The Caretaker of Lorne Field

His face darkened for a moment, but it passed. “That’s right,” he said, his voice strained. “Look, I don’t have time to do this right. In a few months I got to be back working every day seven in the morning to seven at night and I’ll be doing that until first frost, so I don’t have time to court a woman right. The contract requires me to get married and have a son, preferably two in case something happens to the older boy. I don’t have time to be messing around. You’re no beauty but you’re pleasant enough to look at. So you want to marry me?”

At first all she could do was stare at him open-jawed, then she found her voice and sputtered, “On our first date you’re going to propose to me? And that’s how you’re going to do it? By telling me I’m no beauty?”

She could almost see him swallow back the crack, ‘Well, you ain’t!’ His face reddened slowly as he looked back at her. “Look, I don’t got time to do this right. I apologize if I offended you. I ain’t socialized much in my life. I guess in your own way you’re pretty. But I told you I don’t got time to do this the way it should be done. Contract requires me to get married and have a son and it’s got to be done soon. You don’t want to, that’s fine, just tell me. I got my eye on other girls, you just the nicest.”

That last comment appeased her pride enough for her to answer back, “Well, you ain’t so good-looking yourself.”

“Never said I was, did I!”

“Well, least you could do is propose right!”

“I don’t got time for that!” But he got up off his chair, moved next to her and slowly lowered one knee to the floor, grimacing as he did so. After taking a ring from his pocket, he cleared his throat and looked like he needed to spit something out. “Lydia May Jones, will you marry me?” he asked, sliding the ring on her finger.

She examined the ring and told him it looked old-fashioned.

“It should,” he said. “It’s an antique. Been in my family over two hundred 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.