Table of Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Tamara Passey
Copyright © 2016 Tamara Passey
Winter Street Press
www.winterstreetpress.com
Cover Design by Laura J. Miller 2016
All Rights Reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced in print or electronically, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews, without permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, places, incidents, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, and events is coincidental.
eISBN-13: 978-0-9909840-0-9
Other Books by Tamara Passey
The Christmas Tree Keeper: A Novel
Mothering through the Whirlwind
For Steve
Prologue
Hans and Adeline Shafer, Sutton Massachusetts, 1881
The Planting
Taking her hand, he guided her to the edge of the land he’d cleared. The air around them stirred. The spring morning sun warmed their cheeks. He stopped at the newly-turned earth and gestured over it.
“See, your trees will grow. Our trees. And here is the soil from home.” He held up the leather pouch. “I brought it for you to mix with this ground and these seeds.”
“What good will it do?” she asked, pulling her hand away, grasping instead at her long braid. “The dirt here, the trees here. No one in this land wants the trees. They belong in Germany, meant to live and grow there. Like us. What can any of us do here?” She faced the horizon without showing any emotion, though one tear escaped her eye. Her hand rested on her growing belly.
“Adel, you know what these trees are. You know what they can do,” he said, reaching for both of her hands, pleading for her blessing.
“You mean you planted the seeds of love?” she asked with wide eyes.
“That I did.”
She took the pouch and gave it one shake over the upturned row by her feet.
“Hans, can they work here?” she asked, handing the pouch back to him.
“We shall see.”
Chapter 1
They say no two trees are exactly alike. Growing them may be a science, but choosing the right one to decorate for Christmas—well, that’s an art. And it was the only thing Angela’s daughter wanted for her ninth birthday—to go to Mark Shafer’s farm and find the perfect tree for Christmas. And why wouldn’t she? As Mark’s grandfather Papa Shafer had told them last year, they were miracle trees. It made no difference to her that it was only September. They could tie a ribbon around her choice and come back for it in December.
“Thank you,” Angela whispered to Mark as they arrived at the section of trees designated for the upcoming season. “This will be her favorite birthday.”
“I’m glad you asked,” Mark said. “There was a time after you met my grandpa last year when I didn’t think you’d ever want to come back,” he said with a teasing grin.
Angela couldn’t live down how annoyed she’d been about Papa’s talk of miracle trees that first night. But he’d been right. And so much had changed since then, namely her heart.
“What can I say?” she said. “Papa won me over.”
Well, Mark had won her over with his genuine eyes, his kind ways—and maybe his broad shoulders.
They walked down the path as it glowed in the afternoon sunlight. The crisp fall air surrounded them. This was much better than corralling a party of fourth-grade girls at the mall.
“Can this be the one for the farmhouse?” Caroline asked.
“We’re here to pick out a tree for our house,” Angela replied.
Papa chuckled. “That’s fine with me. Seems like she’s got an eye for this,” he said as he walked closer to the tree she chose.
“You know, Mom, if you and Mark had made up your minds and gotten married, we wouldn’t need to choose two trees.”
“Caroline!” Angela’s jaw dropped at her daughter’s words. Though she knew Caroline didn’t mean to embarrass her, there were lines better left uncrossed.
“Marriage isn’t something to rush into,” she said under her breath as she briefly met Mark’s eyes.
A spark of humor crossed his face.
“The child’s got a point,” Papa said. “You two could make it official and call one place home.”
“Not you too.” Mark folded his arms over his chest.
As they continued their walk in the autumn sun, Mark reached for Angela’s hand, something she hadn’t grown tired of in the eight months they’d been dating.
Caroline ran ahead until she reached a certain tree. “Look at this one,” Caroline said. “Lovely branches and such a presence.”
Angela checked to see if Mark was also startled by the comment.
“What do you mean?” Angela asked as she watched Papa move to Caroline’s side.
“Can’t you see it? It’s like this tree is determined to be noticed. Like you know Marie who does ballet? She looks official standing in the lunch line. How do you not notice her? Can’t you tell there’s something special about this one?”
Angela noticed the amused look on Mark’s face and the serious one on Papa’s. Her eyes narrowed on Caroline. Was she imitating what she’d heard Mark and Papa talk about, or was she actually seeing these traits, thinking this way about the trees?
“Special, is it? Do you want this one for your house?” Papa asked, moving close to the tree.
“Not now. Another year of growth, maybe two, and it will be just right,” she said confidently as she moved on down the row.
At that, Mark reached up and scratched the back of his head. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” he muttered.
Angela asked, “Like what? This tree?”
“No, Caroline,” Mark said.
Angela watched her daughter move along and touch the branches with her fingertips, Papa following close behind.
“Do you think she’s making this up, maybe to impress Papa—or you?” Angela asked Mark.
He shook his head. “As strange as it sounds, I think she actually understands them.”
“That’s not so strange,” Papa said, clearly having overheard Angela and Mark’s conversation. “Some children are naturals. They’re still full of light. No doubts.”
Angela nodded. That certainly described her daughter.
“If you choose the right tree, Caroline, we could have a wedding around here. I’d say before Christmas,” Papa said.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Angela asked with a little too much worry in her voice.
“It means Papa is losing patience with me,” Mark answered.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Papa said and winked at Angela. “And it’s more than that. Carol
ine, these trees here can make a love match. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it’s a sweet kind of love.”
“They can do what?” Mark asked, not hiding his surprise.
Papa answered quickly, “You heard me. A love match.”
“Were you planning on telling me about this?” Mark asked, though Papa wasn’t paying him much attention.
Angela could feel the heat burning in her cheeks, much the same way she did last year when she heard Papa say the trees could cause miracles. Though she didn’t have trouble believing in miracles now, this was different. Wasn’t it? She avoided eye contact with Mark, not sure she could trust even her eyebrows to behave.
A love match?
“I don’t think the trees can have anything to do with wedding plans,” Angela said casually but carefully.
“Maybe you’re on to something,” Mark said, stepping up to Papa and putting his arm around him. “Caroline, find a romantic looking tree for the farmhouse, could you? I bet Papa and Mrs. Shaw will be married in no time.”
“That’s a great idea.” She laughed and ran even farther ahead.
“Nonsense,” Papa said. “She isn’t looking for a husband.”
“How do you know?” Angela chimed in on the teasing, thankful Mark had shifted Papa’s—and Caroline’s—attention.
“She arrives at the farm early and leaves late. She’s the independent kind. Never asks for help or company.” Papa paused. “And she wears a lot of those cardigans.”
“What do cardigans have to do with anything?” Mark asked.
Angela waited. Knowing Papa, he’d have a reason.
“Dark ones. Black, navy, gray.”
“You think she’s still in mourning?” Angela asked, incredulous. “Papa, her husband passed away over ten years ago.”
“No, she doesn’t wear them for grief. Those were her husband’s favorite colors,” Papa answered with a tone of defeat.
Angela stopped walking. Mark did too. Papa continued ahead of them.
“How does he know that?” Angela asked.
“How does Papa know anything? He just seems to know. It’s a skill of his I’ve been trying to learn ever since I took ownership of the farm last year.”
“Maybe he asked her,” Angela said. Sure, her neighbor Mrs. Shaw had stepped in to run the craft barn after their family friend Donna had passed away. But Papa focused on weather patterns and planting strategies. Had he even noticed Mrs. Shaw?
“Do you think he’s interested in her?”
Mark didn’t answer. He reached for Angela’s hand again as they walked to catch up with Papa and Caroline.
“And what does he mean love match?” Angela asked. “Is he serious?”
“I’ve never known Papa to joke about the trees. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that he takes them very seriously.”
“Has he said anything like that before?”
A moment or two passed as Mark thought about it.
“Not directly, no. But he has mentioned love here and there.”
Angela waited. “Go on.”
“Oh, you know, he says ‘The trees are all about love.’”
“But anything about love matches or couples? Weddings?”
Caroline interrupted. “Papa, Mom—look over here.” She stood in front of a healthy Scotch pine as a breeze swirled around her hair and the branches bobbed in the current. She gazed up at the top.
“I found it! This one is for our house.” Caroline put her hands on her hips. “Can I have that ribbon now?”
Angela handed it to her and watched as she skillfully maneuvered through the branches to the trunk. The ribbon wasn’t quite long enough to fit around it and form a knot, so she used the base of a branch jutting out from the trunk and tied a double-knotted bow with the red-and-white polka-dot ribbon.
“There. Nice and tight,” she said. “Now the tree for the farmhouse. Look over here.”
Angela followed her while Mark and Papa stood talking, maybe about Caroline’s choice of tree.
“What do you think of this one? It will be perfect in the front room of Mark’s house. Too bad we couldn’t put it up today so you and Mark could have a wedding soon.”
Angela clenched her jaw.
“Do you think it can count if we just tag it?” Caroline asked.
“Listen, Papa is having a little fun with you today. I’m not so sure trees can make love matches.”
“Sure they can. These are Shafer trees, remember? They cause miracles,” Caroline said. “Remember how after we put up our tree last year, we paid the rent and you got a new job? And then we found the treasure on the farm with Mark?”
“Yes, but—”
“That’s what I mean. So you’ve heard of the miracle of love, right?” Caroline continued.
Angela had no defense for that. Maybe a distraction would work. “I didn’t bring another ribbon. We’ll have to come out again.”
Caroline stepped back and reached for her small ponytail. She pulled at the yellow sunflower ponytail holder until it was free and then worked it around one of the tree’s short branches.
“There. That will do.” Caroline sighed loudly.
“What was that for?” Angela asked, referring to her sigh.
“I still think we only need one tree.”
“You mean you only want one tree,” Angela clarified.
“Whatever. Wouldn’t it be awesome to wake up Christmas morning at the farm and you and Mark could be married? That would be the best present ever. I wouldn’t need anything else.”
Angela found herself picturing it, but only for a second before reality set in. “Caroline, Christmas is less than four months away.”
Caroline shrugged. “Don’t doubt the trees, Mom.”
They walked back to the farmhouse, Caroline flitting between Angela and Mark, then catching up with Papa, who led the way.
“She believes him, you know. Love-match trees,” Angela said to Mark. “Any idea how that’s supposed to work?”
“None whatsoever. I’ll ask him on our next walk.” Mark brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Is that fear I see?”
Angela took a breath, then a deeper one, willing the furrow to disappear—at least enough that she wouldn’t look petrified. A wedding before Christmas, and she and Mark weren’t even engaged. She didn’t fault him. In January, she’d opened her big mouth about “four seasons.”
She’d told him about her mother’s idea of knowing each other through four seasons before getting married—advice she’d given Angela the first time around. Advice she had ignored, of course. This time she thought she should try it out, and maybe avoid past mistakes.
It had been exciting when they’d found the treasure box together last Christmas Day, right where Mark’s dad had told Angela’s mom he’d put it some thirty years earlier. Yes, it was remarkable to find the seeds, a leather pouch, and a diamond band. But they’d hardly known each other then and had only been caught up in the thrill of the discovery. No matter how good it felt when Mark had put the ring on her finger, giving it back had been the right thing to do.
And no matter how much she liked it when he had kissed her, she would not rush into marriage this time. She would not have another fair-weather husband.
Mark hadn’t argued with them taking their time. She actually didn’t mean to say he couldn’t propose until four seasons had passed, but here they were in September. Angela had wondered if Mark would propose on Christmas Day, maybe a little reenactment of last year, only this time without the audience and somewhere a little less dusty than the toolshed. And that would give her enough time to be sure she wasn’t rushing into this relationship.
So why should she be worried about Papa’s little comment?
Any potential proposal was months away.
There would be no wedding before Christmas, no matter what tree Caroline chose.
Chapter 2
Mark moved through the darkened farmhouse and stepped on the floorboar
d closest to the wall—the one that didn’t creak. The mid-September morning chill caused him to reach for his overcoat. But he changed his mind. It’ll warm up soon enough.
He slipped out of the side door and strode over the gravel to Papa’s cabin. Their walks had turned into training sessions this year. At first Papa had become more talkative and shared random things about the farm. Then Mark had noticed a pattern of systematic instruction: from soil mixtures to planting schedules to shearing techniques.
Usually Mark paid attention, but lately he’d been thinking of Angela and when he would propose, and how. He hadn’t discussed any of this with his grandfather yet. Not that there was a problem. Papa and Angela got along well—but Mark liked giving Papa the impression that his focus wasn’t divided. Like today, he wanted to know more about the trees, but he also couldn’t stop thinking of Angela’s curious reaction to Papa’s declaration of love-match trees. Mark liked the idea of a wedding before Christmas, but Angela seemed bothered by it. He knew about her mother’s four-seasons rule, but was there something else holding her back? Or was it the other way around? Was she frustrated that he hadn’t proposed yet?
The last few weeks of morning walks with Papa had been quieter, leaving Mark with the impression that they’d reached the end of what his grandfather had to teach. Not that Mark ever wanted their walks to end, but maybe his time as student could be done.
Mark spotted Papa, lean and tough, sauntering down the path from the cabin, a deliberate strength in his step. Mark liked to think Papa would walk the farm forever that way.
“There you are,” Papa said.
“Nice chill in the air. I almost wore my coat.”
“Don’t be fooled by it. We’ve got a warm spell coming our way yet,” Papa said.
“What gives you that idea?”
Papa didn’t answer right away. They covered a few more yards to the back lot of trees. Papa motioned to his right, where some of the new seedlings had been planted.
“Don’t they look like they’re ready for a growth spurt? Don’t it look like they’re gonna shoot up another inch or two when we’re not looking?” Papa grinned as he stated this more than asked. “They wouldn’t be looking that way if it weren’t about to go warm on us.”
The Tree Keeper's Promise: A Novel (A Shafer Farm Romance Book 2) Page 1
