The Tree Keeper's Promise Part 22

"That's the most sense you've spoken since we started this discussion," Angela said. "Since you proposed to me on the autumnal equinox, what if we get married on the spring equinox? That's in March, isn't it?"

Mark took a drink of water, giving himself time to think. He'd already made up his mind. They would get married on the day Angela wanted.

"It's the twentieth. Is that what you want?"

"Most people plan a summer wedding, a June wedding, but June doesn't mean anything to us, does it?"

They stood on a slab of rock on a narrow part of the trail and had to move into the brush to allow a father with several sons to climb past them. The sun was rising higher in the sky.

"That's when we shear the trees."

Angela remembered her shearing accident and shuddered. Mark had only needed three st.i.tches, but still.

"No. Not June. March and the equinox are perfect," she said. "It feels right, doesn't it?"

They took deliberate steps down the side of the trail, being sure to wipe their shoes on the brush and gravel so no wetness acc.u.mulated. Flat rocks lived up famously to the cliche "slippery when wet."

The trail opened up to large expanse of a granite slab, half shaded, half warmed by the sun. A retired couple had claimed part of the cooler section, so Mark angled toward the opposite side where there was mostly sun and spotty patches of shade.

"Let's take a rest," Mark said. "I think March will be great. Right before planting season." The month was fine, but something else troubled him.

"Angela, what about your ring? I can buy another one."

"We talked about this. No. You built a music studio and dance floor for us."

"For you," he said.

"Exactly."

Mark watched her as she said it. Not a hint of sadness or resentment. "But you need a ring."

"I don't want you to buy a new one. The other ring could still turn up," she said, taking a drink of her water.

Mark wondered if she really believed that. How could she?

"Angela, I had the ring in my pocket during the flood. I waded through sludge. How could it turn up?"

"Let's give it till March. How about that?"

What could Mark say in the face of such optimism? In the face of such beauty?

"I love you," he said.

Chapter 19.

The farm was only a ten-minute drive on Route 146 from the chasm. Angela watched the trees come into sight through the pa.s.senger window. How much her life had changed since she and Caroline had come looking for a Christmas tree last year. She wasn't frantic to pay rent, she had her own home, and she and her mom were on speaking terms. And the most unexpected change of all: Mark in her life, with all his kindness and goodness and love.

She couldn't deny the miracle of their meeting, her heart opening up enough to get to know him better, and the connection of their families. Too many times to count over the last ten months she'd thought of those Shafer miracle trees.

"So was Papa serious about the trees causing love matches?" she asked as they approached the farm.

"I think so. Why do you ask?"

"He said we could have a wedding before Christmas, that's all," Angela said while still staring out the window.

"I'm telling you, November is an option," Mark said playfully.

"Not an option. Two months isn't even enough time to find a dress," Angela said.

"He was putting pressure on me, that's all. Don't let it get to you," Mark insisted. "We decided on March. March twentieth."

"There might still be snow on the ground," she said mostly to herself.

Mark parked his truck, and they were well into the farmhouse when Mark asked why that might be a problem.

"Just thinking about the reception. It would be lovely behind the farmhouse, next to Donna's barn."

"Outside in March it will be too cold," he said. "If we're careful about how many people we invite and empty these two rooms of their furniture, it could work."

Angela turned and looked at him like he had spoken a foreign language. "We'll be getting married at the church downtown. The First Congregational, same one as Papa and Dorothy."

She could tell this surprised Mark. He crossed over to the cash register and seemed interested in some papers on the counter.

"Mark?"

"Okay. Sure," he said.

His sudden disinterest in the topic raised her suspicions.

"Are you sure it's okay?"

"I thought you'd said your mother had insisted on a big church wedding before with-and that you didn't want that again."

With Todd. It's what he was about to say. But he hadn't.

"You're right. I did say that. But the important word there is big. Our church wedding will be small, with the people who know and love us. Much more intimate."

He didn't respond right away. Papa and Dorothy came through the side door, speaking to each other and laughing. They looked up, and Dorothy's eyes met Angela's. She looked back and forth between her and Mark.

"Alberto, come with me to the barn."

"But you said you wanted to start fixin' dinner."

"And I will-after we visit the barn. We should check on Caroline and see how her painting is coming along," she said, giving Papa a stern look.

They walked out the front door.

Mark shuffled the mail and some papers and finally said, "Maybe it's for the best. With all the time we spend here, why not have the ceremony somewhere else?"

The tone in Mark's voice bothered Angela all the way home. His concession seemed forced and insincere-something Mark usually never was. And why had he a.s.sumed the wedding would take place at the farm? Couldn't he have asked her what she thought?

But then again, she hadn't asked him what he thought.

Caroline broke her out of her self-absorbed ruminations.

"Mom, look at what I made today with Mrs. Shaw." Caroline held up a miniature ceramic house. The hand-painted sign above the door read "Ice Cream Shoppe."

"It has this s.p.a.ce in the back. We can put a light in there so light will s.h.i.+ne in the windows. Can it go on the table by the sofa?"

"Sure, but we'll have to put it near an outlet," Angela said.

"Or maybe on the kitchen counter by the phone. We can have a little bit of Christmas in every room!"

Angela smiled to herself. Knowing Caroline, she'd change her mind three times before Christmas anyway.

"Remember you wanted them to go under the tree?" Angela asked.

"Yes, but since we only have these two, it won't be much of a village," Caroline said.

"Funny you should say that."

"What does that mean?" her daughter asked with growing excitement.

"What would you say if Mrs. Shaw gave us a few more pieces?"

"I'd say I love Mrs. Shaw! That's awesome. Wait, I have something," she said as she ran to her room and back, yelling to no one in particular that Christmas was going to rock!

When she returned, she showed her mother a small hand mirror. "We can use this for a lake. And Mrs. Shaw said she had some batting stuff that could look like snow. Also, maybe a place in the center for the nativity!"

"Like Bethlehem?" Angela asked, trying to keep up with her daughter's excitement.

Caroline gasped. "Bethlehem! Mom, you're so right. This can be the little town of Bethlehem."

"You know that Bethlehem didn't have snow, right?" Angela cautioned.

"Who cares," she said.

Angela should have seen that one coming. Even if Caroline was missing the point, she wasn't going to be deterred if the village houses resembled something from a Norman Rockwell painting circa 1920, rather than an ancient Middle-Eastern town like Bethlehem. Obviously they weren't striving for historical accuracy.

"Also, there are a few more pieces left to paint."

"I'll take care of that!"

Angela picked up the mail and sat in her wicker chair on the screened porch. A few bills, a neighborhood coupon book, and a picture of a fountain and flowers. She turned the postcard over-the Botanical Garden in Cologne, Germany.

Hi, Angela, I have a few minutes before I go down for breakfast. I could eat in my room, but there is something to getting up and dressed every day that is supposed to help with the jet lag. I had hoped the six-hour time difference wouldn't be this disorienting.

We visited the Botanical Garden yesterday. We tour the Pica.s.so collection tomorrow-not my favorite, but I will not leave Cologne without seeing it. And today we'll visit the chocolate museum.

I want my money back for those French lessons-no one could understand a word I said when we visited Ma.r.s.eille. Whenever I spoke, people looked at me either very confused or with great alarm. Nancy says my German is much better than my French, but so far everyone here speaks English with me. Which is a great relief. I didn't account for conjugating verbs while jet-lagged.

Hope you and Caroline are well. Are you still engaged? Do you have a date? A ring?

Yours truly, Mother Angela turned the card over and stared at the gardens, so lush and manicured. She turned it back over and reread her mother's words.

A date? A ring? Half a world away with everything she's ever wanted to see and she is still trying to plan my wedding.

But then again, maybe these weren't controlling, pressure-filled questions. Maybe she truly cared.

There wasn't time to figure it out. She had to help Caroline get ready for Papa and Dorothy's wedding.

As she stashed the mail by her purse on the counter, she saw the small slip of paper from her trip to the beach. She pulled it out-the phone number for Florinda's cousin. She'd already had it for a month and hadn't called. It had been a busy month, with "little" things like a flood, getting engaged, and sending her mother off to Europe.

But what she wouldn't give to hear Florinda's voice. To talk to her. Why? She didn't know all the reasons she meant so much to her. As her piano teacher for five years, they certainly spent many hours together during her lessons, but it was more than that. Florinda had sincerely cared about her. She had taken the time to get to know what Angela did and didn't like. She not only knew what her talents were, she believed in her. And the more she thought about it, Angela could remember the feeling of having someone care about her dreams, the feeling of having someone want her happiness, her dreams to come true.

Maybe they could talk and she could tell her about Mark and the farm and the trees. She knew how Florinda would smile if she told her she was happy for the first time in a long time. Or maybe for the first time ever.

She looked at the number again. Would Florinda be as happy to talk to me as I would be to talk to her? After all, she hasn't reached out to me in all these years.

They were ugly, unbidden thoughts, but they did the trick. She folded the paper and put it back in her purse. Maybe another time.

Angela and Mark entered the church with slowing steps. Their conversation on the drive had hovered between strained and nonexistent. Mark hadn't reached for her hand. She hadn't reached for his. But here they were, entering the church for Papa's wedding to Dorothy.

Or as she'd soon be called, Mrs. Shafer.

Mrs. Shafer.

The name struck Angela with a bit of force, followed by an unexpected longing.

Angela pushed it aside. She was here to think about Papa and Dorothy, not herself, even if Dorothy were officially joining the Shafer family before she was. She would be happy for her and Papa.

They sat on the front pew next to Caroline, who was smoothing her dress over her knees. She'd come with Dorothy at her insistence: "For company, so I don't lose my wits altogether today."

Angela settled into the bench, noticing the carved wood of the pulpit and the height of the organ pipes. There was a smell of new carpet and old wood. The autumn morning sun sent a yellow hue streaming through the stained-gla.s.s windows.

The center window depicted Jesus with Martha and Mary. Angela knew that much. And maybe if she thought about it long enough, that Jesus had said, "Mary had chosen that good part," but the wedding was about to begin.

Mark leaned forward and winked at Caroline, then sat up straight against the bench.

Angela's heart softened at the sight of him, always so thoughtful of Caroline.

They watched and listened and cried. Well, Angela cried. She wasn't sure about anyone else. She waited until Papa and the new Mrs. Shafer were out of the chapel before she turned to Mark. "I'm sorry for ever suggesting we wait four seasons." She said it as directly to Mark as she could so that Caroline would not overhear.