The Christmas Tree Keeper: A Novel

by Tamara Passey

  I thought so. Oh, to go back.

  Angela heard a slight knock on the wide hospital room door. She sat up, and her mother walked in.

  “Mom!” She jumped up. Without speaking, her mother walked over and hugged her. Was her mother crying? She couldn’t see. Angela buried her head into her mother’s shoulder as the tears welled up again. It may have been years since they’d hugged like this, but leave it to Caroline to bring them together.

  It’s been so long. Don’t cry. Not now.

  Caroline stirred in the bed. Angela whispered, “She’s okay—she’s going to be fine. They’re running tests.”

  “Thank goodness. What happened? What about you?” her mother asked.

  Angela swallowed hard. “I’m fine. I wasn’t there when the fire broke out. Caroline was with our neighbor. Her place filled with smoke because of another apartment where someone left candles burning or something—they aren’t sure. Anyway, she’s here for observation.”

  “I’ve never been so scared. I drove up to your place and it looked like a scene from the apocalypse, with the charred building and debris everywhere. Even the snow around the place was black. It took me forever to find someone who could tell me where you were,” her mother said as she held on to one of Angela’s arms. “I’m so relieved you’re safe.”

  “Why did you come? How did you get here?” Angela couldn’t decide what was more surprising—to see her mother in person, or to be hugged by her.

  “I came to bake ornament cookies. Remember, you called this morning?”

  “That’s right—that’s what Caroline wanted to do tonight.” Angela looked at her daughter resting in the bed. “And you came.” Angela looked at her mother and fought back more tears.

  “Yes, and I’m glad I did. I’m not as cold-hearted as you think I am,” her mother said and sat down in a chair. She pulled out her phone and dialed.

  “Who are you calling?” Angela asked.

  “Hello, Holly?” her mother said into the phone. “When you arrive at the house tomorrow, will you make up the beds in the doll room and the study? Yes, that’s right. Thank you.”

  “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “I’m getting things ready for you and Caroline to come and stay. What does it sound like I’m doing?”

  Angela held the sides of her head with her hands. “But why?” She sat back into the recliner.

  “You have to have someplace to live. This has gone on long enough.”

  Caroline stirred in the bed and the monitor slipped off her finger. Angela hopped up and fixed it while figuring out what to make of her mother’s offer. She considered it for ten seconds.

  “Thank you. That’s generous of you, Mom, but we’ll find a place in Sutton.” She said as emphatically as her whisper would allow.

  Her mother put her phone back in her designer purse. “I see. You won’t ever come back, will you? Are you waiting for me to say I’m sorry? Is that it? As I was driving over here, I had no idea how seriously you, or Caroline, had been hurt. I care you know, I do.”

  Angela heard the emotion in her mother’s voice, the catch in her throat. She looked to see the glint of tears in her eyes, her features full of concern. What was this? Love? Or something close to it?

  What can I do?

  “It’s not that, Mom. Caroline has school.”

  She looked back to her sleeping daughter’s face, her mother’s emotion too much to process. No matter that just that morning, Angela had been the one to ask if they could try to get along. That was before the fire. Before she’d been scared out of her mind at the thought of losing Caroline. All she needed was for Caroline to be okay. Going home with her mother was not the answer.

  Chapter 10

  Mark had just finished his third mile on the treadmill when the morning news started. He watched the muted screen as it flashed scenes of a fire. He grabbed the remote for volume without taking his eyes from the report. He kept a steady pace until he couldn’t stop the adrenaline rush. His legs pounded the belt harder, faster.

  No. Not a fire, not in December.

  Families huddled in the parking lot and firefighters worked to extinguish the blaze. Mark scanned the scene for children, out of habit. There were a few but he couldn’t see any faces. The camera panned to the flames and then the station went to a commercial break.

  Mark stopped the treadmill and grabbed his towel. He showered and ate breakfast before Donna arrived at the farm.

  “What are you up to today?” she asked. “Big day with Natalie or something?”

  “She’s busy with work. Did you see the news this morning?” Mark asked as he shuffled papers on his desk.

  “Did they feature us again?”

  “No. There was a fire at the Blackstone Apartments yesterday.”

  “Goodness, that’s where Mrs. Shaw lives. I hope she’s okay,” Donna said. “How bad was it?” She took off her coat and tied on her Christmas apron.

  “There were three apartments involved in the fire, but they evacuated the building and another nine units. That’s a lot of people who need to find a place to sleep.” Mark searched on his computer for phone numbers.

  “I’ll try to reach Mrs. Shaw. What are you planning?”

  “I want to use my mom’s hospital fund. This is the kind of situation where she would have helped, don’t you think?” Mark looked to Donna for confirmation.

  “Oh, I think so. If she knew whole families were out of their homes, she wouldn’t sit around.”

  Papa and Brett came into the office.

  “Who wouldn’t sit around?” Papa asked.

  “My mom—we’re talking about the fire. Did you see the news?”

  Mark explained the details again as Donna hurried out.

  “I’m calling the Red Cross to make a donation to help with temporary housing. I’m also donating trees for each family, too, once they’re in a new place. Is that okay with you?” Mark asked.

  “Okay with me? Course it is. Besides, you’re taking care of the trees now, right? I think it’s a fine idea. If there’s anything those people need, it’s a Shafer miracle tree.”

  Mark cringed. “Papa, this isn’t about publicity.”

  “Who said anything about that? I’m talking about the trees. You ought to know what you’ve got.” Papa sat in one of the office chairs and continued, “My great-grandfather bought this land when he came to America in 1880. We’ve been the only owners, the keepers of these trees for over one hundred years.” He squared his shoulders.

  “I know. You’ve mentioned this before,” Mark said.

  Maybe a thousand times.

  “I taught this to your father. Greg understood the importance of what we do.”

  Mark slammed the desk drawer closed at the mention of his dad.

  Brett spoke up. “I’m going to go work outside.”

  “Not yet—you can hear this too,” Papa said. “Hans and Adeline started their life on this land. They cared for it through drought and flood and fire. One winter they lost two of their children.”

  Mark interjected, “I know, but they weren’t selling trees.”

  “That’s right—the Christmas tree market came later, but they laid the foundation. They made this land their treasure. Do you know what I mean by ‘treasure’?” He looked at Mark with intensity. “Their hard work and sacrifice made it possible for their posterity, for us, to survive.”

  He’s not going to start talking about my posterity, is he?

  “Papa, I’m giving some money to the hospital, and I’m telling the manager at the apartments that we’re donating trees for those families. That’s all. I’m doing what my mom would have done,” Mark said.

  And I’m not saying anything about miracle trees.

  “Your mom was a gem, that’s for sure,” Papa agreed. “She and your dad knew the trees.”

  There was that wistful look on Papa’s face again. “Yeah, I miss them too.” Mark said. What did they know about the trees? Maybe if they were here they co
uld explain Papa to me. Who am I kidding? If they were here, they wouldn’t have to.

  “Brett, can you start selecting some trees we can send over there?” Mark asked.

  Donna returned with some breakfast plates. “What are you asking Brett to do? I need his help in the craft barn today.”

  “And I had plans for him too,” Papa said.

  “I’m a popular guy.” Brett smiled and accepted the food.

  “I asked him to help with the trees we’re donating while I go over to the hospital. But if you need him, Donna, he’s all yours. I can go myself.”

  Mark didn’t know what to expect when he walked to the information desk of the medical center. Usually when they donated money for the needs of a family, it was over the phone or through the mail, not in person.

  The friendly volunteer gave him directions to the business office. Mark walked the stretch of two long hallways that formed an L around a courtyard. He met with an accounts manager who recognized his name from previous donations, and they had a brief conversation about the help Mark offered.

  “Can you use the money for those who don’t have insurance first?” Mark asked. “And can this donation be anonymous? Is that possible?”

  “I’m sure we can work that out,” the manager replied.

  As Mark left the office and neared the end of the first hallway, he saw a woman and her daughter coming out of the elevator.

  “Hello.” He stopped as his eyes met hers. “You’re Angela?” Mark reached out and shook her hand.

  “You’re right,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had some business to take care of for the tree farm,” he said.

  “At the hospital?” her daughter asked.

  Mark noticed the ID band on her wrist.

  “Are you okay?” He looked to her and then to her mother.

  “She’s fine now,” Angela answered as all three of them started walking slowly toward the lobby.

  “There was a fire at our apartment, and I breathed in a lot of smoke,” her daughter said.

  “She wasn’t in our apartment. We don’t know what happened to our place,” Angela tried to explain. “We’re going there now to find out.”

  Scenes from the news flashed through Mark’s mind.

  “Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. That’s why I’m here, or part of the reason I came—to help.” Didn’t I just ask the accounts manager if I could remain anonymous? “Anyway, we’re donating trees to the families who need to find a new place to stay,” he stammered. “I’ll give you my number. I’ll deliver a new tree to you, if you need one.”

  “Are we going to need to find another place to live, Mom?” her daughter interrupted.

  “This is my daughter Caroline.” Angela said to Mark. “We don’t know yet.” Angela responded to her daughter and shot Mark a questioning look. “That’s generous of you. Not sure if we’ll need another tree or not, but thank you.”

  Mark tried a different offer. “Well, you can come down to the farm anytime. On Saturdays, we have our ‘hot dog, hot chocolate, and hay ride’ event.” He looked at her daughter, who had brightened at the suggestion. “I could even show you around.”

  “I’d love that!” Caroline said.

  “I’m sure you would.” Angela said. “Thanks for the invitation. We’ve got to go.” She smiled half-heartedly at Mark and crossed the lobby to the exit.

  Mark returned to the farm and found Donna and Brett in the office.

  “This is so exciting—you have to come see this,” Donna called to Mark. “Look at what Brett did for my blog.”

  “I fixed the website, like you asked me to do a month ago, and added a link to Donna’s blog, the one she has for the crafts,” Brett explained.

  “And look at the clicks!”

  “The hits. She means the hits to the website.”

  “And comments. I have twelve comments on yesterday’s post!” she exclaimed.

  “Is that a lot?” Mark knew better than to ask Donna a question like that.

  “Of course it is. What’s the matter with you? Before Channel 6 ran their story, no one knew my blog existed—except for my daughters and a few of my crafters. Look at this. Customers—real people—are reading it.”

  “You should take a look at some of these comments, Mark,” Brett said. “One woman said her husband found a job a few days after they got a tree from us. And this woman didn’t give her name, but she said a week after she bought a tree, her son called for the first time in a year.” Brett scrolled down through the comments.

  Mark stared at the screen. The news of the apartment fire did what Donna had said it would do—it took the place of any more stories about “miracle” trees. But what was this? Customers remembered. And believed. And miracles were happening?

  “Do you see, Mark?” Donna asked. “Do you see all the good?”

  He nodded reluctantly. “Wow, Donna, that’s great. Thanks, Brett, for fixing the website.”

  Who’s to say those things occurred because of a Shafer tree? Then again, who’s to say they didn’t?

  Chapter 11

  Angela and Caroline arrived at the apartments to find their building cordoned off with yellow caution tape, the blackened snow serving as an additional reminder of the fire. At least the smoke and clouds had left a clear afternoon sky. They parked and walked to the rental office. On their way, they saw the backside of the building where the fire started—the outer wall was missing and the edges, charred and exposed.

  “It looks like a dollhouse,” Caroline said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can see into the rooms and all the furniture, just like my dollhouse,” she explained, “but without the black parts.” She let go of her mother’s hand and ran down the sidewalk.

  “Wait, Caroline. Where are you going?” Angela called after her.

  “To see our balcony. It doesn’t look burned.”

  “That’s good,” Angela said, relieved. She followed Caroline to see for herself that at least the outside looked untouched by flames. “Let’s go check in at the office.”

  A half-dozen people filled the small rental office and formed a scattered line in front of Mr. Buckley’s desk. Angela couldn’t see him through the crowd, but she did see Mrs. Shaw. They politely moved around a few people to greet her.

  Mrs. Shaw threw her arms around Caroline. “Thank heavens you’re all right. What a fright that was.”

  “Are you feeling okay? Did they keep you overnight too?” Angela asked.

  “Yes, and I didn’t sleep at all. We left the hospital at the same time this morning, but you didn’t see me. Mark Shafer was talking to you, and I had to hurry.”

  “How do you know him?” Angela asked.

  “He’s a Shafer. Their family is almost Sutton itself. I know Donna better than Mark, though. I supply Christmas crafts to them, remember?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So sad about his parents,” Mrs. Shaw said.

  “What about them? Do you mean Donna?” Angela asked.

  “No, Donna isn’t his mother. Mark’s parents died in a fire when he was a young boy. Donna was his mother’s friend and she stayed, bless her, to help at the farm. She takes care of that family, too. They are salt-of-the-earth kind of people.”

  The kind of people who offer to deliver trees to sick children. The kind of people who deserve to be treated a little nicer than my cold shoulder.

  “Are the two of you ... are you seeing him?” Mrs. Shaw asked.

  “Ah, no. He has a girlfriend. Not that it would matter if he didn’t.”

  Every time he’s seen me, I’ve looked pitiful.

  Her mind cued the scenes like replays of crash-test-dummy videos—sitting in a truck that wouldn’t start, trying to return the anonymous gift money—yeah, that was pleasant—and standing in the hospital hallway with her daughter after a sleepless night in a hospital chair.

  “A man would be blind if he couldn’t see your beauty, now wouldn’t
he?” Mrs. Shaw declared.

  “Yes, he would,” Mr. Buckley chimed in.

  Angela hadn’t noticed that the line had inched closer to his desk. She reddened and stepped behind Mrs. Shaw.

  “Now, Don, I’ve talked to my daughter, and I’m changing my flight. I’ve got to get a few things from my apartment. The presents for my grandchildren were wrapped and ready, and I’m hoping they aren’t ruined by the smoke. Even if the renter’s insurance covers that kind of thing, I can’t show up empty-handed.” Mrs. Shaw handed Mr. Buckley a paper. “This is where I can be reached. That’s the area code for Portland. 503, Don, not 508—I’ve made that mistake before.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Mr. Buckley said.

  Mrs. Shaw hugged Caroline and Angela again. “Now listen. I’m going to leave a little package outside my door before I leave today. Can you come by and pick it up?”

  “Mrs. Shaw, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “Sure I did—I’m leaving for the holiday. How else am I supposed to give you something for Christmas?”

  Caroline clapped her hands.

  “And block your ears, little one,” she said to Caroline. “Angela, you’d best open it before the day—there are new stockings in the package. Caroline showed me the ones you’ve been using, and you needed some that were big enough to fit a decent-sized orange. And I put crackers in there—goodness, do you know what to do with those?” she asked hurriedly.

  “You told me,” Caroline piped up.

  “Well, no surprises from me then.” She laughed. “But do enjoy your holiday.”

  Mr. Buckley spoke up. “Angie. How’ve you been? I didn’t come to the hospital—there’s been so much to do here.” Looking down to Caroline, he said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”