The Tree Keeper's Promise Part 2

"I hate to break it to you. Me and Mrs. Shaw-we don't have as much time as all that. Our courts.h.i.+p needs to grow like a white pine or, better yet, one of those hybrid poplar trees. When you're young, I guess you can act like a cedar or a spruce-take your time and ease into things. But even then you don't want to miss the plantin' season."

Brett knocked on Mark's partially open office door.

"Uh, Mark, someone here to see you," he said.

Mark paused from answering an email. "You can show them back," Mark said.

"Are you sure?" Brett opened the door wider and s.h.i.+fted his weight. It wasn't like Brett to hesitate. He'd worked on the farm with Papa and Mark the last six years since high school and was usually friendly toward everyone on the farm and in Sutton.

"Who is it?" Mark asked.

"John ... Jackson."

Mark froze momentarily. "What's he doing here?" he asked. Then he stood, thanked Brett, and told him he would escort the man off the property himself.

As he walked to the front of the farmhouse, he wondered if there could be another John Jackson that had come with business for the farm. Of course there wasn't. How could the man think he could walk onto the farm and not get thrown off just as fast?

"Good to see you, Mark. Real good to see you," John said before Mark could get within handshaking distance.

Why was John acting so friendly? He certainly had a lot of nerve, showing up unannounced, uninvited.

"What are you doing here?" Mark asked, maintaining his composure. He stopped beside the sales counter.

"Thought I'd come see about a tree for the mall this year. We need a tall one, at least twenty-five feet. Do you grow any that big? Thirty would be better. What's your tallest tree? How about we start there?"

"I'm surprised you're asking, John. You mean you don't have every tree measured and tagged on some map in your office?"

"Hey, no hard feelings, right? Just because you refused the best offer you'll ever see for this place doesn't mean we can't still do business. It doesn't bother me at all."

"No, I don't suspect it does," Mark said with what felt like a bad taste in his mouth. "Look, I'm not interested in being buddies."

"I didn't say anything about being friends. I thought you'd like the business. The Auburn mall wants a taller tree than they had last year, and I thought of you. This is as straightforward a deal as you can get."

John and the word straightforward were an odd couple. Mark scanned John's posture and sideways grin and resisted the urge to throw him off the property. Maybe he was overreacting. What could be underhanded about wanting to buy one tree? After all, Mark had succeeded in keeping the land and trees out of John's hands last year. So why this fresh anger?

"How's Natalie?" Mark asked dryly.

John looked around at the chairs by the fireplace. "Don't know." He hung his head, then lifted it back up again. "We split up. Hope you're not still sore about her. She wasn't your type."

"Right. Look, if the Auburn mall is looking for one of our specialty trees, I'm happy to supply it. Why don't you give me the number of someone else, maybe the community relations rep or a facilities coordinator? Someone who hasn't tried to fraudulently purchase the farm."

John's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. "I see. That's how you want it. Fine. I'll give your name to Roxie. She does the holiday decor. I'll stay out of it, but make sure you sell your tallest tree to us-Auburn has a reputation of prosperity to protect."

Mark held his tongue. There were a few choice words he could use to describe John's reputation, and prosperous wasn't one of them.

"It's too bad," John said as he walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle. "I'm a better friend than you give me credit for. Had you taken my offer, I would have saved you the headache. You wouldn't have this mess on your hands." He made a sweeping motion with his other arm.

What was that supposed to mean? That was enough. "Go ahead and leave-and take your insults with you. Don't want to see you here again," Mark kept his voice even and calm-it helped that John was almost out the door.

Sour grapes. That's all this is.

"Not insults. Just the facts." A wicked smile broke across John's face. "You've heard, haven't you?"

Mark didn't know what he meant, but he sure didn't want to hear whatever it was from John. There wasn't much he could do about it at this point, though.

"Ma.s.sDOT is working on a 'futures study' for Route 146," John said and held the next words as if he were taking aim at a target. "Looks like your farm is in the way of a planned extension. It's only a matter of time before Ma.s.sDOT owns every last acre and tree here. My old buyer wouldn't be interested, but for a small finder's fee I can ask around. I guarantee I can get you more for this place than you'll get from the Commonwealth."

Mark steadied his breathing and put his hand up to his forehead.

John pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket, walked over, and put it on the counter near Mark. "A friend of mine works over at the transportation office. You didn't get this from me, but this is the rough draft. The study will be out sometime next year." He walked back to the door.

"Get out," Mark said.

"You could have been a wealthy man," John replied. "I don't hold grudges. I can still find you a buyer."

Mark locked eyes with John and kept his voice even. "Get out. Now."

Once John had slipped out the main door, it closed unceremoniously by itself. Mark watched to make sure he was gone, that he wasn't coming back. He grabbed the envelope off the counter and looked out the bay window. He stared at the trees long after John was out of sight. They stood resolute and didn't seem to be saying it was time for a change. Then again, had it been time to sell and he'd missed it? Wouldn't Papa have known? Surely the trees would have told him if it was time.

Chapter 3.

It's not like Angela's mother hadn't visited unannounced before. For someone who couldn't bear the thought of driving all the way to Sutton from Providence, she'd dropped in pretty regularly this year. Every month she had a reason, a sale she'd heard about at a downtown specialty clothing store or a need to visit the farmer's market-though she had long been out of her local-foods phase. Angela attributed her visits to the fact that her mom had bought the house, but who knew? Maybe her mother would be dropping in even if she hadn't paid cash for the place and delivered it to Angela as a gift on Christmas Day.

Regardless, Angela secretly liked her mother's visits. Yes, they were inconvenient; yes, they could disrupt any plans for an afternoon, but this was better than the icy cold war they'd endured the years after Angela's marriage to Todd. And since he was long gone, it was time their grudges were too.

So here she was, rummaging through Angela's kitchen, commenting on what was in the fridge-or what wasn't.

"Honestly, I don't know how you can make a meal without a clove of garlic in the house."

Oh, the irony. Her mother hadn't cooked her own meals in years. You mean you don't know how I can make a meal without a chef in the house, Angela wanted to say but didn't. Her younger self-okay, her just-last-year-self-would have said it. But things had changed between them. s.h.i.+fted. Angela couldn't pinpoint how or when it had happened. It could have been when her mother found the lost lamb from Angela's nativity and returned it to Caroline. Or the look on her mother's face when she found out that they were having Christmas dinner at the Shafer tree farm. Or maybe it was Angela's discovery that her mother had dated Mark's dad.

Whenever it had happened, she thought of her mother as more of a person now. A woman with feelings, like pain and hope. Someone with longings and sorrows instead of the one-dimensional woman-that one-dimension being constant disappointment-who'd raised Angela. Part of the s.h.i.+ft included understanding that most of her mother's disappointment was from so much of what had happened in life before Angela was even born. Like the failed engagement to Mark's dad. How could Angela have known her mother had dated him? Or that they wanted to get married-until her mom's father had intervened?

So it was easier to smile to herself when her mother's contradictions came through so loud and clear. And it was getting easier to talk about her feelings. Sort of.

"When will you be finished managing those apartments?" Cathy asked as she surveyed the utensil drawer. "Do you have a decent paring knife?"

"Skinny drawer to the left of the stove," Angela said. "I'm only working there part-time now. Gloria from the home office has been covering two days a week, and we trade weekends. I should be done by the end of this month. Just waiting for them to hire a new manager."

"The job was supposed to be temporary. I can't believe they've held on to you this long," Cathy said.

"I've been getting paid. And believe it or not, I'll miss the tenants."

With that, her mother looked up from the apple she was cutting. "You're not serious- you are serious. The residents? Your life is waiting for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angela asked.

"The studio, for starters. Think of the music you could be recording if you weren't over there trying to collect rent." She returned to more vigorously cutting the apple. "And your degree. Didn't you say something about starting school this fall? You're still going to finish, aren't you? You don't have a mortgage, Caroline is at a good age, this is the perfect time to do it."

And, yes, she finished slicing the apple at the same time she wrapped up Angela's life plan, as if on cue.

"It's not that easy. I talked about starting this fall, but I wasn't sure when Blackstone would hire a new manager. And I wanted to be available to help at the tree farm."

She paused and checked her mother's face for a reaction to those words. Wanting to preempt any farm discussion, she owned up to another reason. "And besides, I still haven't decided on a major."

"Undecided," Cathy shook her head to the rhythm of the syllables.

"I know. How hard is it to figure out what I really want to do with my life?" Angela joked. "It's different now. I'm not in crisis mode. I'm not worried about making the rent payment. As crazy as it sounds, there was some simplicity to those days. I had one priority: survival. Now I have competing priorities." Angela swallowed hard before she admitted, "And I haven't figured them out yet."

"There is no figuring out to be done. You are a musician. Your major is music. End of discussion."

Any other year and that phrase would have ended the discussion for Angela. But she was making an effort. Instead of focusing on her mother's dyed-blonde cla.s.sic bob, she chose to notice her light-blue eyes. The one thing they shared in common.

"I love my music, Mom, but there is more to the major than that. I'm not cut out for it as much as you think I am. Besides, there are other things I like."

"Such as?"

"After this year, I've learned I like business administration." She was careful not to mention that she and Mark had talked about this, about how she wanted to help run the farm.

"And what will you do with your music?" she pressed.

"If I ever want to have a music business, like producing, it would be smart to have the business background." Angela liked the sound of that as she said it. She didn't have to mention that it would be helpful at the farm, too.

"I remember a certain nineteen-year-old declaring her determination to follow her dream and a certain musician for as long as she lived," Cathy said emphatically, dismissing Angela's new plans.

Angela set down a stack of bowls she'd emptied from the dishwasher, pretending to steady them when it was herself she was trying to keep from wobbling. Something in her mother's tone, or perhaps the memory of her life when dreams still felt possible, took her off-center for a minute. Yes, things had s.h.i.+fted between her and her mother, but Cathy maintained the ability to sting-not that she did it on purpose, Angela hoped.

"I'm not nineteen now. I'll still have my music, but I don't need it to be my whole life anymore." This was an odd role reversal. Her mother defending Angela's dream and Angela sounding eerily like her mother not too many years previous.

Mom could say "I told you so" right about now.

But she didn't.

A silence ensued, and a cool September-afternoon breeze lifted the curtain away from the window.

Could it be that her mother wasn't forcing the issue to make a point? Could it be that she cared about the dream that she used to say would destroy her daughter's life? And did business administration look good to Angela because the farm looked good? Or rather, a certain tree farmer?

The door swung open, and Caroline tossed her backpack into the corner of the entry. Her golden-brown braid swung in the process. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Grandma. I didn't know you were coming today." She entered the kitchen and hugged first her mom and then her grandma before running down the hall to her bedroom.

"Mom, since you're here, could you stay for an hour or two? I was planning to take Caroline with me to the apartments while I finished up some office work, but I know she'd much rather stay here with you."

"Go with you where?" Caroline asked, rematerializing in the kitchen and scouting for a snack.

"To the apartments, but ..." Angela looked to her mother for an answer, unsure if she wanted to be on the favor-asking side of the equation.

"Of course I can stay. I came all this way. I don't need to turn around and leave in such a hurry," she said as she smiled at Caroline.

"I'll get my book, Grandma." After a few minutes, Caroline and Cathy were installed on the sofa reading.

That was easy. Angela grabbed her keys, but before she could get to the door her mother spoke up.

"How are you still driving that old pickup truck?"

"With my foot on the gas, Mom," Angela answered.

"Don't you think it's time for something more reliable?"

"It will be time for a new truck when there's money for a new truck."

"And why a truck?"

"I like them, that's why," she said with raised eyebrows. "And I'm going now, so thank you for staying with Caroline."

"One more thing. I've planned a little dinner this Friday for you, Caroline, and Mark. Six thirty. You can make it, right?" Cathy asked while managing to focus more on Caroline's book than on Angela.

Little dinner. Her mom never planned a little dinner.

"What for? Who else will be there?"

"Gary," she answered.

"The teacher you met this summer?" Angela asked. Wasn't he just a nice friend?

"He's a professor. And does there have to be a reason?" her mother asked.

"That's what you say when you're hiding something." Angela let out an exasperated sigh as she put her hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"Nothing to hide. Do you have plans? We could move it to Sat.u.r.day if we make it earlier."

"No, Friday should be fine. I'll check with Mark, but I'm sure we can be there. And what reason will I give?"

"He hasn't met Gary yet. That's a good reason, isn't it?"

"Meet Gary? Does he need to? You said yourself you weren't getting serious." Angela looked to Caroline as the words left her mouth. Didn't want to go there today.

She'll have questions for me later. Who am I kidding? She'll have questions for her grandmother as soon as I walk out the door.

Angela took a step onto the porch.

"Isn't it you and Mark who are getting serious?" Cathy asked with a flash of color in her cheeks.

Caroline giggled. Angela paused to maintain her composure.