The Christmas Tree Keeper: A Novel

by Tamara Passey

  “It’s the same one. It’s your little lamb,” Caroline exclaimed. She ran and hugged her mother and then her grandmother. Angela watched her mother stiffen and then slowly return the hug.

  “Now it’s yours,” Angela said to Caroline. She looked to her mother and whispered a thank you.

  “You’d better open your present,” Cathy said.

  Angela picked up the square gift. Due to the size and shape, she assumed it was a music CD.

  She opened it and read the title, “Christmas Memories of Home, Volume II.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I don’t have this one.” Kind of not my taste, or hers.

  “That’s a small gift, but it goes with something else I have to give you,” Cathy added.

  That was one of her mother’s loaded hints.

  “What did you do? You didn’t set up another audition for me, did you? I haven’t been in the studio for years, Mom.”

  “No, nothing like that. You’ll see what I mean. It’s on the other side of Sutton.”

  What is she up to?

  “Did you buy a new car?” Angela asked.

  “Now don’t ruin the surprise. And don’t protest. This is a gift that you can’t return—at least, not easily.” She flashed a self-satisfied grin. “And it’s not new—it’s quite used, actually, but you needed something someone couldn’t take away from you.”

  Angela laughed at that comment. If someone wanted to take her truck, they were welcome to it.

  “But I can’t let you give me—” She couldn’t have! Well, she could. She didn’t! Not a car!

  “It’s done. You don’t have to worry about it. Of course, I purchased it before I knew you’d gotten your new job, but you’ll be able to work that out.”

  “When can we go see it?” Caroline asked.

  “There’s not time before dinner. It’s almost noon. Are your friends coming? And dinner isn’t going to be here, I can see.” She motioned over to the empty kitchen.

  “No, my friends aren’t coming here. We’re going there. We’d better go.”

  Angela’s mother offered to drive, but Angela didn’t feel like arguing about traffic lights and lane changes on Christmas Day.

  “It will be tight with three of us, but Caroline can fit here in the middle.”

  Angela drove by the dairy farm and the road narrowed.

  “Where do your friends live?” her mother asked.

  “We’ll be there soon.” Angela checked her watch.

  The road curved, and there was the large, green tree-shaped sign for the turn-off.

  “Shafer Family Christmas Tree Farm,” her mother read aloud. “I can’t believe it. Would you look at that?”

  “What?” Caroline asked.

  “Angela, your friends aren’t the Shafers, are they?”

  Caroline cheerily explained their connection. “Sort of. This is where we came to get our Christmas tree, our first tree. You know the one we had in our other apartment, before the fire? Anyway, that tree, we got it for free. Did my mom tell you that? There wasn’t anything wrong with it, but my mom didn’t want to move it to our new apartment.”

  “What are we doing here?” Cathy asked as they neared the parking lot.

  “I’m getting to that part,” Caroline said.

  “We’ve been invited to dinner.” Angela felt a wave of nerves. Should she have told her mother sooner?

  “Hey, I was about to tell her,” Caroline continued. “Like I was saying, Mr. Buckley—who isn’t a very nice man, but he did do one good thing—he called the farm and asked them to bring another tree to us because of the fire. They were donating trees.”

  “I can’t ... you didn’t say anything about the Shafers,” Cathy stammered.

  “Mom, it’s okay. Caroline asked if you could come—it’s all she’s wanted for Christmas.” Angela put the truck in park and gathered her purse. She looked at Caroline holding the vase of flowers and sighed. “Are you sure you want to bring those?” she asked her daughter, sounding as uncritical as she could.

  “Yes, I am,” Caroline said.

  Cathy hadn’t moved.

  Is she really going to do this?

  “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I promise they said it was okay.”

  “That’s true. When Mr. Shafer delivered the tree, the second tree, he invited us.” Caroline continued to narrate as Cathy finally opened her door. “I asked if I could bring you, and he said he’d like that. So they’re expecting you.”

  Cathy continued to mutter as they walked a few steps. “I don’t believe this. I can’t do this.”

  “What is it, Mom? What’s so bad about it? Is it because it’s a farm?”

  They neared the porch steps.

  “I went to high school here. I’ve met this family,” Cathy finally admitted.

  Angela’s voice rose. “You lived in Sutton ... in high school?” She stopped walking and lowered her voice. “You never told me that. Is this going to be a problem?”

  Caroline ran up the stairs, knocked on the door, and turned around.

  “And I dated Greg Shafer.” Cathy blurted, red faced. Angela had never seen her mother more terrified.

  “You did what?” Angela glared at her mother. Dated a Shafer?

  “Who is Greg?” Caroline asked.

  “Have you been here before?” Angela’s mind raced.

  Cathy’s eyes scanned the farm and rested on the door. “Yes. Some thirty years ago.”

  Chapter 25

  Mark opened the front door of the farmhouse. Relief flooded him as he saw Angela standing there with reddened cheeks and the winter sunlight filtering through her curly hair. Her daughter stood next to an older woman. Was this Angela’s mother? And why did she look stunned?

  “Welcome, and Merry Christmas! I’m glad you could make it.” He motioned for them to come in.

  “Here, these are for you. Thank you for having us today.” Caroline held out the vase.

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “These will be great on the table. I love sunflowers.”

  They walked in and hung their coats on a rack. Mark and Angela’s eyes met for a moment before she nervously looked away.

  “Please get comfortable.” Mark invited them to sit by the fire while he and Kate finished up in the kitchen.

  “Do you need any help?” Angela asked.

  “No, we’re almost ready.” He looked again at the older woman and reached out his hand to introduce himself.

  “We haven’t met. I’m Mark—”

  “Shafer,” she said the name at the same time he did. “You look just like your father.”

  An audible moan escaped Angela’s lips.

  “What was that?” Mark asked.

  “Pardon me. I went to high school with—do you know a Greg Shafer?”

  “Yes, that’s my dad. Excuse me, did you know him?”

  “Mark, this is my mother, Cathy Elliott,” Angela said a little late.

  “Yes. Yes I did.”

  The room fell silent. Mark looked to Angela and back at her mother. “It’s great to meet you.” He finally said. “Please, make yourselves at home. I’m going to check on the food.”

  Mark walked to the kitchen at the back of the farmhouse through the dining room. He set the vase of flowers on the table. It didn’t match the cream linens and the holly-themed dishes, but he smiled at the bright yellow flowers.

  Mom would have loved them.

  He found Kate in the kitchen with Mrs. Shaw.

  “That is so strange,” he said.

  Kate handed him a crystal pitcher. “Put this on the table.”

  “You know Angela, who I’ve been telling you about? Her mother is here.” He walked into the dining room, set down the pitcher, and back to the kitchen. “She said she went to school with Dad.”

  “In Sutton? Here, put these on too.” She held out two bowls, one filled with roast potatoes and the other with red cabbage.

  “Ah, Papa’s favorite,” he said as he held
up the bowl of cabbage.

  “It wouldn’t be Christmas without it,” Papa said as he entered behind Mark.

  “What’s her name?” Kate asked Mark when he returned to the kitchen.

  “Who?” Papa asked.

  “Angela’s mother.” Kate clarified.

  “I think she said ‘Cathy Elliott’.”

  “The Cathy?” Mrs. Shaw asked as she pulled the turkey from the oven. The pan clanged on the counter. “This won’t be as good as Donna’s turkey, but my roast potatoes should be the tops. Do you mean the Cathy your sister was named after?”

  “You were named after someone Dad went to school with?” Mark asked, bewildered.

  “Donna told me I was named after the Cathy Dad had planned to marry,” Kate said.

  “And Mom was okay with that?”

  “I guess they were all friends,” Kate said. “Are you going to leave Angela and her mom out there alone?”

  “They’re okay. I think I was making them nervous,” he said.

  “Oh, please!” Kate teased.

  “She can’t be the same one, can she?” Mark said. “Mrs. Shaw, how do you know all this?”

  “I knew Donna for years, son. We talked about everything. That’s what women do,” she said as she arranged the turkey platter.

  “We’re talking about Sutton High in, what, 1967 or ’68? How many other girls named Cathy could there be?” Kate didn’t stop moving, setting up the serving dishes.

  “I remember that girl,” Papa said. “I’ll go meet her and ask her what—”

  “No, Papa, let’s not bring it up, not today.” Mark said.

  “She was a fancy girl, if I remember right.” He leaned against the counter and ate a few grapes from the bowl. “I met their family one Christmas. Her father was a politician.”

  “Let’s get through this dinner with as little drama as possible,” Mark said.

  “Fine by me,” Mrs. Shaw said. “We have to move this food or we aren’t going to have a dinner at all.”

  They finished carrying all the food to the dining room. Mark invited Angela and her family to join them. He introduced Kate and Papa, and kept talking to ensure that Papa didn’t try to interview Cathy.

  “Mrs. Shaw,” Angela exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you here!”

  “What a pleasant surprise. Mark, you didn’t tell me it was my lovely Angela.”

  “You two know each other?” Mark rubbed his forehead.

  “She babysits me,” Caroline piped up.

  “Thank you for coming to be with us. We’re smaller in numbers today.” He paused and looked at Papa. “But we’re thankful to be together, and for your friendship.”

  “I’ll say grace,” Papa said.

  Mrs. Shaw wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “That was lovely. Okay, everyone, let’s pull our crackers.”

  “Oh yay!” Caroline said. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

  “Here.” Mrs. Shaw held up the brightly colored paper tube from her own plate and demonstrated. “That’s right, cross your arms with your neighbor and you each pull an end—there!”

  The trinkets and goodies erupted after the popping and cracking sounds, followed by everyone’s laughter.

  “Now enjoy,” she said.

  The serving dishes were passed and plates were filled. Courteous and predictable words were exchanged until Caroline spoke.

  “So where is your girlfriend?” she asked Mark with perfect eight-year-old curiosity.

  “She ... um,” Mark stuttered and looked at Angela.

  “He doesn’t have one anymore,” Kate said, and shot Mark a “you-can-thank-me-later” look. “So, Caroline, what did you receive for Christmas?”

  “My mom gave me this necklace I’m wearing.” She held it up to show it off. “It’s a pine tree, a very sparkly one. And my grandma gave me this bracelet. She gave me books and a lamb, too.”

  “Will the apartments let you have a pet lamb?” Papa asked and winked at her.

  “Not a live one—a small one for our nativity set,” she said and giggled. “And my grandma gave my mom a car.”

  All eyes were on Angela.

  “My truck, um, needs a lot of work.” Angela stammered.

  “I didn’t give you a car,” Cathy said as she set her silverware down.

  “Sorry, Mom. Caroline is excited, that’s all.”

  Mark opened his mouth to say something about the gift but he saw a storm brewing in Angela’s eyes and put in a mouthful of roast beef instead.

  Cathy spoke next, calm but emphatic.

  “I didn’t give you a car. I bought you a house.”

  Angela choked on her roll.

  “You didn’t tell me it was a house!” She stared at her mother, blushing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kate looking at Cathy and Mark looking at her. She couldn’t see what Papa was doing. She wanted to crawl under the table—no, out the door.

  Why, oh, why did we come here? For Caroline—all this was for Caroline. When did mother buy me a house?

  “But you said the music CD went with it,” Caroline said, undeterred by the silence.

  “It does,” Cathy said. “That’s part of the surprise. There’s a music studio in the basement. That’s something you don’t find every day.”

  Angela looked nervously at Mark, who was now staring, open-mouthed, at Cathy. “Uh, thank you, Mom. That is—I had no idea—doesn’t the CD go with a car? With the trouble I’ve had with my truck from time to time, I assumed you’d bought a car.”

  “I didn’t know about your truck. I just knew you needed a home, especially after the fire.”

  Tears welled up in Angela’s eyes.

  “Grandma, did you say we could see it, somewhere on the other side of Sutton?”

  “Sutton?” Angela repeated.

  “Yes, it’s over on—”

  “Hickory Street,” Mark said instantly. “Four bedrooms, screened porch, and music studio in the basement? There’s only one house like that in Sutton, and it’s on Hickory Street.”

  “Yes. Did you know the former owners?” Cathy asked.

  “No, but I’ve seen it.” He looked at Angela. “It’s a good house.”

  Angela shook her hair over her eyes as she wiped her mouth with the napkin. Don’t cry. Not now, not here. She was grateful when Mark asked his sister about her latest documentary and the dinner conversation turned to something other than her and the house. She tried to listen to all the details of Kate’s film, but she still couldn’t grasp what her mother had done for her.

  “So the Cedar Fire, driven by the Santa Ana winds, burned more than 250,000 acres that year,” Kate concluded.

  “Sounds like quite a project,” Mark said.

  Angela wished she hadn’t loaded her plate so full.

  Would it be rude to leave as soon as we’re done eating?

  Caroline had questions about the farm and the damage the vandals had done. Papa and Mark talked about the clean-up effort and the help from so many caring neighbors.

  “There’s no better place to live than Sutton,” Papa said.

  Angela checked her mother’s reaction to that statement, but Cathy was staring out the window, lost in another place or time.

  “Why would anyone want to damage those beautiful trees?” Cathy asked with a certain melancholy in her voice that Angela didn’t recognize.

  “Buried treasure,” Papa said. “They tried to dig under the trees to find it.”

  “We don’t know that,” Mark said.

  “What treasure?” Caroline asked.

  “Our great-grandparents settled this land and buried a treasure on it. It’s what makes our trees different.” Papa finished his sentence and stood to clear his empty plate. “That meal was delicious. Thank you, Mrs. Shaw.”

  “I had lots of help from Kate,” Mrs. Shaw replied.

  “We think they buried a treasure.” Mark tried to clarify what Papa said. “No one has actually seen it.” He picked up his plate and started toward the kitchen
door.

  “Your dad saw it,” Cathy said. She moved her gaze from the window to Mark.

  Mark almost dropped his dish. He stared at Cathy and looked to Angela for confirmation, but shock and confusion clouded her features.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “Your dad, Greg—he told me he found it.”

  Papa set his plate down. Mark did too.

  “Do you have a root cellar?” she asked. “He said he put it there until he could figure out what else to do with it. That was right before we graduated.” She paused and looked out the window again. “I thought he’d made it up. He told me he’d show it to me, but that never happened.” Cathy’s voice grew quieter. “To be honest, after he married your mother—and I don’t mean any disrespect, I wasn’t sure what to believe.”

  Chapter 26

  The group moved to the room with the fireplace, and Mark and Kate listened to stories about their parents as Cathy and Papa shared what they remembered. Mrs. Shaw added tidbits of things Donna had told her. Caroline sat next to Angela, and the conversation came full circle to the buried treasure.

  Cathy detailed the conversations she had with Greg and what he’d told her about the box he had found. He had been excited, but he hadn’t told her what was in it.

  “He wanted to show me,” Cathy said. “I believed him, but when I returned from Maine and he and Janey were married, I assumed he’d made it up. I’m sorry, but you can understand why I doubted him. I never knew my father had told him I was engaged. I wasn’t.” She stopped talking and looked down at her hands.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Kate said. “Papa, did you tell my dad not to look for the treasure because you wanted it to stay buried? Is that why he didn’t tell you he found it? If he took it out of the ground, would the trees stop creating miracles?” she asked.

  Her question hung in the air, and all eyes turned to Papa.

  He rubbed his forehead. “I’ve seen a lot of miracles in my time. I don’t know for sure if that treasure is there or not,” he said. “There are good people who believe. They have faith, and miracles happen.”