“Papa, have you ever gotten ... never mind.”
“Gotten what? C’mon, you’ve already asked me if trees can talk.”
“Have you ever had an idea, you know, gotten a specific idea from the trees, like instructions?” Mark waited for another scoff from Papa.
“Hmm. Now that’s interesting. My father used to say ...” Papa stopped talking and looked down at his hands, turned them over, then stared at the trees.
“Used to say what?” Mark asked.
“He said he got ideas from the trees all the time. Said ’bout the time he finished his walk, he’d have an idea in his mind that had never been there before.” Papa stepped around a tiny tree, then crouched down to inspect it. “Can’t say that’s how it’s been for me. I just feel what the trees feel. Not sure why, but for me, I have to get my own ideas.” He sat up and studied Mark’s face. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Mark replied.
“What ideas have the trees been sharin’ with you?”
Mark walked ahead of Papa a few steps, leaving a bit of space between them. He stared at the rain-soaked ground as he answered. “That addition to the back of the farmhouse. The entire picture of it came to my mind one morning.”
“Yep. Sounds ’bout right.”
“And one day, when I was thinking about the frontage road—I don’t know, I felt like the trees told me they would stay, and I had this idea to research other properties. Saying it out loud makes it seem trivial. But is it even possible the trees could communicate that way?”
“Now don’t go asking me to explain the mysteries of the universe. How am I supposed to know if it’s the trees or something else? My father told me when I became the keeper, I’d have help from all of nature to do the work that needed to be done.”
“All of nature?”
“And it could have something to do with the keeper’s promise,” Papa said quietly.
Mark had never heard of this. Not in all their walks or work or time spent on the farm.
“The what? You haven’t said anything about this before.”
Papa didn’t respond.
Mark tightened up inside. After all these years, after all these months, there was still more that Papa hadn’t confided in him. Didn’t Papa trust him? Was it his memory? Had he simply forgotten what sounded like the most important piece to this whole puzzle?
“Papa, what is it? It sounds like something I should at least know about.”
“Been wondering if you’re ready, is all.”
“Ready?” Mark tried to keep the alarm and disbelief out of his voice. “I thought I was ready last year!” He stopped and threw his hands in the air.
“If the trees are already giving you their ideas, I’d say it’s time for secret number three. The promise.”
They walked back to the farmhouse surveying the land and trees as they went, Mark and Papa in step with each other and quieter than they had been.
“Let’s go inside and make it official.”
Papa walked over to the shelves near the fireplace and took down the family Bible. He opened the front cover and then flipped through some pages. “Nope, not in there.” He set it on the mantel and paced back and forth.
Mark’s heart had been pounding in his chest, but now it beat even faster.
Papa stopped pacing. “Don’t go worrying. It’s around here somewhere.”
“Around here somewhere?” Mark’s mouth hung open. “You don’t know where you put the tree-keeper’s oath?”
“Not an oath, a promise. No raisin’ the right hand, no swearing.”
“But you lost it?”
“No, no. Now don’t say that. It’s been a few years, is all. It’s short enough I might be able to remember it, but I don’t want to get it wrong.”
“Can I help you look for it?”
“It could be back in the cabin.”
So off they went.
“The power is in the promise, Mark. Once you state your intention, once you make your commitment, nature takes notice. There is trust, and the energy in the trees can combine and all that power will be directed to you,” Papa said.
Mark watched his face. He thought he saw some sadness.
“Papa, is there something else going on here you’re not telling me?”
Papa smiled wearily. “I’m telling you what you need to know.”
“Yes, but why haven’t you told me this sooner? Shouldn’t I have made this promise last year? I thought that’s when I became the keeper?”
“You did, and you have been,” Papa said.
There wasn’t much Mark could say. Papa could turn into a sealed vault without warning. Mark mulled over what he’d said already. And then it struck him.
“Once I make the promise, does that mean you won’t be able to feel what the trees feel anymore?”
Papa smiled again, this time knowingly. “I thought you might figure it out. That is usually the way it works. It’s not like flipping a switch, though. At least with my father it was gradual until ...” He didn’t finish.
“Until he couldn’t sense anything?” Mark’s heart sank. This couldn’t be right. Why did it have to mean this for Papa?
“The trees only need one keeper at a time. That’s how the energy works. And I’m sorry. You were ready last year, but I wasn’t.”
Mark’s indignation softened as he thought about what this might do to Papa. “You’ll be okay, right?” It felt like tears were stinging his eyes.
“’Course I’ll be okay. What kind of a question is that? It’s not like I’m dying. We’ve done enough talking. It’s time to do this.”
“Repeat after me. I—say your name, not mine,” Papa advised, “promise to care for and keep the trees of the Shafer farm from all forms of danger and destruction with my body, heart, and mind.”
Mark repeated each phrase as emphatically as Papa. His heart beat quicker in his chest, but as he finished, he felt mostly ... the same.
“That’s it?”
“Yep. It’s not like a president’s swearing in, but don’t worry. The power is in the promise. You’ll have what you need.”
As Mark wondered if the promise lacked enough ceremony, Papa continued. “C’mon, we’ve got work to do.”
He and Papa headed over to the sales lot. The water had cut a channel through it almost a foot deep, depositing most of the soil outside Donna’s barn in the form of mud and debris. They would need to level out the ground in both areas as well as the ground by the trees near the cabin.
“See here. Can’t have folks walking around this lot if it’s full of hazards.” Papa pointed to a cluster of barbed wire and nails. While the logs were heavy and the plant debris thick, they would have to use special care to comb the ground for any injurious matter.
Mark pulled his gloves tighter on his hands and began gathering the larger items. “I’ll start a collection of this by our trash barrels. He glanced over at the spot behind and to the side of the farmhouse where they were kept. Gone. Of course.
Papa had noticed too. “Maybe we’ll find ’em if we follow this channel.”
They were stacking logs and piling up the debris when Papa asked about Angela.
“She isn’t one to shy away from work, is she?” he said.
“Not at all, but even I was surprised,” Mark said.
“There’s no hiding what it means to take care of this land,” Papa said as he stepped around a puddle. “Helps if she doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty or, in this case, her feet wet.”
“While we’re talking about Angela, I have something to tell you,” Mark said as he wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. He couldn’t hide his smile. “We’re engaged.”
“Now that’s some good news. We need that around here.” Papa straightened and stretched, swinging his arms around his back. He stared over the trees with a pleased expression on his face.
Mark looked around in Papa’s direction. “Do the trees create love matches?” Mark asked.
“You know yourself these are miracle trees,” Papa said slowly. “Isn’t love the greatest miracle? What’s the matter? You don’t want to give ’em credit?”
“It’s not that. It’s just ... they’re trees. What could they possibly do to cause people to fall in love?”
“There you go again thinking about it all wrong.” Papa sighed. He walked to another section of the sales lot and carried a cluster of broken branches and trash over to the debris piles.
“These trees bring people together. Like you and Angela, they brought you together, didn’t they? But it’s what you do with it that matters. Seems to me love is always a choice, always has been, always will be. Trees can’t force anyone. They provide the love in the air,” Papa added a wink, “but you’ve still got to do the work.”
“Then what about having a wedding before Christmas?”
Papa grinned. “I can have a little fun every now and then.”
They worked on the sales lot until Brett showed up with some of their seasonal employees. Mark and Papa left them to continue clearing the ground while they checked on the fencing on the north side of the farm. Papa suggested they pressure wash the barn after a few days when things had a chance to dry out. “No tellin’ what came through in that water.”
Mark said he’d already been on the phone with their equipment dealer. They would be delivering some fans and commercial dehumidifiers within a day or two. He would talk to him about a pressure washer, too.
They were walking on the higher ground of the farm. Water puddled in places from the rain. The torrent of water had not come up this high. As they moved through a row of three- and four-year-old trees, Mark couldn’t help but think of the promise he’d just made.
Care for and keep the trees ... from all forms of danger ... with my body, heart, and mind.
That was what he’d been doing ever since the day last year when he decided not to sell the farm. This wasn’t new. But Papa did say he’d have help from all of nature.
He looked at the trees. What did that mean? He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for exactly—maybe one of the trees to wave hello? Maybe the wind to swirl the leaves into a script formation with a message?
Anything to signal that something had changed.
Hadn’t it?
They approached the section of the fence that had suffered the most damage. So many different thoughts had been filling his mind he almost forgot what they were doing there. Papa commented on lumber prices and if they should consider the PVC fencing he’d seen some of the other farms in the area use.
Mark was still staring at the trees.
Papa stopped and followed Mark’s line of sight. “Remember, it’s gradual.”
“Thanks,” Mark said. Not much felt different, and he’d already been wondering if Papa had made up the promise, but that wasn’t like Papa.
They measured the ruined section of fence. It did make some sense, as long as they were replacing the damaged portion, to replace the fence with newer material. But the cost and time in addition to the other work they had from the flood—they agreed changing out the entire fence would need to wait.
They headed back to the sales lot to check in with Brett and walked along the eastern border, nearly making a full circle. Here they saw some of the most extensive damage. It seemed the surge of water that passed the cabin had continued on and torn through dozens and dozens of trees. Maybe hundreds.
Replant. They would replant. Yes, grief and a more physical pain than he wanted to admit were assaulting him, but stronger than these were his resolve and determination. Didn’t matter how long it took. This was his land. These were his trees.
Mark felt a stir of wind, then a gust. He focused his attention on one tree in particular. He walked to it and reached for the trunk. A wave of melancholy hit him—not surprising, but somehow different than the sadness and grief he’d been feeling a minute ago. He stared at the tree for an explanation.
“What is it, Mark?” Papa asked.
Mark didn’t take his eyes off the tree. “I’m not sure.”
Papa continued walking. Mark stepped to the side of the tree to examine it. He was about to catch up with Papa and try to leave the feeling behind when he noticed the tiniest cluster of gray-green needles on one of the upper branches.
He stepped closer and scanned the rest of the tree but couldn’t see any other discolored needles. Still, the faded green patch had that distinct gray hue.
Papa had returned. “Making a new friend?”
“Is this what I think it is?” Mark asked, motioning Papa toward the small cluster of needles on a partially obscured branch.
“I don’t know. What do you think it is?” Papa answered.
“Pine wilt?”
Papa stared, then solemnly nodded his head. “It is. You sure caught it early. But it will still have to go.”
“I’ll let Brett know. Should we burn it or chip it?”
“Your choice. But how the dickens did you see that branch?” Papa asked.
Mark looked into Papa’s face. The wind, the melancholy, the magnetic pull to that tree—was that all because of the promise?
“You don’t have to answer that. Like I told you, the power is in the promise,” Papa said. He was already walking ahead, and Mark ran to catch up but not to talk. His mind replayed what had happened—to memorize it, to maybe understand it.
“Papa, can I tell Angela about the promise?”
“You’re gonna marry her, right?” Papa asked, a bit exasperated.
“Yes,” Mark insisted.
“Then you better.”
Chapter 15
Angela awoke Friday morning with flood-fighting weariness. She felt every muscle in her legs, including the ones she hadn’t used since her step-aerobics craze. Caroline had come to check on her twice—once to ask if she could have the last of the Lucky Charms for breakfast, taking advantage of Angela’s deep sleep, no doubt, and the second time to ask if Angela were sick and if she should call a doctor. Or maybe the friendly paramedic who took her to the hospital last year. Knowing Caroline, she could have that paramedic on the phone in minutes.
“I’m getting up right now,” Angela said. As she sat up in bed, memories of the farm rushed back to her. The water and mud. The sandbags and the cabin. And Mark!
She instinctively reached for her hand and felt the bare space at the base of her finger. Mark’s question. She wanted to hug him all over again.
Will you marry me?
She’d said yes. Of course she’d said yes.
A smile crossed her face.
“Are you ready?” Caroline came back to her room.
“Come sit on the end of my bed. I’ve got some news. You were asleep last night when I got home.”
“You mean early this morning? Grandma told me it was 3:00 a.m.,” Caroline said with a smile.
“Yes, earlier this morning. And she told you about the flood. But this is something that happened after.” Angela paused, making sure she hadn’t dreamt it. “Mark asked me to marry him last night.”
“Serious? That’s awesome!” Caroline jumped off the bed and then back on, closer to Angela, and gave her a big hug.
“I can tell you more about it on the way to school. I don’t want you to be late,” Angela said. She got up and dressed while Caroline ran back to the kitchen. She could hear her rinsing her cereal bowl and singing.
As they were headed out the door, Caroline stopped abruptly. “Do you know what this means? We’ll be living at the farm for Christmas!”
“No, wait. We’re barely engaged. We can’t get married that soon,” Angela said immediately.
“But Papa said.”
“I know what he said, but Mark and I didn’t even talk about a date. The farm was flooded. He—we have so much work to do,” Angela said.
Caroline pulled on the straps of her backpack and climbed into the truck. As they drove to her school, she asked, “Where’s your ring?”
Angela should have known better tha
n to think Caroline wouldn’t notice.
“Mark had it in his pocket at dinner but forgot about it when we rushed to the farm. We think it got lost in the water.”
“You don’t have it? Did you look everywhere?
“Not everywhere. We were both exhausted.”
By this time they were at the school and saying good-bye. As Caroline closed the truck door and Angela drove away, her cell phone rang.
Her mother.
“Good morning. Did Caroline make it to school on time?”
“I just dropped her off. Thanks for staying until I got back.”
“I ought to have stayed till this morning. You must be exhausted,” Cathy said.
“Yes, but I told you to go. You have a big day of shopping for your trip, don’t you?”
“That’s right, I do. It’s so hard to predict what the weather will do when I’m there, I want to have enough warm clothes, but Nancy says—”
“Mark proposed last night.” She said it quickly, as if she were ripping off a bandage. As interesting as her mother’s vacation fashion woes sounded, she knew she wouldn’t mind the interruption.
“Excuse me? Last night? And you’re telling me now?”
“Mom, it’s 8:45 in the morning. The only way you could have known sooner was if you’d been there!” she said as she pulled the truck into her driveway.
“You could have told me when you came in,” she said flatly.
What difference did five hours make? For all of Angela’s trying to help things stay good between them, it was moments like this where she questioned if it had been worth it.
“A minute ago you acknowledged how exhausted I must be. At 3:00 a.m. I wasn’t in any condition to have this conversation,” Angela said while internally scolding herself for sounding so defensive.
“This changes things. I can arrange to go shopping next week,” her mother said.
“Why would you do that? What are you talking about?”
“We’ve got a wedding to plan! I’m thinking of two places. If I call right now, we may be able to get you booked before next year’s holiday.”
The Tree Keeper's Promise: A Novel (A Shafer Farm Romance Book 2) Page 14
