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

  Mark strained at the trees. They were seedlings and had fared well. They were growing, no doubt about it. But what did Papa mean? One minute Mark felt like he knew all he needed to know and that he could understand what Papa was talking about. And then there were moments like this one where clearly he was missing something.

  Mark remembered what Papa had said the day before. “All this time we’ve spent together and you’ve never said anything to me about love matches,” Mark said.

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Papa didn’t answer right away. “I don’t recall you asking.”

  “Caroline didn’t ask either. Are you sure you weren’t making it up for her sake?”

  Papa straightened his back and shook his head.

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t have to make things up when it comes to the trees.”

  Mark exhaled in frustration. “What else haven’t you told me? I mean, I hear something like this and I wonder.”

  Papa remained quiet.

  “I mean it, Papa.”

  “I can tell,” Papa said.

  “I need to know everything there is to know about the trees,” Mark said. “No, I want to know everything about the trees.” Mark stopped walking and held his hands out for emphasis.

  “Well, it sounds like we can begin.” Papa put his hands on his hips and took a step back from the row of trees.

  “Begin?” Mark couldn’t contain his exasperation. “Begin what?”

  “Keeper training.”

  “How is that any different than what we’ve been doing all year? What have you been teaching me?”

  “Ah, textbook stuff. Basics.”

  “And keeper training is more than that?” Mark shook his head.

  Papa chuckled a soft, easy laugh. “You could say that. And you can’t go finding it in a book.”

  Mark started walking again. He watched Papa keep pace and felt the funniest twinge in his stomach.

  “Then I’m ready—as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Good.” Papa stopped at a tree, stood squarely in front of it, then stretched out one arm to meet a long branch. “The first thing you gotta keep in your mind at all times here on the lot, up there in the house, by yourself, or with customers ...” Papa paused.

  “I’m listening ... by myself or with customers.” Mark nodded to show he was paying attention.

  “The first thing to remember is love. It begins and ends with love here. The trees, the land, the house, the people. None of it would be ours if it weren’t for love. The only way for the trees to keep growing is to make sure they are getting all the love they need.”

  The silence that followed was punctuated by a gust of wind.

  Papa continued. “Love is growth. You know? Love creates. Love builds. Love gives life. If you let yourself think about it, you’ll start to see what I mean.”

  “Okay, got it,” Mark stated. He scanned the trees. “Love.” That one word sobered him, caused him to square his shoulders. It was something he’d already been thinking about, playing a kind of mental tug-of-war with what it was—what it wasn’t. And whether he loved someone in particular.

  “Looks like you’re wearin’ a question on your face,” Papa said. “Best to ask it now, before it hides behind your pride.”

  “How do you know if it’s love?” The question clearly related to Mark’s thoughts about Angela, not the trees. But Papa didn’t seem to notice.

  “You’ll be there for them. You’ll want to be there for them.”

  “Is it the same for people?” Mark ventured.

  Papa smiled. “People are trickier. But I’d say they begin and end with love too. At least the lucky ones do.”

  Mark left Papa by the front lot of trees and walked casually around the farmhouse. On their next outing, Papa said they’d talk about timing—not planting schedules but how the trees would help him know when to make changes.

  All this time and still more to learn.

  Much like Papa, the farmhouse was starting to show its age but was still as strong and sturdy as ever. Mark passed the porch rails and noted they were in need of a new coat of paint. The roof shingles were looking weathered. He could take care of those things now that the room he’d added was almost done. He rounded the west side of the house and inspected the new wall. It had changed the angle of the walking path. Now customers needed to walk far out and around the farmhouse to get to Donna’s craft barn. Yet, much to his surprise, the addition had turned out exactly the way he’d pictured it, so he didn’t question the alterations.

  Mark went inside to the office and closed the door. He surveyed the land from the window before sitting at his desk. He opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a legal-sized file folder. Smoothing his hand over the architect’s plans, he smiled at the anticipation he felt. It hadn’t been easy to keep it a secret, but no one knew what the addition to the house was. Not Angela, not Brett, not Mrs. Shaw. Not even Papa. This was his surprise for Angela. He couldn’t wait to show her what he’d built for her.

  The door opened. Mark sat up, grabbed the file, and in one motion stashed it back in the drawer.

  Papa walked in and sat on the other side of the desk.

  “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Mark cleared his throat to respond, but Papa continued.

  “Unless you’re up to something I should know about, then I’m glad I found you,” he paused. “Now that it’s about done, are you gonna fess up? It looks like you’ve added a new wing, like we were the county hospital or something.”

  “It’s not as big as that—and it’s a surprise for Angela. Remember?” He was being vague, but it was the truth.

  “Keeping secrets, are ya? Watch yourself. Secrets can backfire if you’re not careful. Especially early on. It’s best to surprise a girl after you’ve earned her trust. If you try surprising her before you have it—you may never get to earnin’ it.”

  How did Papa do it? How did he know things? Mark didn’t want to lose Angela’s trust, but as he’d learned, timing could be everything.

  “I suppose it’s a big fancy bedroom you’ve added. Have you proposed?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Just as well.”

  An extra bedroom would have made sense. But that wasn’t what he’d done. And it probably wasn’t a good idea to give Papa the wrong impression.

  “It’s not a bedroom,” Mark said carefully.

  “It’s not?” Papa leaned forward on the edge of his chair. “Then I need to ask you about some new arrangements I’d like to make. What d’ya say we trade places? You give the cabin a try and I take the farmhouse for the season?”

  Mark sat up straighter. Papa had never suggested anything like this, never even hinted at it. The cabin was small and primitive, but Papa had never complained. He’d moved into it after Nana died years ago, and it seemed to suit him fine. What could he want with the farmhouse? And why trade places?

  “Papa, if you need more room than the cabin, just say the word. We can clean out the extra bedroom—Kate’s things can go to the basement. Is there anything wrong with it?”

  “You don’t have to move your sister’s things. And there’s nothing wrong with the cabin. It’s the perfect home for a single man,” Papa said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, then he sat back comfortably in his chair as if he had all the time in the world.

  “What does that mean?” Mark asked.

  As far as Mark could tell, they were both single men at the moment. And if either one of them had a hope of changing that status, it was Mark. Wasn’t it?

  “Means I’m planning to ask Mrs. Shaw to marry me, and I’m predicting she’ll say yes. The farmhouse will make a much better honeymoon suite than the cabin. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Mark would agree if he weren’t speechless. Propose? Papa and Mrs. Shaw? Sure they’d teased Papa about it. But they hadn’t even dated—had they?

  “I don’t know what to say. I
guess the cabin would be small for the two of you.” Mark’s mind began to race.

  What exactly did Papa think he was doing? Mark was the one planning a proposal. He and Angela were going to live in the farmhouse, and Caroline too. That was if Angela said yes. And if she wasn’t having second thoughts. Maybe he hadn’t asked her yet, but how could Papa do this?

  “Think about it. I’m heading into town to check on repairs to the old tractor. We want it workin’ for the hay rides.”

  “How soon do you need to know? I mean, you haven’t proposed yet, right?”

  “No, but it’s good to take care of any possible objections a girl might have, right at the start. No sense in given her extra reasons to say no.”

  Right, no extra reasons to say no. Which was exactly why Mark had added on to the farmhouse.

  “Have you even taken Mrs. Shaw on a date? Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about a proposal?”

  “I hate to break it to you. Me and Mrs. Shaw—we don’t have as much time as all that. Our courtship needs to grow like a white pine or, better yet, one of those hybrid poplar trees. When you’re young, I guess you can act like a cedar or a spruce—take your time and ease into things. But even then you don’t want to miss the plantin’ season.”

  Brett knocked on Mark’s partially open office door.

  “Uh, Mark, someone here to see you,” he said.

  Mark paused from answering an email. “You can show them back,” Mark said.

  “Are you sure?” Brett opened the door wider and shifted his weight. It wasn’t like Brett to hesitate. He’d worked on the farm with Papa and Mark the last six years since high school and was usually friendly toward everyone on the farm and in Sutton.

  “Who is it?” Mark asked.

  “John ... Jackson.”

  Mark froze momentarily. “What’s he doing here?” he asked. Then he stood, thanked Brett, and told him he would escort the man off the property himself.

  As he walked to the front of the farmhouse, he wondered if there could be another John Jackson that had come with business for the farm. Of course there wasn’t. How could the man think he could walk onto the farm and not get thrown off just as fast?

  “Good to see you, Mark. Real good to see you,” John said before Mark could get within handshaking distance.

  Why was John acting so friendly? He certainly had a lot of nerve, showing up unannounced, uninvited.

  “What are you doing here?” Mark asked, maintaining his composure. He stopped beside the sales counter.

  “Thought I’d come see about a tree for the mall this year. We need a tall one, at least twenty-five feet. Do you grow any that big? Thirty would be better. What’s your tallest tree? How about we start there?”

  “I’m surprised you’re asking, John. You mean you don’t have every tree measured and tagged on some map in your office?”

  “Hey, no hard feelings, right? Just because you refused the best offer you’ll ever see for this place doesn’t mean we can’t still do business. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

  “No, I don’t suspect it does,” Mark said with what felt like a bad taste in his mouth. “Look, I’m not interested in being buddies.”

  “I didn’t say anything about being friends. I thought you’d like the business. The Auburn mall wants a taller tree than they had last year, and I thought of you. This is as straightforward a deal as you can get.”

  John and the word straightforward were an odd couple. Mark scanned John’s posture and sideways grin and resisted the urge to throw him off the property. Maybe he was overreacting. What could be underhanded about wanting to buy one tree? After all, Mark had succeeded in keeping the land and trees out of John’s hands last year. So why this fresh anger?

  “How’s Natalie?” Mark asked dryly.

  John looked around at the chairs by the fireplace. “Don’t know.” He hung his head, then lifted it back up again. “We split up. Hope you’re not still sore about her. She wasn’t your type.”

  “Right. Look, if the Auburn mall is looking for one of our specialty trees, I’m happy to supply it. Why don’t you give me the number of someone else, maybe the community relations rep or a facilities coordinator? Someone who hasn’t tried to fraudulently purchase the farm.”

  John’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “I see. That’s how you want it. Fine. I’ll give your name to Roxie. She does the holiday décor. I’ll stay out of it, but make sure you sell your tallest tree to us—Auburn has a reputation of prosperity to protect.”

  Mark held his tongue. There were a few choice words he could use to describe John’s reputation, and prosperous wasn’t one of them.

  “It’s too bad,” John said as he walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle. “I’m a better friend than you give me credit for. Had you taken my offer, I would have saved you the headache. You wouldn’t have this mess on your hands.” He made a sweeping motion with his other arm.

  What was that supposed to mean? That was enough. “Go ahead and leave—and take your insults with you. Don’t want to see you here again,” Mark kept his voice even and calm—it helped that John was almost out the door.

  Sour grapes. That’s all this is.

  “Not insults. Just the facts.” A wicked smile broke across John’s face. “You’ve heard, haven’t you?”

  Mark didn’t know what he meant, but he sure didn’t want to hear whatever it was from John. There wasn’t much he could do about it at this point, though.

  “MassDOT is working on a ‘futures study’ for Route 146,” John said and held the next words as if he were taking aim at a target. “Looks like your farm is in the way of a planned extension. It’s only a matter of time before MassDOT owns every last acre and tree here. My old buyer wouldn’t be interested, but for a small finder’s fee I can ask around. I guarantee I can get you more for this place than you’ll get from the Commonwealth.”

  Mark steadied his breathing and put his hand up to his forehead.

  John pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket, walked over, and put it on the counter near Mark. “A friend of mine works over at the transportation office. You didn’t get this from me, but this is the rough draft. The study will be out sometime next year.” He walked back to the door.

  “Get out,” Mark said.

  “You could have been a wealthy man,” John replied. “I don’t hold grudges. I can still find you a buyer.”

  Mark locked eyes with John and kept his voice even. “Get out. Now.”

  Once John had slipped out the main door, it closed unceremoniously by itself. Mark watched to make sure he was gone, that he wasn’t coming back. He grabbed the envelope off the counter and looked out the bay window. He stared at the trees long after John was out of sight. They stood resolute and didn’t seem to be saying it was time for a change. Then again, had it been time to sell and he’d missed it? Wouldn’t Papa have known? Surely the trees would have told him if it was time.

  Chapter 3

  It’s not like Angela’s mother hadn’t visited unannounced before. For someone who couldn’t bear the thought of driving all the way to Sutton from Providence, she’d dropped in pretty regularly this year. Every month she had a reason, a sale she’d heard about at a downtown specialty clothing store or a need to visit the farmer’s market—though she had long been out of her local-foods phase. Angela attributed her visits to the fact that her mom had bought the house, but who knew? Maybe her mother would be dropping in even if she hadn’t paid cash for the place and delivered it to Angela as a gift on Christmas Day.

  Regardless, Angela secretly liked her mother’s visits. Yes, they were inconvenient; yes, they could disrupt any plans for an afternoon, but this was better than the icy cold war they’d endured the years after Angela’s marriage to Todd. And since he was long gone, it was time their grudges were too.

  So here she was, rummaging through Angela’s kitchen, commenting on what was in the fridge—or what wasn’t.

  “Honestly,
I don’t know how you can make a meal without a clove of garlic in the house.”

  Oh, the irony. Her mother hadn’t cooked her own meals in years. You mean you don’t know how I can make a meal without a chef in the house, Angela wanted to say but didn’t. Her younger self—okay, her just-last-year-self—would have said it. But things had changed between them. Shifted. Angela couldn’t pinpoint how or when it had happened. It could have been when her mother found the lost lamb from Angela’s nativity and returned it to Caroline. Or the look on her mother’s face when she found out that they were having Christmas dinner at the Shafer tree farm. Or maybe it was Angela’s discovery that her mother had dated Mark’s dad.

  Whenever it had happened, she thought of her mother as more of a person now. A woman with feelings, like pain and hope. Someone with longings and sorrows instead of the one-dimensional woman—that one-dimension being constant disappointment—who’d raised Angela. Part of the shift included understanding that most of her mother’s disappointment was from so much of what had happened in life before Angela was even born. Like the failed engagement to Mark’s dad. How could Angela have known her mother had dated him? Or that they wanted to get married—until her mom’s father had intervened?

  So it was easier to smile to herself when her mother’s contradictions came through so loud and clear. And it was getting easier to talk about her feelings. Sort of.

  “When will you be finished managing those apartments?” Cathy asked as she surveyed the utensil drawer. “Do you have a decent paring knife?”

  “Skinny drawer to the left of the stove,” Angela said. “I’m only working there part-time now. Gloria from the home office has been covering two days a week, and we trade weekends. I should be done by the end of this month. Just waiting for them to hire a new manager.”

  “The job was supposed to be temporary. I can’t believe they’ve held on to you this long,” Cathy said.