone. “Are you typing?”

  “I’m checking flights, and I’m going to try to stay through the holiday and help you. If you want me to, that is. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Wow. If you could, that would be great,” he said.

  “Wednesday flight, arrives 6:20 p.m. in Providence. Will that work?”

  “Sure. I can be there. Thanks for coming.” He paused. “Hey, Kate, before you go. There’s something else I should tell you. And I’ve got a question that’s kind of unrelated to everything else.”

  “And you’re asking my opinion? Fire away.”

  “I asked Natalie to marry me a few days ago.”

  “Congratulations. Are you worried that if I come for the funeral, I won’t be able to come later for a wedding?”

  “No, uh, that’s not it. I may have asked her too soon. How do I call it off?” He paused. “What do I say?”

  “Well, I’m sure she could understand this is a difficult time,” she said.

  If that were the only reason. “It’s not that. I don’t think she loves me,” Mark admitted.

  Kate was quiet. “Sounds like a mess. I’ll have to meditate on that.”

  “Meditate? Okay. Thanks, see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 19

  Angela spent most of Tuesday unpacking boxes she’d filled with haste. The new apartment had that sparse, just-moved-in feel and there were only ten days until the holiday. Some things could stay packed, like the contents of the junk drawer. But it would be nice to have the essentials. A picture of Caroline from last summer, for starters, her CDS, and probably the can opener. No, definitely the can opener.

  She sifted through the box of kitchen gadgets, and on the bottom, under a stack of semi-used cookbooks, she found the electric can opener. One glance revealed two pieces that ought to have been one.

  Oh no, this won’t do for the dinners I make lately.

  She reached for it, fiddled with the broken piece and declared it unsalvageable.

  Figures. It was a wedding present, wasn’t it? Where will I find the money to buy another one? Oh wait, I’m not paying rent this month.

  Or the next.

  That thought spurred her on. She finished unpacking a few more boxes. By the time she was done she had a mental list of the presents she could buy for Caroline.

  Of course, there were things Caroline wanted that Angela couldn’t buy. Like the family dinner. With her mother. The one and only Mrs. Catherine Elliott. Could there be a harder mountain to move?

  I’ll do it for Caroline.

  Right after I organize my books.

  The bookcase sat against the wall next to the new Christmas tree in the spacious family room. Angela sat on the floor cross-legged, sorting books by the number of times she’d read them. If she’d read it more than three times, the book earned top shelf status. The half-read stack of books she relegated to the bottom shelf, but offered consoling words.

  “There, there, Don Quixote, I’ll join you and Sancho another day.”

  The un-read books earned the middle shelf. “I bought you so I will read you.” She muttered to the mismatched collection sporting titles like “The Marriage Cure” and “The Billionaire Down the Street.”

  She sat close to the branches of the tree, the pine scent wafted around her. She glanced at the tree once, then twice. Mark had carried it through the door, effortlessly if she remembered correctly.

  He stood right by that door and invited them to dinner.

  And Caroline asked if her grandma could come.

  Angela rubbed her temples. I need to make that call. If I wait any longer, she’ll use the short notice as reason not to come.

  She looked at the clock and grabbed her cell phone to make the call. She’d need to leave soon to pick up Caroline from school.

  “Hi, Mom. This is Angela.”

  “I know it’s you. How’s Caroline?”

  “She’s good. We both are. I have some news.” She didn’t pause for a reply. “I have a new job. I’m the interim manager at Blackstone Apartments. I start tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t know you had that kind of experience,” her mother said.

  Angela continued, “And as part of the compensation, we can stay in this two-bedroom apartment—for free.”

  The silence on the phone lasted long enough for Angela to wonder if the call had been dropped.

  “Well how did that
happen?” she asked.

  “It’s kind of a long story. I only have a few minutes before Caroline gets out of school.” Angela took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, I was wondering, and Caroline was too, if you can join us on Christmas Day for dinner.”

  This would mean she’d have to drive the 30 miles “all the way” to Sutton. And here Angela was, asking her to do it on Christmas.

  Is 30 miles too far? We are family, right?

  “Will you be cooking?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be eating with some friends,” Angela explained hesitantly. “Caroline has been begging me to call you. She really wants you to come.”

  “Well then, what time and what should I wear?” her voice perked up.

  “Um, wear whatever makes you comfortable. Can you be here by eleven?”

  “Okay, but isn’t that early for dinner?”

  “That will allow us some time for Caroline to give you a gift.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll see you at eleven. And this will be casual?”

  If she knows the dinner is at some tree farm, she won’t come.

  “Wear whatever makes you feel comfortable, Mom.”

  “It is Christmas Day. Your friends understand that, right?”

  “They certainly do,” she said. “We’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “Yes. And ...” her mother paused.

  Angela heard the school bell and watched the children walk out of the school.

  “Do you want me to come?”

  She almost didn’t hear the question, as she was straining to find Caroline in the sea of second-graders.

  “Yes, of course I do,” she answered. Did I think about it too long?

  “Good. I have an invitation for you too,” her mother said.

  “What?”

  Caroline opened the door and jumped into the truck. Angela waved to her.

  “Who are you talking to?” Caroline asked.

  Angela covered the phone and whispered “Grandma.”

  “Hi, Grandma,” Caroline yelled.

  “Sorry, Mom, what were you saying?” Angela shook her head at Caroline and put the truck in drive.

  I’ll have angry carpool moms honking their horns at me if I don’t move.

  “This Saturday night, I’d like to take you and Caroline to see The Nutcracker,” she stated more than she asked.

  “Wow. That would be nice.”

  “Good. I already have tickets. Does Caroline have a dress, or will I need to buy something new?”

  “She has one.” Angela hit the brakes, avoiding the bumper of the minivan in front of her.

  “So I’ll need to pick you up around six o’clock. Will that be a problem?”

  “Yes. I mean no. We’ll be looking forward to it.”

  Angela ended the call and navigated out of the school parking lot. Caroline was already asking what they were looking forward to.

  “Grandma is taking us to the ballet on Saturday.”

  Chapter 20

  Mark left several messages for John Jackson. It wasn’t like him to not return his calls. Of course, ever since Mark had agreed to sell, John had been hard to reach. Mark would have driven to the office to talk to him in person, but when he searched for his address, all he could find was a post office box.

  Even though the farm was technically closed for another day, they didn’t turn away customers who came for a tree. Some showed up who had travelled a good distance and didn’t check the website. Papa insisted on handling the transactions himself, and Mark allowed him to use the old cash box. It was either that or Papa was prepared to give the trees away.

  “The trees should be free in honor of Donna this week.”

  “We could do that,” Mark countered, “but there are other things we can do, ways that won’t result in chaos on the lot. Let’s rename the craft barn after her.”

  “I like that idea,” Papa said. “This place might be in good hands yet.”

  “I’ve got to leave to pick up Kate. Are you okay here with Brett?”

  “‘Course I am.”

  Mark turned back to where Papa was standing and hugged him.

  “What are you doing that for? Are you catching a plane while you’re at the airport?”

  “I’m just trying to say I love you.”

  “Go on now. I figured as much when you decided to keep the farm.”

  Before the forty-five-minute drive to the airport, Mark checked his phone for messages from John Jackson. None. Not that he expected business calls, but maybe condolences.

  I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?

  Kate was bundled up head to toe when she got off the plane. Mark could hardly recognize her.

  “Are you sleeping outside tonight or what?” he teased.

  “Look, it was sixty-five degrees when I left LA this morning. And I thought that was cold,” Kate said.

  “There’s food back at the house, but what do you like these days? Are you still lactose whatever, or vegan something?”

  “When you put it like that, maybe we should find a place to eat.”

  Mark stopped at a trendy restaurant before they left Providence that looked like it might serve what his sister considered food. As they walked to the door, he noticed a black Hummer.

  “Please tell me you aren’t going to trade in your Beamer for one of those,” Kate asked.

  “What? No. That just looks familiar,” he said.

  Could it be? What are the chances?

  The hostess led them to a table. Mark scanned the dining room, but the booths made it hard to see who was seated. Halfway to their table, down an aisle, he saw Natalie.

  Two more steps and he could see John Jackson sitting next to her. Enjoying his dinner.

  The hostess continued walking and Kate slowed, waiting for Mark.

  He’d stopped at the edge of their table. The words he had rehearsed to say to John left his mind. New ones formed, probably words he shouldn’t speak.

  Kate asked, “Are these friends of yours?”

  “Kate, I’d like you to meet John Jackson.” He motioned to him. “He’s the man who has been trying to get me to sell our farm. And this—this is Natalie. At least, I think that’s her name.” He shot Natalie a look, not a question, but a dismissal.

  Natalie sat up straighter in her seat and John slid his arm out from around her shoulders.

  “Mark.” Natalie began pulling the ring off her hand. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far. I had no idea you’d propose.” She sounded sincere, but mostly embarrassed.

  Mark looked from Natalie’s face to John’s. “You almost did it, John. You almost had me. Was she going to hang on until the deal closed, or maybe wait a little longer to break up and make it look good?” He noticed the couple next to them staring, but he didn’t stop talking. “Looks like I’m going to make this easy for you, Natalie. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not selling any part of my land.”

  John wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Don’t be rash, Mark. You’re making a mistake.”

  “No, no, I’m not.”

  “We had our own agreement,” John said. “You’ll need to repay the money I just gave you.”

  “Yeah. See that ring on your girlfriend’s hand? It’s all yours. You two are made for each other. Let’s go, Kate.”

  Mark left the restaurant in easy but long strides. As soon as they were out of the restaurant and in the cold air, Kate caught up to him. “Mark, wait. Is she your fiancée?”

  “Was. She was my fiancée.”

  “I’m sorry, Mark.”

  “Saves me the trouble of calling it off.” He squared his shoulders and willed it to be true. He wouldn’t be sorry.

  “But did you like her?” Kate asked, shivering.

  “I liked what I thought she was. Turns out she was a fake.”

  And I almost fell for it. Almost.

  “Did you see, what was his name—John? Did you see his face? I think you shut him down.”

  Mark opened the car do
or for Kate and nodded, the slightest smile escaped his lips.

  “Still, Mark, I’m so sorry you had to run into her like that.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. At least I didn’t sell.”

  Mark reopened the farm on Friday. He and Papa walked the lot of snow-dusted trees, much like they had dozens of times before. Mark’s steps were the same but now his heart was open, maybe for the first time. He looked at each tree like an individual, its size and shape distinct from the next.

  Papa slowed and turned to Mark. His features softened as he nodded.

  “You did right.” He uttered the three quick—but warm—syllables in the chill, morning air.

  Gone were the plans with Natalie. Gone were the worries over selling and Papa and buying the house on Hickory. And he never felt better. Now he looked at the trees with interest.

  Will this one go to a home with children?

  Will this one brighten someone’s holiday, maybe someone having a hard time?

  As they returned to the farmhouse, Brett was waiting for them with two trees loaded into one of the work trucks.

  “There are two families from the fire that have moved into new apartments now,” he explained.

  “Great,” Mark said. “I’ll make a call and find out when I can deliver them.”

  “You delivered the last one,” Brett said. “I don’t mind going if you’re busy.”

  “I’ll make the time. Thanks, Brett.” Was it obvious that he had another reason to go? And so what if it was? He found the number for the Blackstone Apartments.

  “Hello, can I talk to Mr. Buckley?”

  “He is no longer with the company,” a woman answered. “May I help you?”

  “Angela? This is Mark Shafer. I’m calling from the—”

  “Hi, Mark,” she said.

  “So, Mr. Buckley is gone?”

  “Yes. I’m—filling in for a little while. They’re calling it ‘interim’ manager.”

  “Wow, congratulations,” he said. “Hey, it was great to see you at the farm last week.”

  “Caroline and I had a nice time. Did you need something?”

  “Oh, right. I have two more trees for the other families that have moved back in. If I come by today or tomorrow to drop them off, would that be okay?”