The Tree Keeper's Promise Part 5

That was exactly opposite of what Mark wanted to hear.

"Doesn't knowing all of this now help us?"

"If you want to check some other Ma.s.sDOT projects-look for businesses, homeowners, anyone who had fought them before and won. Then I can check some of the Department of Transportation reports for you. But that's about it until you get an official notice."

Not as much help as Mark was hoping for.

The memory of John Jackson's grin and exaggerated words about "the best offer you'll ever have" returned to him. Of course, he'd dismissed it when he'd said it. There wasn't even a question in Mark's mind that he'd done the right thing.

But now the prospect of losing the land to the state raised a new question. Was it too late to sell to someone other than John Jackson? If the planned extension was as inevitable as it seemed, should he find a buyer before it became common knowledge?

He looked up from the report he was reading and glanced over his shoulder. He was alone. And he wasn't doing anything wrong, but the mere thought of selling the farm prompted a rush of guilt.

Could he find another buyer? There were some who looked for land that had been marked as possible eminent domain-those willing to take a gamble that the government might do more studies and not end up acquiring the property.

Mark stood and walked to the window. Here he could see the trees and the north wind blowing furiously through them. A calmness, as gentle as the wind was angry, crept over him. He could see some of the new seedlings holding their own against the coming storm.

We will stay.

It was Mark's thought, crisp and clear, but it had come to the forefront of his mind unaided. And that settled it. Of course they would stay. And Mark would fight whatever plans Ma.s.sDOT would make. Sutton didn't need a new road over these acres. It needed these trees. He didn't know how, but he would protect the land and trees.

Mark returned to the Internet, searching through the settlements. He found case after case of people and companies who had settled with the good Commonwealth of Ma.s.sachusetts. Not what he was looking for.

He noticed an article on a revised Ma.s.sDOT project. Revised due to an inability to secure the proposed land. Why? He read through to the end of the page, letting it soak in.

The land was home to a 150-year-old church, and that church was conveniently listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Not that his farm and that church had anything in common, but this was at least one example of the Department of Transportation not getting their way. Maybe the cabin or the land had some historical significance. He could ask Papa. It was possible, wasn't it?

Get the farm listed on the National Register.

How hard could it be?

Chapter 5.

Mark, Angela, and Caroline waited outside her mother's door.

"Can't we just knock and walk in tonight?" Caroline asked. "She knows we're coming."

Angela glanced at Mark and then explained, "Grandma Elliott is a bit more formal than that. Besides, you wouldn't want to hurt Walters's feelings, would you?"

The door opened wide, and Walters greeted Angela warmly, took her jacket, and gave Mark one of his signature once-over looks. They stepped into the entryway onto imported tile. Caroline bounded through the door between them, hugging Walters around one of his legs. He patted her on the head, though stiffly. His silver hair had thinned considerably since the last time Angela had visited, though his motions were no slower and he maintained his characteristic straight-backed posture.

"Mark, this is Walters," Caroline said.

Angela turned and whispered loud enough for Walters to hear, "He's not as tough as he looks. Unless you are a teenage girl trying to escape out your bedroom window. Then watch out."

"Got it," Mark said with a smile. "No window exits."

Walters nodded, and once Caroline had released him, he escorted them under a ma.s.sive chandelier and past the study with the American antique collection.

"This house was like my mother's other child," Angela explained, unaffected.

"You're calling this place a house?" Mark replied.

Angela continued. "If I needed winter clothes, the house needed winter draperies. If I needed swim lessons, the house needed a new pool house."

On they went until greeted by Angela's mother, who was dressed in a royal-blue sweater, black skirt, and far too many diamonds-earrings, necklace, and bracelets. She glinted and glimmered her way over to them at the entrance to the dining room. "Please, come sit down. Gary will be back in a moment. He went to check on Bones."

They paused. Had Angela missed something? Caroline, never fearful of the obvious, asked, "Who's Bones, Grandma?"

At that, a dark, curly-haired dog trotted into the room, followed by a tall, slender, well-dressed man. She brushed by Cathy's leg and approached Caroline, stopped, sat on her hind feet, and put a paw up.

"This is Bones, Gary's dog."

Angela could see Caroline was already smitten. It was love at first paw shake. Though that was easily understandable. Caroline had asked for a dog every so often, but Angela had put her off. They couldn't afford one. The apartments didn't allow them. There was always a reason.

Gary was losing his non-boyfriend status over this as far as Angela was concerned. Knowing her mother's aversion to shedding hair and the potential lack of bladder control, how she could allow a friend to bring his dog with him served to reinforce one thing in Angela's mind. He had to be more than a friend.

"I know what you're thinking, Angela," Cathy said. "And the answer is yes, Caroline is welcome to spend time here when Gary and Bones are here."

She needs to work on her mind reading.

"Actually, I was wondering what kind of dog he is."

And how much you must like Gary to let him bring one through the door.

"A Portuguese water dog, right, Gary?" Cathy said.

He nodded. Caroline petted and cooed.

"Bones brings so much life to this house-this oversized museum of a house. I don't know why I didn't think having a pet here sooner."

Mark raised his eyebrows at Angela when her mother used the word museum-he'd want brownie points for that.

She needed to get to know this Gary if he could work this kind of magic with her mother. Turn-her-worldview-upside-down kind of magic.

"Mark, this is Dr. Gary Wilson, professor of anthropology at the University of Rhode Island. Gary, this is Mark Shafer-owner of the Shafer Tree Farm in Sutton," Cathy said. Angela noted her mother's stress on the word owner.

Gary casually shook Mark's hand, then Angela's.

"Nice to meet you Dr. Wilson," Mark said.

"Please, call me Gary," he said as he knelt down beside Caroline and Bones. "He likes you, I can see. After dinner I'll show you his house."

The dog has a house here?

Gary took Bones out while they were seated at the table. Something about the dog's wagging tail helped Angela relax. Maybe her mother had mellowed, maybe this dinner would not be the grilling she expected.

"So when are you two going to get serious about the future?" Cathy asked before drinks.

Maybe not.

Angela looked away from her mother, mostly in disbelief, partly to take a sharp, deep breath before answering. She caught Mark's mischievous grin out of the corner of her eye. Her palms began to sweat, she reached for the fancy-folded napkin on the table, unfurled it, carefully drying her hands before spreading it on her lap.

He wouldn't. Would he?

"Funny you should ask, Cathy," Mark said, looking to her, then to Angela, then to Caroline.

Angela couldn't tell if he was teasing or preparing. She paused long enough to make sure he wasn't reaching for a ring, and then she spoke up. "What do you mean by serious? Mark's coming over tomorrow to help me record another song for my alb.u.m."

Caroline played with the dessert spoon set at the top of her plate, tracing the embroidered pattern on the tablecloth. "I think she means your marriage future, not your music future."

Mark laughed at that. Angela frowned.

Gary returned to the room. "What did I miss?"

"Some wedding-pressure hors d'oeuvres," Mark answered.

"Oh?" he looked to Cathy. "And how do those taste?" he asked with a smirk. What was it between them? Angela wasn't sure.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cathy declared. She began describing the meal to come in such great detail that no one approached the other subject again.

Not until later did Angela think about the timing of her mother's question, conveniently when Gary was out of the room.

Finally, dessert was cleared, and the conversation slowed. Angela noticed the pattern Caroline had been tracing on the tablecloth. Bright yellows and reds, intricate florals. She admired it for a moment before the recognition set in.

"Dona Florinda," Angela said out loud.

"Excuse me?" Cathy said.

"This tablecloth and these napkins-Florinda gave them to us, right?" She remembered now. Florinda had done the needlework herself-something she did when she missed her mother and Portugal.

"Yes, that's right," Cathy said. "I thought you might appreciate them."

Angela ran her hand over the st.i.tches, happy for the memory but suddenly feeling a bit melancholy. She had loved her piano lessons and former teacher, but it was more than that. Florinda held a place in her heart. She was someone who had taught her about herself and the world, and in such a caring way. How could she not?

Oh, Florinda-I wish you could meet Mark.

She must have been staring too long or allowing that longing to show on her face.

"For goodness' sake, Angela. If you like them that much you can have them."

Angela heard the disappointment in her mother's voice. Obviously she wanted Angela to appreciate the linens, not pine for them.

Angela shook off the thought. "No, Mom, keep them here. She made them specifically for this table." Though Angela had no idea if that were true, it seemed the most believable reason for her not to take them and further wound her mother's feelings.

"I know she was dear to you. When was the last time you heard from her?" Cathy asked.

"Christmas, the year after Caroline was born. She sent a card," Angela answered. "But that was before she left the States, I think." Again, Angela didn't know. That had been a difficult time, and she'd hadn't done a good job of staying in touch.

Caroline asked to see Bones. Cathy cleared her throat. "Before you go see him, there is a matter, a rather important matter, I wanted to discuss."

Angela heard the formality in her voice. Was she trying to bring up their engagement again? Or was there something even more awkward on her agenda?

Caroline appeared unmoved and looked to Gary for hope at leaving the table.

He smiled back at Caroline and then spoke. "Cathy has wanted to tell you for some time that she is going to Europe. In two weeks."

Angela looked to her mother's face for confirmation of this. She found in her mother's eyes an uncharacteristically soft expression, a pleading expression. But why?

"Europe?" Angela asked. Of course, it was a one-word question, as if to confirm she heard the location correctly. But it included everything else-in two weeks? Alone? Is Gary going? How long have you been planning this? Why take so long to tell me?

"That's great news," Mark said easily.

"Are you taking Bones?" Caroline asked while Angela was still stunned.

"No, Gary isn't coming. I'm going alone. Well, mostly."

"What does that mean?" Angela asked.

"Remember the Fiddlemans? We've had this trip planned for years."

"Dad's college roommate? And his wife ... What was her name? Nancy. They've been inviting you to visit them since they relocated ... over fifteen years ago. Didn't you and Dad plan a trip?" Angela checked herself, remembering Gary was at the table. "Their invitation is still open?" she asked. Though she wished she didn't sound-or feel-so protective.

"Yes, that's right. Your father and I made plans. He knew I'd dreamt of going. We'd tell the Fiddlemans we were coming, then something would come up. The campaign finance fiasco. Or the governor's a.s.signment on a special task force for something. I don't know. The war on drugs. But there was always something until it wasn't an option. Until now." She smiled gently at Gary, throwing Angela even more.

"So Bones is not going to Europe?" Caroline asked.

"Bones and I are staying here," Gary told her softly.

Caroline sat against the back of her chair and smiled, a bit pleased with herself.

"For how long?" Angela asked. She knew her mother wouldn't go unless she could spend more than two weeks. Every year she didn't make the trip, there was more she wanted to see when she did make the trip. Father would joke that if they waited long enough, she'd have so much to see they'd need dual citizenship and may not make it back.

"At least a month," Gary announced with a slight edge to his voice. Angela wondered what that meant.

"Do I have to wait that long before I can see him again?" Caroline asked, referring to the dog. Angela hoped her mother would not take it personal that Caroline seemed much more concerned about missing a dog she'd just met than her grandmother.

"We could work out an arrangement," Gary offered.

"Don't the Fiddlemans already live in France?