The Tree Keeper's Promise: A Novel (A Shafer Farm Romance Book 2) Read online

  Or as she’d soon be called, Mrs. Shafer.

  Mrs. Shafer.

  The name struck Angela with a bit of force, followed by an unexpected longing.

  Angela pushed it aside. She was here to think about Papa and Dorothy, not herself, even if Dorothy were officially joining the Shafer family before she was. She would be happy for her and Papa.

  They sat on the front pew next to Caroline, who was smoothing her dress over her knees. She’d come with Dorothy at her insistence: “For company, so I don’t lose my wits altogether today.”

  Angela settled into the bench, noticing the carved wood of the pulpit and the height of the organ pipes. There was a smell of new carpet and old wood. The autumn morning sun sent a yellow hue streaming through the stained-glass windows.

  The center window depicted Jesus with Martha and Mary. Angela knew that much. And maybe if she thought about it long enough, that Jesus had said, “Mary had chosen that good part,” but the wedding was about to begin.

  Mark leaned forward and winked at Caroline, then sat up straight against the bench.

  Angela’s heart softened at the sight of him, always so thoughtful of Caroline.

  They watched and listened and cried. Well, Angela cried. She wasn’t sure about anyone else. She waited until Papa and the new Mrs. Shafer were out of the chapel before she turned to Mark. “I’m sorry for ever suggesting we wait four seasons.” She said it as directly to Mark as she could so that Caroline would not overhear.

  A slow and mischievous smile spread across Mark’s face. “So what you’re saying is before we leave here today, we should talk to the pastor and reserve the church?”

  “No, there’s no need to do that.” Angela held eye contact. “There is only one place we should say our vows, you and I.” She paused. “Do you think that little tree farm, the one with the miracle trees, do you think it’s booked next March?”

  Mark’s eyes widened. He stopped in the aisle and hugged her. Then he lifted her up and spun her around before returning her to her feet.

  Chapter 20

  From the moment they left the church after Papa’s wedding, Mark had been hard at work getting the farm and the trees ready for opening weekend. The day after Thanksgiving always came quick, but with the flood cleanup this year, it felt like it had come that much earlier. Four weeks had hardly been enough. He and Brett and their seasonal employees spent hours on grading the land, leveling the places that had been altered by the flood. The sales lot was finally walkable, but the inventory of saleable trees was low. Yet Mark felt at peace. On his morning walks among the trees, peace had filled his heart more than once. These were walks he’d taken alone, without Papa.

  It shouldn’t have surprised Mark, but Papa had told him not to expect to see him in the mornings. He’d even quoted Deuteronomy. Something about a man with a new wife not going out to war or being charged with any business, but instead being free to be at home one year.

  “One year?” Mark had challenged, though the idea did sound tempting.

  Papa had laughed. “We’ll settle for two weeks.”

  The last customers left the tree lot. Brett closed out the register. Mrs. Shaw, Dorothy, was still in the craft barn with Angela and Caroline. Mark hadn’t seen Papa for a while. Usually he stayed on the lot till closing, but not tonight. Mark searched for him inside. He approached the back office and found Papa sitting at the desk, writing.

  “There you are. I didn’t see you come in. Can I help you?”

  “No,” Papa said and continued writing.

  Mark crossed the room, pretending to search for something in the filing cabinet. He could come right out and ask Papa what he was doing, but he waited. It might be better if Papa volunteered the information.

  “How’d we do tonight?” Papa asked without looking up.

  “We moved about half of the front lot of trees. That’s about what we do every year this time, maybe a little better,” Mark said. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep,” Papa said.

  Mark exhaled.

  “But what you’re trying to ask is ‘What the dickens am I doing at your desk,’ right?”

  “Right.” Mark laughed.

  “Leaving you my address.”

  “Address?”

  “Dorothy’s daughter’s address. She and I leave for Oregon tomorrow.”

  “A trip now? Before Christmas?”

  “We are still newlyweds. Better now than during Christmas, don’t you think?” Papa said with a wink. He pushed back from the desk and stood. “You’ve got things well under control around here. Besides, it’s better for you and the trees if I’m not around for a while.”

  “But this is the busiest time of year.” Mark sat down in the chair opposite. It wasn’t just the customers and the holiday. It was Papa. For all the training and the keeper’s promise, he’d never looked forward to the day when he would work the farm without him. Especially not for a strangely-timed honeymoon.

  “Dorothy’s daughter is having her baby any day now. Can’t argue with the grandchild’s arrival plans.”

  Ah. Mark had heard Mrs.—Dorothy talk about the baby. She’d even mentioned visiting after she was born. That was before she and Papa married, and Mark hadn’t paid very good attention to when that was happening. Apparently it was happening now.

  Papa walked out of the office and Mark followed.

  Brett waved good night and left as Angela, Caroline, and Dorothy were coming through the side door. A flurry of snow came in with them.

  “I’ll be much warmer than this soon,” Dorothy said, fussing with the scarf around her neck.

  “Do you know when you’ll be coming back? Will you be here for Christmas?” Mark asked. Why did he feel anxious about this?

  Papa stopped midstride and turned to look at Mark. Dorothy had heard the question.

  A moment of unusual tension filled the room.

  Mark looked to Papa and then to Dorothy. And then to Angela, who was already shaking her head in a subtle but furious way.

  “This is my Mandy’s fourth baby, Mark. She’s going to need all the help I can give her.”

  Mark didn’t say anything else. Papa and Dorothy retreated to the master bedroom. Something Mark was not at all used to. He went and sat in the chair near the fireplace and could hear Caroline asking Angela about what just happened.

  He sat thinking of Christmas at the farm without Papa and how it didn’t feel right. Or maybe he didn’t want it to feel right.

  Caroline interrupted his deliberations.

  “Mark, my mom says a sleepover on Christmas Eve is out of the question.” She came and sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. “But we can come on Christmas Day, right?”

  “Caroline, we’ll come for dinner, like we did last year,” Angela said.

  Mark had an idea. “Caroline, maybe if Papa and Dorothy don’t come back for the holiday, you and your mom can stay here and I’ll stay in the cabin. How about that?” He looked to Angela expecting approval, feeling like he’d found a way for Caroline to have her Christmas wish.

  Only, Angela’s eyes were stern, and she folded her arms across her chest.

  “That’s a great idea. Can we, Mom? Can we?” Caroline hopped up from the floor and ran and pulled her mom closer into the sitting area by the fireplace.

  Mark smiled, recognizing that reluctant attitude, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist the offer for long.

  Angela looked at Caroline. “Looks like you might get your Christmas wish after all, young lady.” She hugged her, and as they separated, Angela asked, “What is it about being here on Christmas Day?”

  “There won’t be anyone here but us, right, Mark?” Caroline asked.

  “Right,” Mark answered.

  “I thought if no one were around, you wouldn’t mind if I pretended to be keeper for the day. You know, keeper of the trees.”

  Keeper for the day. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? A day for kids to act as keeper and learn about the trees.
Mark decided to offer it on Saturdays with the hot dog and hayride event. With Papa out of town, Brett agreed to give the hayrides so Mark could run the first group of “keepers-in-training.” If there was a good response, they could develop this program throughout the year. A way to reach out to the community.

  One step at a time.

  Brett brought the mail to Mark, who was in the back office taking care of a few business items before the day’s activities began.

  “You may want to take a look at this.” He handed him a letter. Mark could see it was from the Department of Transportation.

  “Speeding tickets?” Brett asked.

  “I wish that’s all it was,” Mark answered. He held the envelope, thinking of the children who would be coming to the farm today, not wanting to have this weighing on his mind.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Mark tore into it, then scanned the first few lines. His heart sank.

  “After extensive research and planning ... property has been identified ... facilitate the expansion of Route 146.”

  There was more information about a community information meeting, but he folded the paper and put it in the desk drawer.

  “Was it something I said?” Brett asked.

  No sense in keeping it a secret. “MassDOT did a futures study. When they expand 146, they want to build a new ramp and a frontage road.”

  “And why the letter to you?”

  “They want to put the frontage road through the south lot of trees.”

  “Can they do that?” Brett asked.

  Mark stood up from the desk, thinking of the families arriving at the farm as they spoke. “Usually property owners don’t have a choice in the matter.” He handed the letter back to Brett. “But I intend to change that.”

  Chapter 21

  Helping Dorothy with the crafts and the barn was how Angela imagined spending December, not running the entire place by herself. But with Dorothy across the country in Oregon, that was exactly what she was in for.

  “Would you do that for me? Keep the shelves stocked, and straight too, after the little ones come through? It would mean so much to me,” Dorothy had asked.

  It seemed like the least she could do.

  “There’s not much to it,” she’d said.

  Not much to it. Until the Putnam Bed-and-Breakfast ordered ten handmade pine wreaths—nine small ones for each of their windows and one large one for their door. And seventy-five custom-cut wood ornaments.

  In between cutting wire for the wreaths and tying red ribbons onto each wood snowflake, Angela helped customers. It only took a few minutes to ring up their orders, but she soon learned that the customers liked to visit. Some were new to the area, some were getting a real tree for the first time, and some had been coming to the farm for over thirty years.

  One such customer, Ilene, set down her items, reached over the counter, and greeted Angela with a two-armed hug. “I heard about you and Mark. We couldn’t be more thrilled. Welcome to the neighborhood.” The woman turned before she left, and added, “His mom and dad would be so happy. We’re all happy for you both.”

  After Ilene left the barn, Angela picked up a wooden snowflake, tied another ribbon to it, and thought about the extended farm family Mark often talked about. She remembered her parent’s friends, mostly political friends, and how they would try to get close to her and their family.

  But this felt different. In fact, it might take some getting used to—people treating her like they’d known her as long as they’d known Mark. Treating her with a two-armed-hug kind of love.

  Caroline burst through the doors and ran to where Angela was working on a wreath.

  “Mom. Do you get to take a break? You have to come see what we’ve been doing,” she said, a bit breathless.

  “There’s someone coming in an hour. Can you give me a hint?”

  “Mice. Did you know mice can be a problem for the trees, even in the winter?” She picked up a pine branch and waved it emphatically as she talked. “We—the kids who came today to be “keepers”—we helped Mark put this mesh stuff around some of the trees.”

  Angela nodded, noticing Caroline’s rosy cheeks and happy eyes.

  “That was more than a hint. But you still need to come see. And you know what else he’s been teaching us? Did you know if you take the bark off a tree it could die? I remember reading about it in science last year, but I get it now. Mark explained how the trees need nutrients and grow from the roots to the leaves. The leaves turn the nutrients into sugar, or something like it, and send it back to the roots. If you take off the bark—see, it protects the living part of the tree—it will stop the system.”

  “So you like being a keeper for the day?”

  “Yes.” She gave Angela a hug and said, “I could be the keeper every day!” She ran between the craft shelves, yelling, “And Mark says we can get our trees in a few days. Maybe sooner if it means that much to me. Those were his words, not mine.”

  With that, she was out the door.

  When Angela and Caroline arrived at the farm, the cloudless sky showed off the white-blue winter sunrise. Temperatures had dropped ten degrees below the average, but they held out hope that it would get above freezing. Caroline wore an extra layer of clothes and her favorite scarf. Angela wore her wool socks and warmest boots. She could handle most anything about the cold, unless it got to her feet. As long as her toes stayed warm, she was fine.

  Mark was sitting on the porch waiting for them as they pulled in. She could see him slightly reclined, his arm draped around the empty chair beside him. He wore a hat she was sure Dorothy had knitted.

  She felt that swirl in her stomach, and the corners of her mouth turned up. She wasn’t sure what warmed her heart more—seeing him there or picturing herself sitting next to him. In the summer they could enjoy the late evening breeze after a humid day. In the fall they could watch Caroline jump in a pile of leaves. In the winter they could come to the porch for some star-gazing on a clear night. In the spring they could rest after a long day of planting. Every season, Angela realized. She could picture herself with Mark in every season.

  How did that happen?

  They hiked to the lots of six- and seven-year old trees—the Scotch pines Mark had showed them in September. Caroline was even more bouncy than she had been on that day, if it were possible. Angela would have thought the cold might have subdued her energy, but, no, she ran ahead of them, stopping at every third or fourth tree before moving on.

  “I think she’s waited for this day all year,” Angela said to Mark.

  “Maybe I have too,” he said as he took her hand.

  “What, cutting down another tree? That’s not anything new, is it?”

  They walked another step or two before Mark responded.

  “Maybe putting one up.”

  “That hasn’t lost its excitement?”

  “Just the opposite. I’m more excited this year about the tree than I’ve ever been,” Mark said, then he called to Caroline. “This way. Over here.” They turned to the right, down another row of trees.

  “Why is that?” Angela asked.

  “I have an idea. How about you and Caroline move over to the farmhouse now? No reason to wait until the holiday.”

  “Where will you be?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I’ll stay in the cabin. I feel the same way you do about Caroline, about us. Cold as the cabin is, I’ll stay there and keep my distance.” He exuded self-control as he said it. A frustratingly attractive kind of self-control.

  “When will Papa and Dorothy come back?”

  “Not for several more weeks.”

  Angela knew from what Dorothy had told her that they might not even be back for Christmas.

  “I’ll think about it,” Angela said, knowing Caroline would love it. But that was also the reason for her reservations. Whenever Papa and Dorothy returned, they’d need to move back out, and March was still three months away.

  The path underfoot bec
ame harder, rockier. The ground had frozen rivulets in it. The trees—she looked at the lower branches and caught her breath. So many of them were damaged or gone.

  “Mark, I hadn’t realized.”

  “These two rows had it the worst,” he said.

  They approached Caroline standing by the next row of trees. It appeared her extra energy had subsided. This section of trees fared somewhat better than the other rows they passed, but the trees still showed scars where the water had ripped through them.

  “This is our tree. See the polka-dot ribbon?” She said it calmly, seeming a bit sad.

  “Caroline, I’m so sorry,” Angela said. So many of the branches were mangled and broken.

  “It’s all right. Lights and ornaments will help.”

  “Where is the other tree you chose?”

  They looked for the sunflower. Caroline walked right to it. “This is the one for your house, Mark.”

  Angela could see right away this one had the most damage of the two. Its top branches looked wind-whipped. “Why don’t we pick out another tree for the farmhouse? This one looks so battered. And we need one to look good for the customers.” Angela looked to Mark for confirmation, only he was looking at Caroline, not at any of the trees.

  “But this is the tree. This is the one. You still like it, right, Mark?” Caroline wiped at her eyes with the back of her mittened hand.

  Mark motioned to Angela with his eyebrows before he spoke again. “If this tree is good enough for you, Caroline, it’s good enough for the farm. And just fine with me.”

  “Can we put it up tonight?” she asked.

  Though they hadn’t planned to, Angela looked at Mark, who nodded. Neither of them was a match for Caroline’s sadness.

  “That’s fine with me,” Mark said to Caroline, then, more to Angela, he said, “I know we were going to cut your tree and get it over to your house today. I was going to come back for the farmhouse tree. But if you’re okay with putting this one up tonight, I can bring your tree over in a day or two.”