The Caretaker of Lorne Field Read Free

years.”
    “How big do you suppose it is?” she asked, one eye closed as she squinted hard at the ring. “At least half a carat? I heard rings are supposed to be at least half a carat.”
    “I don’t know. So what’s your answer? You gonna marry me?”
    “I’ll think about it.”
    He shot her a look like he wanted to smack her, but he got off his knee, sat back down and silently finished his parfait and coffee.
    When he took her home later, he walked her to the front door and then grumbled that he needed an answer soon. “Contract requires me to get married. I don’t got time to wait. You don’t want to then that’s that. I’ll just have to find someone else. Other girls I got my eye on.”
    “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
    He nodded, not happy with her answer but willing to accept it for the time being. As he started back to his car, she stopped him. “Least you could do is kiss me goodnight!”
    Awkwardly, he moved back to her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. She was surprised at how strong his fingers were as he held her by her shoulders. Like they could crush stone. Bricklayer’s hands, that’s what she thought. She took hold of him by the side of his face and had him give her a proper kiss.
    “So what do you do as Caretaker?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
    He smiled then. Not the mean-spirited smile she had seen earlier, but something sad, maybe a bit whimsical. “I save the world everyday. Break my back doing it, too.”
    When she got inside she showed her pa the engagement ring and told him about the proposal.
    “It’s a nice-looking ring,” her pa said.
    “It’s old looking,” she said, pouting. Then forcing her voice to quaver with indignation, she added, “The nerve of that man. Proposing to me on the very first date. And the way he did it!”
    Her pa thought about it and showed a conciliatory smile. “Well, first off, that ring’s an antique. Probably worth a lot of money. And I wouldn’t be too hard on the boy about how he proposed. He probably don’t have time to do things otherwise.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    He ignored the question, a weariness aging his large broad face. “You should think about marrying him, Lydia. He’s got a hard road ahead of him and could use the help of a good wife.”
    “Why should I even consider it with the low class way he treated me? And what’s so hard about his road? All he does is take care of a field!”
    He sighed, kissed her on the forehead and started to walk away. She yelled out to him, “Pa, you didn’t answer me. What’s so hard about taking care of a field?” All he did in response was wave a tired hand in the air before disappearing into his bedroom.
    Contrary to what she told her pa, she had pretty much already made up her mind to marry Jack Durkin. She was sick of waitressing; it was tough on her ankles and every night she came home with her feet all blistered and swollen. Besides, in 1979 eight thousand dollars a year was a good salary, better than what a lot of people made when you include having your home for free. It seemed like a good deal, one that she decided she couldn’t pass up. The next morning when Jack Durkin came to ask for her answer she told him she’d marry him, and Durkin, still frowning, nodded and told her he’d arrange the wedding. Three weeks later they were married.
    After they were husband and wife he showed her the Caretaker’s contract. The document was several hundred years old, and he was so earnest as he went over it that she almost burst out laughing. But she decided if he could play his part with this foolishness so could she, especially if it meant free housing and eight thousand dollars a year. Even though the contract forbade anyone but the Caretaker or his eldest son from coming within a crow’s flight (whatever that was?) of Lorne Field, she followed him one day and hid and watched as he walked up and down the field picking out weeds. When the canvas sack he carried was