The Tree Keeper's Promise: A Novel (A Shafer Farm Romance Book 2) Page 19

  She knew he was asking about logistics and being considerate of what they had planned. And she knew that Caroline was only thinking of being able to make that poor little tree look beautiful, but she thought about Mark’s earlier invitation of moving in and Caroline’s love of the farm and the trees. What was she worried about?

  “We may only need one tree after all this year.” She said it to Mark, but Caroline quickly caught on to her meaning.

  “Do you mean it? One tree for the farmhouse?” she asked.

  “We’ll stay there until Papa and Dorothy get back. Mark will be in the cabin. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds awesome!” Caroline said.

  “It’s not too late if you want to pick out a better tree, one that wasn’t hit as hard.”

  “Mom, it’s like what you tell me to do at school. Choose my friends and then be a friend.” She walked up closer to the tree and touched a bare spot on the trunk, then ran her hand along one of the branches. “I chose this tree, and now I want to be its friend.”

  For as cold as it had been as they’d trekked through the trees, the farmhouse was every bit as warm. Mark had started a fire, and they’d made hot chocolate, and when Angela told Mark they liked to listen to Christmas music as they decorated, he queued up a playlist in the studio. Though the dining room was between them and the dance floor, the sound carried and filled the house with a festive air. Just what they needed.

  Angela and Caroline had gone home to pack and bring over enough clothes for a few weeks. Angela also grabbed her one box of tree decorations, thinking it was slightly ironic that she was bringing even that much to help decorate their tree. Surely between the inventory at the barn and what Dorothy had already set aside for the farm tree, there was more than could fit on what branches were left on this tree.

  This felt like more than a decorating project. Mark and Angela were sharing this tree, creating a new family, creating a new tradition. So, yes, they needed her musical ornaments and Caroline’s baby-picture ones.

  Caroline had asked—no, begged—to bring the village houses. Though Angela wasn’t sure how Mark would feel about their growing makeshift town of Bethlehem taking over a good portion of the living room, her daughter’s pleading convinced her.

  Angela settled into the sofa while Mark and Caroline worked around the tree. She handed out the ornaments and beads and the popcorn strings Dorothy had made. Mark kept up with Caroline’s excitement over every piece and finding “just the right spot” on the tree.

  As they finished, Mark centered the angel on top and then went and turned down the room lights. He disappeared into the studio, and soon a new track of “O Tannenbaum” began to play.

  “If Papa were here, he’d sing this for us,” Mark said when he returned.

  “Mom, now that the tree is up, do you think we’ll have a wedding before Christmas?” Caroline asked with wide eyes.

  “Hold on a second. Papa and Dorothy are married, and Mark and I are engaged. I think that settles it.”

  “But Papa was talking about your wedding.”

  Angela asked Mark for a little help.

  “Papa likes to have fun,” Mark said. “This is the busiest month of the year here. How about we set up your village now?”

  She agreed, and they each took pieces and began arranging them under the tree.

  “Papa will be glad to see this,” Mark said. “When he was boy, he was in charge of setting up the village every year. Donna would decorate our tree, but we haven’t had anyone to do the village.”

  After the toy shop and church were positioned, as well as the ice cream parlor and blacksmith shop, Caroline put some of the white batting in place around her mirror. She had collected small pebbles—from where, Angela didn’t know—and made a cobblestone road to the church.

  “We’re calling this Bethlehem, Mark,” Caroline said. “Our very own.”

  “I’ve told her it didn’t snow there,” Angela said lightly.

  Mark nodded. “I like it.”

  “What about our nativity?” Caroline asked. “Have you showed it to Mark? How about we put it in the village? That would help it.”

  Angela loved the idea. So what if the scale were off and if the houses were ceramic and the nativity was made of carved wood? All the better. But they were quickly running out of space if they were going to keep it out of the way of customer foot traffic.

  “What about the fireplace mantel? That might be safer.”

  “Not up there. Can I move the bakery and schoolhouse? Please, Mom?”

  As Caroline asked, Mark lifted pieces out of the velvet lined box and handed them to her. She eagerly began telling Mark what Angela had told her about each piece. The very things that she learned last year—what Florinda had taught Angela.

  “Have a pure heart like Mary,” Caroline repeated. “And this lamb—Jesus knows all the names of his lambs and He finds the lost ones.”

  Okay, they weren’t Florinda’s exact words, but close.

  “Do we have room for all of them?” Caroline asked.

  “Of course. We’ll make the room,” Mark said. He handed her the Wise Men and the animals.

  Mark’s words triggered another memory of Florinda.

  They were in Angela’s childhood home, standing by the door as Florinda was leaving. Florinda scanned the house and asked Angela where she would put up the new nativity set she’d given her. Angela remembered looking around. Her mother’s things filled the space. Vases and statues and pictures. Crystal clocks and fancy dishes. Elegant pieces of art. “I don’t know. I’ll ask my mom,” Angela had told her.

  Florinda became quite serious. “You must make room, my Angela. Not only here”—she made a sweeping motion with her hand—“but here,” then placed her hand over her heart. “This is how we show love, my little lamb, we make room here.”

  Angela focused on Caroline. She was setting up the last piece of their nativity under the freshly cut and decorated tree she’d chosen, the one she insisted they keep. Mark was sitting on the floor next to her, fine-tuning the arrangement.

  We’ll make room.

  “Here, Mark.” Caroline had taken a piece from the nativity. “You need something for the cabin. Take this lamb.” With that, she gave him a quick hug and ran down the hall to bed. She and Angela would share the master bedroom until they could fix up the smaller room with a twin bed.

  Mark and Angela lingered by the side door. He gently moved her dark curls over her shoulder and pulled her close for a hug. He kissed her cheek and said good night.

  “That’s it?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  “I’m pretty sure she’s still awake,” Mark said. “She’s probably peeking at us right now.”

  “No, I’m not,” Caroline called from the room.

  They both laughed. “How she can hear us, I’ll never know,” Angela said.

  After Mark left, Angela cleaned up some of the packaging and boxes. It was just her and the tree and some music.

  Sweet tones of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” drifted to where Angela sat by the fire, a clear view of the angel-topped tree and the very first “Shafer-Bethlehem” town below.

  “How still we see thee lie.”

  The memorable words cheered her. As the third verse played, she listened more closely to words that were not as familiar to her.

  How silently, how silently,

  The wondrous Gift is giv’n!

  So God imparts to human hearts

  The blessings of His heaven.

  No ear may hear His coming,

  But in this world of sin,

  Where meek souls will receive Him still,

  The dear Christ enters in.

  Angela’s heart swelled. Florinda’s words “We make room here” returned, and then Mark’s: “We’ll make the room.”

  She had simply wanted to surprise her daughter with a new tradition for their family. Maybe she should have known Caroline would want an entire village. But she couldn’t have
known that assembling a hodgepodge of ceramic houses to recreate their own little Bethlehem would make room in her heart for belonging, room for love. And room for Mark.

  Chapter 22

  Mark strolled to the cabin, moving the still night air around him and crunching the pine needles underfoot. He replayed saying good-bye to Angela and the cute look on her face after he kissed her cheek.

  “That’s it?” she’d asked. What he wouldn’t give to hold her a little tighter, kiss her a little longer. March could not come soon enough.

  He turned on the light in his bedroom and set the lamb Caroline had given him on the dresser. She had been so excited to give it to him. Excited to decorate and set up a village. It was a year ago that he’d met Angela and Caroline for the first time, and yet it felt like he’d known them much longer. It felt like they had been part of the farm forever and that they belonged together.

  He picked up his guitar and sang as he played. Angela’s song.

  Maybe this can be her Christmas gift.

  With customers at the farm and Papa in Oregon, Mark hadn’t had much time to follow up with the Historical Society. When Mrs. Simmons called to tell him she had something for the farm, he didn’t hesitate to go see her.

  It was late afternoon when he returned to the farmhouse. Brett was helping customers, Angela was with Caroline in the farmhouse, and one of their seasonal employees was helping in Donna’s barn. Mark immediately began moving things behind the cash register—a printer, a letter tray, a decorative basket with gold pinecones. Then he pounded a nail into the wall and called for Angela and Caroline to come see what he was doing.

  “What’s all this?” Angela asked.

  “A little something for the farm.”

  He held up an oval, bronze plaque with the inscription “The Shafer Farm, 1881. This property has been placed on the National Register of Historic Places by the United States Department of the Interior.”

  “Congratulations! That’s great news!” Angela said and gave him a hug.

  Before Caroline could say anything, some customers came through the front door of the farmhouse.

  They turned to greet them. Mark’s jaw dropped. John Jackson stood there with his arm around ...

  “Ashley?” Angela exclaimed. “How—why ... I mean, what are you doing here?”

  “John and I had a late lunch.” She glanced at him with a smirk. “We thought we’d come say hi. John says he’s been trying to reach Mark.”

  “That’s right. Wanted to check on the tree for the Auburn mall. Did that work out?”

  Mark nodded and chose his words carefully. “We delivered a thirty-foot noble fir to them last week. They were very happy.”

  “Great. Glad to hear it.”

  Mark was actually about to thank John for the business, but John continued.

  “I’m telling you, Mark, I’m on your side. I hate to see someone as hardworking as you lose this place to the Department of Transportation. What do you say we sit down this week and work out the details? I have a respectable deal to offer you.”

  He and Ashley moved closer to the cash register.

  Respectable? Did he just say that?

  Mark uncrossed his arms and pointed nonchalantly to the plaque. “Take a look, John. Actually, take one long, last look. We’re on the list. The list. This plaque means that MassDOT will revise their plans. And so long as I’m alive, it means no one else will own this farm. It will be here for a very, very long time.” He remained leaning with his side against the wall and crossed his arms back over his chest.

  “How did you pull it off? That’s amazing. I know people who’ve waited years and were denied.” John turned on his heel and surveyed the room. He looked at Mark one last time. “This one got away from me, but I gotta say I’m glad to see it in your hands. I have a lot of respect for you, Mark. You’re a rare breed. I don’t know—it’s like you have some kind of connection to these trees,” he said. He turned to Ashley. “I’ve got a client at four thirty. We better go,” he said and they prepared to leave.

  Mark watched him, allowing a sense of satisfaction to settle over him. He could be rid of John Jackson. But before he reached the door, Mark had a thought. He could let him leave and be done with him for good. Or ...

  “Hey, John,” he said casually. John turned around. “If you’re ever in town and need a tree, you know where to come.”

  Chapter 23

  Angela set the phone down and scanned the living room, not looking at anything directly. Caroline was in Donna’s barn, and she was planning to go over and help there soon. But this call from her mother was unexpected.

  Though Angela knew the flight had arrived earlier that morning, she also knew her mother would be spending the next several days recuperating from jet lag.

  To hear that she was on her way to the farm and that she had something very important that couldn’t wait left Angela with a fair amount of dread.

  “How important?” Angela had asked.

  “What kind of a question is that? I’m so tired. I can’t explain it all to you, but it’s very, very important.”

  “Can it wait until you’ve slept for a day or two? I don’t mind. It’s been a long day, and I know how you feel about driving all the way to Sutton on a regular day, never mind the same day you’ve crossed the Atlantic,” Angela said with growing concern over what kind of gift she could have possibly brought home.

  “It cannot wait,” Cathy said with that characteristic tone that left no room for argument.

  Angela waited for an explanation. A hint. Something. What could it be?

  “So it’s perishable?” Angela asked.

  “You could say that,” Cathy said.

  “Like the cereus of gifts? Blooms one night a year and if I miss it it’s over?”

  “Close, but not quite,” Cathy said. “I’m not giving you any more information. Only that I’ll be at the farm by three and trust that you’ll be there, and Caroline.”

  “And Mark. I’m guessing you don’t want him to miss this?”

  “Most definitely Mark.”

  Right.

  As Angela replayed the conversation, she scrutinized her mother’s voice, intonation—anything that would give it away. And she still had no clue.

  She found Mark on the sales lot and repeated it all to him, exasperated.

  “I know it’s one of the busiest days of the year for you. If there were anything I could do to put her off, I would. I think she might be bringing me a new truck, but I’m sure she didn’t buy that in Europe. And it’s not exactly perishable.”

  “You don’t need to put her off,” Mark said. “I have an idea of what she’s bringing you.”

  “You do? What?”

  “Think about it. She’s bringing it to the farm,” Mark said.

  “So.”

  “It has to be a tree, probably one from France or Germany. Where else did she go?”

  “A tree? We have enough of those. And it’s December. How would we plant it?”

  “We can keep it in the greenhouse until spring. Remember, she’s doing this for you, maybe for us. No matter what it is, let’s just go with it.”

  He’s right, she thought. He’s always right about her.

  “Go with it, huh?” she muttered.

  “Okay?” Mark pressed.

  “Fine,” Angela answered.

  Angela and Caroline walked from the barn to the farmhouse, bracing themselves against the blustery weather. While the latest storm had not lived up to snowfall predictions, it made up for it with wind and cold temperatures. This did not keep Caroline from bubbling over with excitement to see her grandmother. Angela wasn’t sure she wanted to tell her that Grandma Cathy was coming with a gift. Especially without knowing it’s nature.

  Unless Mark was right, as he usually was.

  “Grandma may have a surprise for us.”

  “Of course she will,” Caroline stated.

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s her way,
” Caroline said. “Most of the time you don’t know what she thinks of you, but then bam!—she gives you something you love and you wonder how she even does it.”

  Out of the mouths of babes.

  “Maybe she went and got you a ring,” Caroline said.

  “She better not have.” Angela’s stomach churned at the thought. That would not go over well with Mark, or her, for that matter. “Mark thinks it’s a tree, probably a very special one. So let’s be excited about it, whatever it is.”

  The door opened and in walked a tired-looking Cathy. Beside her walked a woman, short in stature, her dark hair pulled to a bun at the back of her neck with gray strands at the edges of her temples. She wore a long winter coat and red leather boots. When she saw Angela—the woman’s eyes widened, a smile broke out, and her little legs flew toward her.

  “My Angela! Meu cordeirinho,” she said in the same accented voice Angela remembered.

  “Florinda?” Angela’s voice cracked.

  As they embraced, Angela looked for her mother. Cathy was watching this unfold with glossy eyes. Angela shook her head in utter disbelief.

  “You’re not a tree,” Caroline said. Only Mark and Angela laughed. Everyone else looked on.

  “This must be your daughter?” Florinda said. “She has your likeness when you were a girl.”

  “And this is Mark, my mom’s fiancé,” Caroline said.

  “How very nice to meet you, Mark. May I?” Florinda gestured toward a chair by the fireplace before sitting. “It is this reason I come now.” Her face shone with a bright smile, though it did show some travel weariness.

  “For the holiday?” Angela asked.

  “No, I must return to Portugal before Christmas.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I come for you and for your Mark.” She reached for Angela’s hands. “Your mother say you are getting married. Yes, yes? I come for your wedding. Then I can go back.”