The Caretaker of Lorne Field

He started to leave the kitchen. Lydia reluctantly caught a glimpse of him over her shoulder. “Jack,” she asked, “how you planning to prove those ain’t weeds?”

He half-way faced her, a sly smile showing. “I’ll tell all of you over dinner,” he said. Then he left the kitchen. She heard him yell out to the boys from the hallway for them to come downstairs and help their mother.

Earlier that day when she had come back from seeing Paul Minter, Lydia sat at the kitchen table lighting up one cigarette after the next trying to calm her nerves. The reversal of fortune the attorney was offering seemed too far-fetched. Go from barely scraping by to being rich with a snap of a finger? Thinking about it, though, it made sense. People go all over for amusements. Disney World, carnivals, haunted houses, any little place that was odd and different. Why not here? And why not her? As Helen had said, it was like winning the lottery. But there was a catch. For them to cash in her husband would have to go along with it.

That thought had brought her out of her near catatonic state. She knew he wouldn’t do anything that went against the contract. An impulse hit her to burn the damn thing but instead she read it carefully, line by line. And she kept going over it until she understood it.

She knew he wouldn’t agree to let people come out to Lorne Field to watch him. And she knew selling those weeds would also be a sticking point for him. But the rest of it seemed possible. None of the other things violated the contract. Nothing in the contract stated that the Caretaker’s Cabin couldn’t be turned into a museum and gift shop. Nothing in it against selling tee shirts and dolls. As pigheaded as he was, the only thing that mattered much to him was that piece of paper. It governed his life and set the rules he lived by. Made him pretty much live like a hermit spending half the year pulling those damn weed and the other half sitting alone in their house, supposedly gathering his strength for the next season. Anything falling outside of that contract didn’t concern him in the least. Once she realized he’d probably go along with most of what the lawyer wanted she started shaking worse than before, her teeth chattering as if she had a 103 degree fever. She had to grab herself and rock back and forth in her chair for a good half hour before she could stop.

For most of the rest of the afternoon she debated whether to broach the subject with him or leave it to the attorney as planned. She decided that if she brought the plan up to him he’d turn her down just to be obstinate and that it would be better to let the attorney do it later, after all the details were worked out. After settling on that, she went shopping and bought the ingredients for pot roast and mashed potatoes.

Bert entered the kitchen. He told her that it smelled good in there and that dad had asked him to help her set the table. The way Bert grinned good-naturedly at her, she couldn’t help herself from hugging him and giving him a long kiss on the forehead.

“What was that for?” Bert asked.

“Nothing.” She wiped a couple of tears from her eyes. “Why don’t you help me set the table?”

By the time the plates and silverware were set down, Lester came into the kitchen and murmured that he was told to help. “Why don’t you get the water glasses, dear.” Lester made a face to indicate how cruelly he was being put upon, but trudged over to the cabinet for the glasses. Lydia asked Bert to tell his pa that dinner was ready.

The kitchen table was cramped enough with all four of them sitting around it, but with the place settings, pots and serving spoons positioned in the middle of the table, there was barely room for the salt and pepper shakers. It’d been months since they’d eaten dinner together. Durkin carefully inspected the pot roast and mashed potatoes, then told his boys to thank their ma for preparing such a nice dinner. While spooning out the food he cracked a couple of jokes at his own expense and laughed at them, too. His good mood seemed contagious, not that it took a lot to get Bert grinning. Lester tried but couldn’t keep from laughing at a few of the jokes, and even Lydia at one point cracked a smile. When Durkin, in between bites of pot roast, asked his sons if they’d found out anything about the delinquents who threw tomatoes at him, the mood shifted quickly. Forget dark clouds, more like a total eclipse had descended upon the room. Bert said he’d been asking around but no one knew anything. Lester shrugged, said he heard it was some kids from another town, but he couldn’t find out anything else.

“What other town?” Durkin demanded.

“I dunno. That’s all I heard.”

“Who’d you hear it from?”

“I dunno. I just heard some kid say it.”

“Well, come on, boy, think. What was the name of this kid?”

“I dunno. Just some kid. I wasn’t paying attention.”