Get the farm listed on the National Register.
How hard could it be?
Chapter 5
Mark, Angela, and Caroline waited outside her mother’s door.
“Can’t we just knock and walk in tonight?” Caroline asked. “She knows we’re coming.”
Angela glanced at Mark and then explained, “Grandma Elliott is a bit more formal than that. Besides, you wouldn’t want to hurt Walters’s feelings, would you?”
The door opened wide, and Walters greeted Angela warmly, took her jacket, and gave Mark one of his signature once-over looks. They stepped into the entryway onto imported tile. Caroline bounded through the door between them, hugging Walters around one of his legs. He patted her on the head, though stiffly. His silver hair had thinned considerably since the last time Angela had visited, though his motions were no slower and he maintained his characteristic straight-backed posture.
“Mark, this is Walters,” Caroline said.
Angela turned and whispered loud enough for Walters to hear, “He’s not as tough as he looks. Unless you are a teenage girl trying to escape out your bedroom window. Then watch out.”
“Got it,” Mark said with a smile. “No window exits.”
Walters nodded, and once Caroline had released him, he escorted them under a massive chandelier and past the study with the American antique collection.
“This house was like my mother’s other child,” Angela explained, unaffected.
“You’re calling this place a house?” Mark replied.
Angela continued. “If I needed winter clothes, the house needed winter draperies. If I needed swim lessons, the house needed a new pool house.”
On they went until greeted by Angela’s mother, who was dressed in a royal-blue sweater, black skirt, and far too many diamonds—earrings, necklace, and bracelets. She glinted and glimmered her way over to them at the entrance to the dining room. “Please, come sit down. Gary will be back in a moment. He went to check on Bones.”
They paused. Had Angela missed something? Caroline, never fearful of the obvious, asked, “Who’s Bones, Grandma?”
At that, a dark, curly-haired dog trotted into the room, followed by a tall, slender, well-dressed man. She brushed by Cathy’s leg and approached Caroline, stopped, sat on her hind feet, and put a paw up.
“This is Bones, Gary’s dog.”
Angela could see Caroline was already smitten. It was love at first paw shake. Though that was easily understandable. Caroline had asked for a dog every so often, but Angela had put her off. They couldn’t afford one. The apartments didn’t allow them. There was always a reason.
Gary was losing his non-boyfriend status over this as far as Angela was concerned. Knowing her mother’s aversion to shedding hair and the potential lack of bladder control, how she could allow a friend to bring his dog with him served to reinforce one thing in Angela’s mind. He had to be more than a friend.
“I know what you’re thinking, Angela,” Cathy said. “And the answer is yes, Caroline is welcome to spend time here when Gary and Bones are here.”
She needs to work on her mind reading.
“Actually, I was wondering what kind of dog he is.”
And how much you must like Gary to let him bring one through the door.
“A Portuguese water dog, right, Gary?” Cathy said.
He nodded. Caroline petted and cooed.
“Bones brings so much life to this house—this oversized museum of a house. I don’t know why I didn’t think having a pet here sooner.”
Mark raised his eyebrows at Angela when her mother used the word museum—he’d want brownie points for that.
She needed to get to know this Gary if he could work this kind of magic with her mother. Turn-her-worldview-upside-down kind of magic.
“Mark, this is Dr. Gary Wilson, professor of anthropology at the University of Rhode Island. Gary, this is Mark Shafer—owner of the Shafer Tree Farm in Sutton,” Cathy said. Angela noted her mother’s stress on the word owner.
Gary casually shook Mark’s hand, then Angela’s.
“Nice to meet you Dr. Wilson,” Mark said.
“Please, call me Gary,” he said as he knelt down beside Caroline and Bones. “He likes you, I can see. After dinner I’ll show you his house.”
The dog has a house here?
Gary took Bones out while they were seated at the table. Something about the dog’s wagging tail helped Angela relax. Maybe her mother had mellowed, maybe this dinner would not be the grilling she expected.
“So when are you two going to get serious about the future?” Cathy asked before drinks.
Maybe not.
Angela looked away from her mother, mostly in disbelief, partly to take a sharp, deep breath before answering. She caught Mark’s mischievous grin out of the corner of her eye. Her palms began to sweat, she reached for the fancy-folded napkin on the table, unfurled it, carefully drying her hands before spreading it on her lap.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
“Funny you should ask, Cathy,” Mark said, looking to her, then to Angela, then to Caroline.
Angela couldn’t tell if he was teasing or preparing. She paused long enough to make sure he wasn’t reaching for a ring, and then she spoke up. “What do you mean by serious? Mark’s coming over tomorrow to help me record another song for my album.”
Caroline played with the dessert spoon set at the top of her plate, tracing the embroidered pattern on the tablecloth. “I think she means your marriage future, not your music future.”
Mark laughed at that. Angela frowned.
Gary returned to the room. “What did I miss?”
“Some wedding-pressure hors d’oeuvres,” Mark answered.
“Oh?” he looked to Cathy. “And how do those taste?” he asked with a smirk. What was it between them? Angela wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cathy declared. She began describing the meal to come in such great detail that no one approached the other subject again.
Not until later did Angela think about the timing of her mother’s question, conveniently when Gary was out of the room.
Finally, dessert was cleared, and the conversation slowed. Angela noticed the pattern Caroline had been tracing on the tablecloth. Bright yellows and reds, intricate florals. She admired it for a moment before the recognition set in.
“Dona Florinda,” Angela said out loud.
“Excuse me?” Cathy said.
“This tablecloth and these napkins—Florinda gave them to us, right?” She remembered now. Florinda had done the needlework herself—something she did when she missed her mother and Portugal.
“Yes, that’s right,” Cathy said. “I thought you might appreciate them.”
Angela ran her hand over the stitches, happy for the memory but suddenly feeling a bit melancholy. She had loved her piano lessons and former teacher, but it was more than that. Florinda held a place in her heart. She was someone who had taught her about herself and the world, and in such a caring way. How could she not?
Oh, Florinda—I wish you could meet Mark.
She must have been staring too long or allowing that longing to show on her face.
“For goodness’ sake, Angela. If you like them that much you can have them.”
Angela heard the disappointment in her mother’s voice. Obviously she wanted Angela to appreciate the linens, not pine for them.
Angela shook off the thought. “No, Mom, keep them here. She made them specifically for this table.” Though Angela had no idea if that were true, it seemed the most believable reason for her not to take them and further wound her mother’s feelings.
“I know she was dear to you. When was the last time you heard from her?” Cathy asked.
“Christmas, the year after Caroline was born. She sent a card,” Angela answered. “But that was before she left the States, I think.” Again, Angela didn’t know. That had been a difficult time, and she’d hadn’t done a good job of
staying in touch.
Caroline asked to see Bones. Cathy cleared her throat. “Before you go see him, there is a matter, a rather important matter, I wanted to discuss.”
Angela heard the formality in her voice. Was she trying to bring up their engagement again? Or was there something even more awkward on her agenda?
Caroline appeared unmoved and looked to Gary for hope at leaving the table.
He smiled back at Caroline and then spoke. “Cathy has wanted to tell you for some time that she is going to Europe. In two weeks.”
Angela looked to her mother’s face for confirmation of this. She found in her mother’s eyes an uncharacteristically soft expression, a pleading expression. But why?
“Europe?” Angela asked. Of course, it was a one-word question, as if to confirm she heard the location correctly. But it included everything else—in two weeks? Alone? Is Gary going? How long have you been planning this? Why take so long to tell me?
“That’s great news,” Mark said easily.
“Are you taking Bones?” Caroline asked while Angela was still stunned.
“No, Gary isn’t coming. I’m going alone. Well, mostly.”
“What does that mean?” Angela asked.
“Remember the Fiddlemans? We’ve had this trip planned for years.”
“Dad’s college roommate? And his wife ... What was her name? Nancy. They’ve been inviting you to visit them since they relocated ... over fifteen years ago. Didn’t you and Dad plan a trip?” Angela checked herself, remembering Gary was at the table. “Their invitation is still open?” she asked. Though she wished she didn’t sound—or feel—so protective.
“Yes, that’s right. Your father and I made plans. He knew I’d dreamt of going. We’d tell the Fiddlemans we were coming, then something would come up. The campaign finance fiasco. Or the governor’s assignment on a special task force for something. I don’t know. The war on drugs. But there was always something until it wasn’t an option. Until now.” She smiled gently at Gary, throwing Angela even more.
“So Bones is not going to Europe?” Caroline asked.
“Bones and I are staying here,” Gary told her softly.
Caroline sat against the back of her chair and smiled, a bit pleased with herself.
“For how long?” Angela asked. She knew her mother wouldn’t go unless she could spend more than two weeks. Every year she didn’t make the trip, there was more she wanted to see when she did make the trip. Father would joke that if they waited long enough, she’d have so much to see they’d need dual citizenship and may not make it back.
“At least a month,” Gary announced with a slight edge to his voice. Angela wondered what that meant.
“Do I have to wait that long before I can see him again?” Caroline asked, referring to the dog. Angela hoped her mother would not take it personal that Caroline seemed much more concerned about missing a dog she’d just met than her grandmother.
“We could work out an arrangement,” Gary offered.
“Don’t the Fiddlemans already live in France?
“They do,” Cathy answered, unmoved.
“So you’re traveling alone? By yourself?” Angela knew they’d been discussing the dog. But this point was more disconcerting to her than potential pet-visiting hours.
“Yes I am,” Cathy said emphatically. She held her coffee cup a bit too rigidly, though, and looked to Gary with pleading eyes again.
Gary paused and then offered some explanation. “She’s been trying to talk me into retiring.”
This was interesting. Cathy was quite used to getting her way. And as much as Gary appeared to care for her mother, Angela could see he had no intention of ending his professorship early for a Europe tour. She watched Cathy carefully.
“I thought you could apply for one of those sabbaticals, or whatever they’re called.”
“The university would ask for a report. I’d need research or a few speaking engagements. That’s not how you want to tour Europe.” He answered calmly but left Angela with the impression he and her mother had discussed this before.
“She could wait two more years for me,” he said with a glance toward Cathy.
“You know this is the year I—it has to be this year. The Fiddlemans are moving back to the States.” Cathy’s face flushed a bit, her eyes resting on a spot of carpet.
Now this was adding up. Cathy didn’t want to miss the chance to see her friends, the safety of their accommodations, and company.
“Good grief, if that’s all this is about—wanting to see Europe with Nancy—then go. You don’t have to act as if you only have six months to live,” Angela said, relieved to finally understand the reason for her mother’s insistence.
Cathy moved in her chair and looked distractedly about the room and back and forth to Mark and Angela.
“What is it, Mom? Is there something else?”
“You’ll think I’m being pushy or controlling. But I want to know your plans before I head off. I don’t want to miss ... I want to make sure I’m around for any big event in your life.” She said it so meekly Angela didn’t recognize her own mother.
Things clicked into place. She did have a reason for the dinner. And for asking about their possible engagement. Angela even sensed worry in her voice. She was leaving the country and didn’t want to miss out. This realization brought a wave of relief with it, though Angela didn’t know why, as her mother still waited expectantly for the answer to the same question she’d asked at the beginning of dinner.
“Don’t worry. If you’re only going for a month, nothing can happen that fast around here,” Angela said with a nervous laugh.
Mark reached over, took her hand, and looked at her with his genuine eyes, his irresistible eyes.
“I don’t mind if you get engaged while I’m gone, but I would hope you would wait for my return before any kind of ceremony,” Cathy said, directing her words to Mark.
Only Mark couldn’t have known why her mother felt the need to ask to be invited to their wedding. And why she was asking so timidly. This had everything to do with Angela’s first marriage to Todd and her mother’s refusal to attend the wedding. If she dwelt on it, the pain would return, and with it the desire to exclude her mother. But that was over nine years ago. They were speaking again and getting along now. Of course they would invite her.
But how had the conversation come to this? They weren’t engaged, and even if Mark asked Angela tonight, they wouldn’t have a wedding in a month! Had Angela missed something?
“Angela, could I ... could we talk ... maybe in the other room?” Mark asked.
He took her by the hand, and led her out of the room. Angela wasn’t sure why or what was happening. She could hear Caroline asking more Bones questions. They walked to the parlor and sat on one of Cathy’s custom-upholstered sofas, and Mark began talking in quiet tones about Cathy’s expressions and a mother’s love for her daughter, and how important engagements could be. Angela was only half listening, distracted by her own mental replay of everything that had been said at the table.
“Wait, what did you say about engagements?” Angela asked.
“That maybe it would put your mother at ease if we were engaged before she left,” Mark said plainly.
“You’re not joking, are you?”
“No, Angela. You saw your mother’s face. She isn’t trying to manipulate us. This means a lot to her.”
It was true. Even if it was a departure for her mother. But Angela felt that familiar off-the-rails feeling anyway. She noticed Mark’s posture, and a flash of panic filled her chest.
“No,” she said. “Don’t do this Mark.”
“Do what?” he asked.
“Don’t you dare propose here—not in my mother’s house, not on this sofa,” Angela’s voice rose. “I know something is different, but don’t you see? She’ll get her way. It will be on her terms.”
“Angela, I only meant to say we could give her some encouragement,” Mark said.
“If you propose to me now, it will feel like my mom is running my life again.”
Mark leaned over and kissed her. On the cheek, on the lips. It surprised her but calmed her at the same time.
“No one is running your life but you.”
She took a much-needed deep breath in between his kisses.
He continued. “I want to marry you. That doesn’t surprise you, does it? But I’m not asking tonight, not until it’s the right time for both of us. And I won’t ask at all if you don’t want to marry me.” He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze. “Do you want to marry me? Not will you, but do you want to?” He whispered the questions, but didn’t wait for answers. He kissed her again, and she melted into him.
Yes. Yes! She wanted to marry him. But fresh memories of her marriage to Todd—and the painful end of it were sounding alarm bells in her head now. What would it take for her to be sure she wasn’t making another mistake?
Though Mark’s kisses could cause her to forget where she was and who she was, the designer upholstery reminded her of everyone waiting in the other room. This wasn’t the best time for her to get lost in one of Mark’s irresistible embraces.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “You always know the right thing to say.”
They returned to their chairs, Angela a bit breathless, Mark pleasantly calm.
“Cathy, I don’t think your long-awaited tour of Europe is in danger of being cut short by any sudden matrimony.”
All eyes were on Angela, even though Mark was the one who spoke.
“But you know how it is over at the Shafer Tree Farm. Anything can happen.” He winked at Caroline. “Make sure we have a way to contact you.”
The cushioned wicker love seat on the screened porch at Angela’s house was a welcome change for Mark and Angela’s post-dinner conversation. Caroline had protested somewhat before settling into bed but had finally fallen asleep.
Angela dished up two small bowls of chocolate ice cream.
“Lights? No lights?” she asked.
He said, “Whatever you like,” so she left them off. The streetlamp from two houses away filtered in through the screens, causing the furniture and wooden floor to glow. Their faces were visible but in a soft, obscured way. This Angela loved. The sheer comfort of sitting close in the semidarkness on a porch that should theoretically feel exposed, but at night it was like they became part of the fixtures—hidden in plain sight.
The Tree Keeper's Promise: A Novel (A Shafer Farm Romance Book 2) Page 5
