The Christmas Tree Keeper: A Novel

by Tamara Passey

“I certainly didn’t expect I’d get to eat Christmas dinner with my daughter and granddaughter this year,” Cathy admitted, “and especially not here.”

  Papa continued, “That’s what I mean.” He looked at Mark. “You’re keeping the farm—and the trees. I’d say a changed heart is a about the sweetest miracle a man can have.”

  Caroline perked up and she whispered something to her mother. Angela shook her head. “What is it?” Mark asked.

  “Is the treasure still there in the root cellar?” Caroline asked.

  No one answered at first. The quiet farmhouse settled around them, and they looked into each other’s faces.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Papa said. He stood up and grabbed his coat and Mark’s from the rack. “Here.”

  “I want to come,” Kate said.

  Mark looked at Angela, longing filled his heart. “Do you want to come with us?”

  “Let’s go,” Papa said. “We won’t all fit inside that root cellar, but the walking will feel good.”

  “Yay,” Caroline cheered, and they all bundled up.

  The late-afternoon sun filtered through low clouds and the air stirred around them as they walked to Papa’s cabin. The cellar was used for the storage of equipment and other odds and ends they didn’t use. The ceiling was low, and it couldn’t fit more than two of them, three at the most.

  “What a funny bunch you are. I’m not climbing in there in my holiday clothes,” Mrs. Shaw declared.

  Papa suggested Mark and Kate go take a look.

  “Do you see anything that looks like a treasure box?” Mark joked.

  “It’s hard to see anything in here,” Kate said. “Maybe we should have brought flashlights.”

  “Or shovels,” Mark added. He lifted a few pruning tools.

  They emerged a short time later without finding anything.

  “Come with me, Cathy. Let’s check it out,” Papa said with the excitement of a schoolboy.

  Angela stood a few feet from the door of the root cellar. Caroline held her new necklace with one hand and her mother’s hand with the other, squirming with excitement.

  Mark approached them. “It may not be here. My dad probably moved it. On fifty acres, it could be buried anywhere.” He looked over the damaged trees and beyond. “But thank you for coming. This has been quite a week, treasure or not.”

  Angela nodded. “I’d say this is our most memorable Christmas yet. What do you think, Caroline?”

  “Yep.” She nodded.

  “I hope I can ... see you again,” he said to Angela.

  “I’d like that,” she replied. “And I can’t get over that my mom knew your dad in high school. Does it bother you at all that they talked about getting married?”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t. If anything, I understand what Papa means when he says there’s more to this life than what we can see.”

  Papa surfaced and Cathy came out brushing off her coat.

  Mark grabbed Angela by her free hand. “Let’s go look one more time.”

  Angela was still holding Caroline’s hand. They piled into the eight-foot-by-eight-foot cellar.

  “Can we find anything you and Papa didn’t?” Angela asked. She squinted to see what was stacked in the corner.

  Mark gestured toward Caroline “I thought she’d burst if she didn’t have a chance to look around.”

  Angela couldn’t see his features very well in the dusty-dim light, but she liked him all the more for saying that.

  “Papa and I will have to come out one day with a shovel and dig out this floor.”

  “What’s this?” Caroline pulled at a box on a makeshift shelf.

  “Don’t touch—it might topple,” Angela warned.

  “Just a box of gardening tools,” Mark said. He lifted it off the shelf and set it down.

  Caroline pointed. “No, this,” she said. In the wall behind where the box had been, there appeared to be a cavity covered by some boards.

  Mark tugged on one and then pulled harder. The second and third board came down more easily. There at rest in the wall sat a box, smaller than a trunk, almost obscured by the years of dirt covering it. Mark reached for it and coughed in the plume of dust.

  “Is that it? Is it?” Caroline asked.

  Angela stared in awe.

  Mark wiped it off with his arm. The latch contained no lock, and the stiff hinges gave way as he opened it.

  All three of them converged over the top of it.

  “What’s in it?” Caroline asked.

  Mark set it down and lifted out the contents as carefully as he could. He held up a leather pouch.

  “What’s in here? Is this dirt?” He handed it to Angela so Caroline could have a look.

  He reached in, felt along the bottom of the box, and pulled out a handful of coins.

  “Maybe we better get Papa in here. He could tell us what some of this is.”

  “I can tell that’s a pine cone,” Caroline said.

  Mark gently picked up one of the several pine cones and handed it to Caroline.

  “Please be careful with that,” Angela said.

  “These are seeds on the bottom,” Mark said. “Very old seeds, I think.”

  Mark’s hand formed around another object, different than the others. He held it up to the light coming from the door. A small diamond-studded band.

  “That’s a ring!” Angela exclaimed.

  Caroline went running out of the cellar, shouting, “We found it! It’s here! We found it!”

  In the adrenaline rush of unearthing the treasure, Mark took Angela’s hand and slid the band on her finger.

  “Um, what are you doing?” Angela protested.

  “Just seeing if it fits,” he said playfully.

  “Nice try.” She laughed, took off the ring, and handed it over to him.

  He put it in the box. “You like giving things back, don’t you.”

  “Only things that don’t belong to me. Besides, you should have at least kissed me first,” she teased.

  “You’re right. Maybe I should give you something I wouldn’t mind if you returned.” He leaned across and kissed her, long enough to surprise both of them.

  Caroline had come back. The others crowded the entrance and blocked the fading sunlight.

  “Come on. Let’s bring this to the house,” he said.

  “Land sakes!” Papa exclaimed when Mark handed him the box. “Been in there all these years, has it?”

  “Right where he said he put it,” Cathy marveled.

  “Let’s go inside and have a look,” Papa said. “We’ll put it back later.”

  The sun dipped below the western ridge of trees as they headed back to the farmhouse. Papa with the box clutched under his arm, Mrs. Shaw, and Kate led the way. Caroline held her grandmother’s arm as they followed. Mark slipped his hand into Angela’s and they walked side by side not far behind the others. Another Christmas Day had come to a close. Mark felt the wind at his back and looked over his shoulder.

  The trees are peaceful tonight.

  Mark surveyed the land in the other direction, where the back lot of trees had been wounded.

  Maybe now the land can start to heal.

  “So did you and Caroline ever have a Christmas miracle?” Mark asked.

  “That depends on what you mean by miracle,” she said. “I have a new job—and apparently I even have a new house.”

  “And you and your mom?”

  “We’re getting there,” she admitted.

  “We discovered the treasure,” Mark added. “I mean, after all these years, who knew?”

  Angela looked at the trees, and up ahead at Caroline. She took a quick glance at Mark.

  “You and I found our faith. If that isn’t a treasure, I don’t know what is.”

  “And we found each other.” He glanced in her direction and squeezed her hand. “I think that’s my miracle.”

  “Mine too.”

  Acknowledgments

  When I set out to writ
e this story, I knew I would need help. What I didn’t know was how incredible the ladies of ANWA would be. Skilled and supportive, their encouragement enabled me to press on through numerous revisions and see this novel through to completion.

  I give heartfelt thanks to Valerie Ipson and Peggy Urry, my allies in the whirlwind. To all my ANWA sisters who have lent a listening ear and offered valuable feedback: Jennifer Williams, Susan Haws, Georgia Fritz, Raejean Roberts, and Anika Arrington. As well as Joyce DiPastena, Nancy Anderson, Carroll Morris and many others who gave much needed advice all along the way.

  To my willing and patient beta readers: Kristin Cinelli, Amy Cowan, Heather Hunter, Valerie Ipson, Susan Jensen, Elaine Obeniski, Melanie Passey, Melody Peterson, Cathy Thompson, and Peggy Urry.

  To those who helped answer some of my tougher research questions: Spencer Passey, Sofia Richman, Emily Harding, Kimball Cody, Keri Hughes and Meghann Gavin.

  To Tristi Pinkston for her masterful editing and Laura J. Grant for her brilliant artistry with the cover. And to E A Smart III for his spot-on illustrations.

  To my sister Jorie Raine Fradella for her unfailing support, superior creative instincts and for still answering my calls. To my dad and especially my mom—for being the opposite of Angela’s mother in every way—and for listening to all the poems and stories I wrote as a child.

  To my son Steven, for all things technical and to my daughters, for their hugs and smiles that carry me through the hardest of days, writing or otherwise.

  And to my husband, Steve, for finding me. And not letting go once he did.

  About the Author

  Tamara Passey was born and raised in Massachusetts around a large family, one that has served as inspiration for most of her writing. She loves creative endeavors and when she isn’t writing or re-writing, you can find her baking or cross-stitching or walking—though not at the same time. She is a marriage and parenting contributor to FamilyShare.com and lives with her husband and three children in Arizona, which she claims might be the reason her stories include a little bit of snow. The Christmas Tree Keeper is her debut novel. You can find her online at www.TamaraPassey.com

  Sequel to The Christmas Tree Keeper

  Available Now

  Chapter 1

  They say no two trees are exactly alike. Growing them may be a science, but choosing the right one to decorate for Christmas—well, that’s an art. And it was the only thing Angela’s daughter wanted for her ninth birthday—to go to Mark Shafer’s farm and find the perfect tree for Christmas. And why wouldn’t she? As Mark’s grandfather Papa Shafer had told them last year, they were miracle trees. It made no difference to her that it was only September. They could tie a ribbon around her choice and come back for it in December.

  “Thank you,” Angela whispered to Mark as they arrived at the section of trees designated for the upcoming season. “This will be her favorite birthday.”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Mark said. “There was a time after you met my grandpa last year when I didn’t think you’d ever want to come back,” he said with a teasing grin.

  Angela couldn’t live down how annoyed she’d been about Papa’s talk of miracle trees that first night. But he’d been right. And so much had changed since then, namely her heart.

  “What can I say?” she said. “Papa won me over.”

  Well, Mark had won her over with his genuine eyes, his kind ways—and maybe his broad shoulders.

  They walked down the path as it glowed in the afternoon sunlight. The crisp fall air surrounded them. This was much better than corralling a party of fourth-grade girls at the mall.

  “Can this be the one for the farmhouse?” Caroline asked.

  “We’re here to pick out a tree for our house,” Angela replied.

  Papa chuckled. “That’s fine with me. Seems like she’s got an eye for this,” he said as he walked closer to the tree she chose.

  “You know, Mom, if you and Mark had made up your minds and gotten married, we wouldn’t need to choose two trees,” she said.

  “Caroline!” Angela’s jaw dropped at her daughter’s words. Though she knew Caroline didn’t mean to embarrass her, there were lines better left uncrossed.

  “Marriage isn’t something to rush into,” she said under her breath as she briefly met Mark’s eyes.

  A spark of humor crossed his face.

  “The child’s got a point,” Papa said. “You two could make it official and call one place home.”

  “Not you too.” Mark folded his arms over his chest.

  As they continued their walk in the autumn sun, Mark reached for Angela’s hand, something she hadn’t grown tired of in the eight months they’d been dating.

  Caroline ran ahead until she reached a certain tree. “Look at this one,” Caroline said. “Lovely branches and such a presence.”

  Angela checked to see if Mark was also startled by the comment.

  “What do you mean?” Angela asked as she watched Papa move to Caroline’s side.

  “Can’t you see it? It’s like this tree is determined to be noticed. Like you know Marie who does ballet? She looks official standing in the lunch line. How do you not notice her? Can’t you tell there’s something special about this one?”

  Angela noticed the amused look on Mark’s face and the serious one on Papa’s. Her eyes narrowed on Caroline. Was she imitating what she’d heard Mark and Papa talk about, or was she actually seeing these traits, thinking this way about the trees?

  “Special, is it? Do you want this one for your house?” Papa asked, moving close to the tree.

  “Not now. Another year of growth, maybe two, and it will be just right,” she said confidently as she moved on down the row.

  At that, Mark reached up and scratched the back of his head. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” he muttered.

  Angela asked, “Like what? This tree?”

  “No, Caroline,” Mark said.

  Angela watched her daughter move along and touch the branches with her fingertips, Papa following close behind.

  “Do you think she’s making this up, maybe to impress Papa—or you?” Angela asked Mark.

  He shook his head. “As strange as it sounds, I think she actually understands them.”

  “That’s not so strange,” Papa said, clearly having overheard Angela and Mark’s conversation. “Some children are naturals. They’re still full of light. No doubts.”

  Angela nodded. That certainly described her daughter.

  “If you choose the right tree, Caroline, we could have a wedding around here. I’d say before Christmas,” Papa said.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Angela asked with a little too much worry in her voice.

  “It means Papa is losing patience with me,” Mark answered dryly.

  “I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Papa said and winked at Angela. “And it’s more than that. Caroline, these trees here can make a love match. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it’s a sweet kind of love.”

  “They can do what?” Mark asked, not hiding his surprise.

  Papa answered quickly, “You heard me. A love match.”

  “Were you planning on telling me about this?” Mark asked, though Papa wasn’t paying him much attention.

  Angela could feel the heat burning in her cheeks, much the same way she did last year when she heard Papa say the trees could cause miracles. Though she didn’t have trouble believing in miracles now, this was different. Wasn’t it? She avoided eye contact with Mark, not sure she could trust even her eyebrows to behave.

  A love match?

  “I don’t think the trees can have anything to do with wedding plans,” Angela said casually but carefully.

  “Maybe you’re on to something,” Mark said, stepping up to Papa and putting his arm around him. “Caroline, find a romantic looking tree for the farmhouse, could you? I bet Papa and Mrs. Shaw will be married in no time.”

  “That’s a great idea.” She laughed
and ran even farther ahead.

  “Nonsense,” Papa said. “Mrs. Shaw isn’t looking for a husband.”

  “How do you know?” Angela chimed in on the teasing, thankful Mark had shifted Papa’s—and Caroline’s—attention.

  “She arrives at the farm early and leaves late. She’s the independent kind. Never asks for help or company.” Papa paused. “And she wears a lot of those cardigans.”

  “What do cardigans have to do with anything?” Mark asked.

  Angela waited. Knowing Papa, he’d have a reason.

  “Dark ones. Black, navy, gray.”

  “You think she’s still in mourning?” Angela asked, incredulous. “Papa, her husband passed away over ten years ago.”

  “No, she doesn’t wear them for grief. Those were her husband’s favorite colors,” Papa answered with a tone of defeat.

  Angela stopped walking. Mark did too. Papa continued ahead of them.

  “How does he know that?” Angela asked.

  “How does Papa know anything? He just seems to know. It’s a skill of his I’ve been trying to learn ever since I took ownership of the farm last year.”

  “Maybe he asked her,” Angela said. Sure, her neighbor Mrs. Shaw had stepped in to run the craft barn after their family friend Donna had passed away. But Papa focused on weather patterns and planting strategies. Had he even noticed Mrs. Shaw?

  “Do you think he’s interested in her?”

  Mark didn’t answer. He reached for Angela’s hand again as they walked to catch up with Papa and Caroline.

  “And what does he mean love match?” Angela asked. “Is he serious?”

  “I’ve never known Papa to joke about the trees. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that he takes them very seriously.”

  “Has he said anything like that before?”

  A moment or two passed as Mark thought about it.

  “Not directly, no. But he has mentioned love here and there.”

  Angela waited. “Go on.”

  “Oh, you know, he says ‘The trees are all about love.’”

  “But anything about love matches or couples? Weddings?”

  Caroline interrupted. “Papa, Mom—look over here.” She stood in front of a healthy Scotch pine as a breeze swirled around her hair and the branches bobbed in the current. She gazed up at the top.