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

  “It wasn’t your nana. I can tell you that much. As for my mother, I can’t say I remember. Never occurred to me now that we’re talking about it.”

  “So it could be her ring?”

  Papa stepped closer to Mark, carefully took the ring from his hand, and held it close to his good eye. “I ’spose so, but then again she lived longer than my father—so she would have been the one to put it in the box. Seems strange.”

  “So maybe it’s her mother’s ring?”

  “This is important to you, then?” Papa seemed frustrated by the fruitless questions.

  “Never mind. I’ll figure it out. I’d like to know if I’m giving Angela an antique or not.”

  “Go have it appraised. What could that hurt?” he said and handed the ring back.

  “I’m headed over to the jewelers soon. Would you like to come with me?” Mark asked.

  “Now that’s a good idea. I may need to look at their selection,” he said.

  When they left the farm, Papa was quiet. Though not unusual for him, he did seem less cheerful.

  “Is there something on your mind?” Mark asked.

  “As a matter of fact, there is. You getting the ring looked at answers my first question. You’re getting serious about asking her. Do you know when the wedding will be?”

  Mark stared over the two-lane asphalt road. “I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead. At this point, I’m hoping she’ll say yes.”

  When they arrived at the jewelers, Mark explained what he knew about the ring while Papa started browsing.

  Once they were alone in the showroom, Papa picked up their conversation from the drive. “Why don’t you think she’ll say yes?”

  Mark didn’t exactly want to relive the other night, but here they were.

  “She found out I proposed to Natalie—in her studio.”

  “I see,” Papa said without much expression.

  “I’m thinking if I plan a nice night, something memorable, she will forget about Natalie.”

  “I see.”

  Mark hoped for a little more encouragement. “Isn’t that a good idea?”

  Papa was gazing at rings, his leathery hands resting on top of the glass case. He seemed in no hurry to answer.

  “Why do you think Natalie is the problem? You may want to apologize for not telling Angela sooner,” he said without looking up. “This one’s a beauty. Bet the price is too.”

  “Honestly, what could I have said?” Mark asked.

  “Have you told her about the MassDOT project—what they’re planning to do?” Papa asked.

  “No. I mean not yet,” Mark stammered. “I will. I planned to tell her when I got it worked out.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means if you love this girl, you’ll have to figure out a way to talk to her. I don’t know too many girls who like feeling left out. Seems to me it’s the point of being a couple. Sharing things.” Papa stood straighter and shook his head, then he dropped into a chair next to one of the displays.

  Mark had planned on telling her, but Papa was right. Angela definitely liked it when he shared things with her. Sooner than later. He would rather give her good news about the farm, though, not present a problem. And he didn’t want anything overshadowing the proposal. What he knew for sure was he wanted to share the farm life, the work and rewards, with someone. And he wanted it to be her.

  He crossed the room and sat next to Papa. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  “Glad you asked. I’ll need to check my savings. Been some time since I’ve been in a place like this. Are those prices as high as I think they are? Can I tell the fellow I don’t want to buy the store, only one little ring?” Papa asked.

  Mark chuckled, and then it hit him. “Wait. Do you want to give the ring from the box to Mrs. Shaw? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed I could take it.”

  “Nonsense. You found it with Angela,” Papa said.

  “And Caroline,” Mark said. “She’s the one that saw the box in the wall. But would you rather the ring go to Mrs. Shaw?” Mark asked.

  “Dorothy. Her name’s Dorothy. And like I said, you found it. You give it to Angela,” Papa insisted.

  Mark wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Mrs. Shaw’s name, but clearly that was what Papa wanted to call her from now on.

  “Here we are. You’ve got a fascinating little ring. I bet you’re anxious to finally know more about it,” the jeweler said as he came back into the showroom.

  “Actually, we’re pressed for time,” Mark said.

  “We are?” Papa asked.

  Mark had just noticed his watch. If he was going to reserve the Sutton gazebo, he needed to get over to the town hall before they closed.

  “If it’s all there in the paperwork, I’ll take it and look it over later,” Mark said, sitting on the edge of his seat. “I’ve got some business to take care of in town,” he said to Papa.

  The man’s smile dropped, and he raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to hear about it?” the man asked.

  “I do,” Papa said.

  Mark looked at the ring as the man held it in a new box. Cleaned and sitting against the black interior, it sparkled with a new shine.

  “Sure, what can you tell me?” Mark asked.

  “First, let me say this ring is in great condition. I’d be hard-pressed to believe anyone ever wore it. If she did, she babied it so well there aren’t the normal wear-and-tear scratches.”

  “So that’s the good news? Does that mean there’s bad news?” Mark asked.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. The diamonds are genuine, the gold is high quality. I can describe it in more detail, but you mentioned you’re short on time,” the appraiser said. He did sit down, though, pausing a moment before finally sharing what Mark was convinced would be bad news.

  “This ring isn’t as old as you thought it might be. What were you guessing? Late 1800s, early 1910s, or ’20s? Don’t be disappointed. I mean it.” He took the ring out of the box and held it up, turning it. He handed it to Mark as he continued to describe it.

  “From what we can tell—I had a couple of the guys take a look—we’d say this ring was made somewhere around 1960, probably 1965—give or take a few years.”

  1965? Mark had never considered the ring so new. Even though it wasn’t new. But how could it be? Whose could it be? Slowly he looked at the ring and then at the appraiser, and a new question formed in his mind.

  Papa asked it before he could.

  “Could it have been made around 1969?”

  “Certainly.” The appraiser sat back in his chair.

  Mark put the ring in the case, stared at it for a second, then closed the lid and stood up. “Never been worn, you said?”

  Papa stood too.

  “Not enough to show. Looks like you have an idea where it came from,” the appraiser said expectantly.

  They spoke simultaneously.

  “My son,” Papa said.

  “My dad,” Mark said.

  They weren’t making a lot of sense, and the appraiser had a right to wear a confused look on his face. But Mark thanked him instead of explaining any further.

  “We better get going.”

  “Wait, don’t you want to know the value?”

  “I already do!” Mark said.

  On his way to the town hall, Mark brought Papa back to the farm. Neither was expecting the ring to be the one Mark’s dad had bought. But that explained why it had never been worn. It wasn’t his mother’s ring—it was Cathy’s. Most likely the ring his dad had bought for Cathy and had never been able to give her.

  “I told you that ring was meant for you,” Papa said.

  “Meant for Angela,” Mark said. He couldn’t wait to tell her. Thursday. He could propose on Thursday and tell her the whole story.

  “Now, I’ve got work to do,” Papa said as they approached the farm. He put his hand on the truck’s door handle.

  “What work is that?” Mark
asked.

  “I don’t think you and Angela want to take up residence in the cabin any more than Dorothy and I do. Seeing as you didn’t build another master, I’ll need to find a place for us to live,” he said as he climbed out of the truck.

  Mark watched him go and waited a minute before he drove off. How could he have known Papa was going to get married? And this soon? Of course, they weren’t engaged yet either. Papa still had to ask Mrs. Shaw. But why did Mark’s engagement and hopefully soon-to-be wedding have to mean Papa had to move?

  What if Mrs. Shaw said no? Or wasn’t interested in getting married at all? Papa could move back to the cabin. He enjoyed a moment of relief at the thought that maybe there was a chance he wasn’t putting his grandfather out of his home.

  He drove away from the farmhouse, and as he turned the corner he remembered Caroline and the trees she’d picked out for Christmas—not one but two. And Papa’s teasing words. Love matches and weddings before Christmas.

  Could it be?

  The Sutton town hall closed at four, and not that he couldn’t go another day, and not that he thought the gazebo was in such high demand, but the idea of proposing there had grown on him, and he wanted that part of the plan in place.

  The rush he felt wore off as he approached the town square. The speed limit put everyone at a crawl, and buildings and the common left him feeling like he’d driven back in time fifty years or more. In fact, it set Mark to wondering if any of the land or these buildings were on the National Register. And if they were, what would that have to do with his farm? Someone in Sutton had to know how to put a landmark on the list.

  He walked up steps guarded by four white columns and in through the doors to find an unattended reception desk. A fan was on in the corner of the office, blowing a stream of air over the desks and rustling papers.

  A sign read “Ring bell for service.” Mark waited, rocking on his heels before he hit the bell. It was loud, and though he didn’t know who or what to expect, nothing happened. He walked around the entryway, read some notices on the bulletin board, and saw some brochures for the fire department. A paper pinned to the board caught his eye—“Volunteers needed at the Sutton Historical Society.”

  “Can I help you?” a woman’s voice called from behind him.

  He turned and stepped over to the desk. “I’m hoping you can. Who do I talk to about reserving the gazebo?”

  “That’s Pete,” she said, waving a fly away. She sat down at her desk and held up her reading glasses as she peered at a file. Her hair was short and dyed brown over gray. She wore a clip that kept if off her face.

  “And how do I reach him?” he asked after an awkward pause.

  “Pete’s out of town. Granddaughter’s wedding.”

  Mark waited to see if she would offer an alternative.

  “You can come back next week. He should be in after the twenty-sixth, I suspect.” She put the file down and smiled pleasantly, but it seemed only because she was supposed to.

  “Actually, I’d like to reserve the gazebo for this Thursday, the twenty-second, if I could.”

  “Well, you could if Pete were here, and no one else has it, and you fill out his application and put a deposit down. We didn’t used to require deposits, you know. Seeing how it’s free for residents. But ever since the Silver Sneakers Club used it for a social—and a few of their walkers tore up the floor—we’ve started requiring a deposit.”

  Mark blinked.

  “But since Pete isn’t here, I guess you’ll have to change your plans.”

  Mark opened his mouth to speak but closed it. She stared at him rather unapologetically. Finally, he made a last attempt.

  “Look, it’s the autumnal equinox, and I know that isn’t the most important day of the year, but it is to me and my girlfriend.”

  “Do I know your girlfriend?”

  Mark thought this was an odd question, as she didn’t even know Mark, but so far everything about this conversation had been odd.

  “I’m not sure—her name is Angela ... Donovan.” He waited as she thought about it. “She moved here a few years ago.”

  “Hmm, no. Doesn’t ring a bell. But you, you look like—do I know your brother Ben?”

  “I don’t have a brother. Just a sister who moved to California,” Mark said, not sure how this was helping.

  “Give me a second. What’s your name?”

  “Mark Shafer,” he said cautiously, though not sure why.

  “Shafer! You’re Greg and Janey’s son! You wouldn’t know me, but I went to school with your mom and dad. I’m sorry, honey. You must miss them. I heard about that awful fire. I’m so sorry.”

  Mark cleared his throat. “Thank you. It’s okay,” he reassured her as best he could. “About Pete and changing my plans—I was hoping I could propose there Thursday night and wanted to make sure I didn’t have to compete with anyone else. Like the Silver Sneakers.”

  “A proposal? Why didn’t you say so?” She hopped up from her chair and scurried over to another desk, maybe Pete’s, and returned with a binder. She produced a sheet of paper for Mark and then thumbed through the pages.

  “Fill that out. I’m going to go ahead and waive that deposit. It’s only twenty-five dollars. If it’s just the two of you, I trust you won’t be doing any damage to the property. And let me see here. Wait, you said this Thursday?” She looked up at Mark with crestfallen eyes. “Oh, sweetie, the Astronomy Club reserved it a month ago. Starting an hour after sunset. So what’s that—about seven thirty or eight?”

  Mark held his pen on the address line of the application. The Astronomy Club?

  “You know what? Don’t tell anyone Miss Lila told you this. You and your girl come right out there to that Gazebo, and you pop that question. Do you think you can manage it before seven thirty? Worst case is you’ll have an audience of some retired men with telescopes, but if you get there early enough, I bet you’ll be just fine.”

  “Before seven thirty it is,” Mark said, though it didn’t seem like he had much choice in the matter.

  She pulled the application from his hands as he finished signing it and chatted away about Pete and how she knew he wouldn’t mind her helping Greg Shafer’s son.

  Thankful the gazebo and the common wasn’t going to be overridden with a larger event or group, Mark thanked Miss Lila and headed for the door. The bulletin board caught his eye and he remembered ...

  “Uh, do you know anything about the Historical Society? Who would I talk to about having some land listed on the register?” he asked. She was putting the binder back on the other desk.

  “That’s Pete, too,” she said.

  Thinking of their exchange over the gazebo, Mark thought it best if he came back and actually talked to Pete. “Thanks. I’ll track him down next week, like you said.”

  “Sure, you could do that.” She returned to her chair and began arranging papers. “Or you could call Mrs. Simmons. Pete would just give you her number anyway.”

  A sudden clap of thunder broke over their heads, and rain began to pour against the back windows of the building, furiously pelting the thick panes.

  “Darn! I was hoping to get home before the roads turned into rivers,” Miss Lila said with a scowl.

  “Do you by chance have her number?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Wait, did you say Mrs. Simmons? The same one who taught eighth-grade English?”

  “That’s her—and good, you already know her. That will help. She can be a little ... what would you say ... fussy? But you won’t have to worry about that if she knows you. You won’t have half the battle everyone else does.”

  With that, she handed Mark the number on a slip of paper that he tucked into his wallet.

  He walked out of the town hall’s double doors into the pouring rain inundated with memories of his eighth-grade English class and Mrs. Simmons. A teacher who didn’t share his sense of humor or “lack of respect for deadlines,” as she called them.

  Forget
half the battle. I’ll probably have double.

  Chapter 9

  Angela arrived at the Blackstone apartments’ rental office to meet the new hire. It had taken months, nine and a half months, but they’d finally found a replacement. Home office would handle the training but had asked Angela to handle a bit of general orientation. A tour and a few tips. “She mentioned that if you went to lunch with her that would be enough,” Gloria from the home office had said. “But she may need a little more help than that.”

  She opened the door to a squeal from across the room.

  “Eeeek! Angela? Angela Elliott. Is that you?” The new hire bounced over to Angela with both arms outstretched. Before Angela could dodge her, she was grabbed by the shoulders and kissed on each cheek.

  Ashley Porter? Still as dramatic as high school.

  “It’s me,” Angela said after awkwardly extracting herself from Ashley’s enthusiastic greeting.

  Though I haven’t used the Elliott name for a while.

  As if she could read minds, Ashley continued. “You don’t use Elliott, though. Wait, wait ... don’t tell me. It will come to me. You married the guy in your band. You really had a band, didn’t you? How long had you known him, two months? Three? Todd—that was his name, and he was hot too. Though that didn’t help so much with your mom. She would have preferred no looks to some sort of title, right? And Todd, he um ... what instrument did he play? Donovan! That’s the name. I remembered because the same month you married him, we hired a new chef with the same last name. No relation, of course, but yeah. So you’re still Angela Donovan? No ring on your finger, I see.”

  No ring. That was true. And that was Ashley—three insults per breath as usual.

  Was she seriously the new manager at Blackstone?

  Doing something she wouldn’t normally do, Angela checked Ashley’s left hand. Sure enough, a fairly obscene diamond rested there. But something didn’t add up. Namely the man Ashley married had much too much money and even more pride for his wife to be taking up residence as manager of the Blackstone, no matter how quaint the apartments were.

  “I kept Donovan. It’s my daughter’s name, too,” Angela said simply. “So, wow, it’s a surprise to see you here. I didn’t know ... I mean ... What brings you to Sutton?” Before Ashley could answer, Angela looked at her ring again. She brought it up first. “How’s your husband?”