The Caretaker of Lorne Field Page 6

  “Never missed a day.”

  “And his ancestors have been doing it since 1710?”

  “Best I know.”

  “This is all fascinating, but what can I help you with?”

  “I need to know if that contract’s legal.”

  “I’d have to think so.”

  “But how could it be? The United States didn’t even exist back then!”

  “US federal courts have in the past upheld land grants made by King George II which also predates the Declaration of Independence,” he mused. “As crazy as this contract is, I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be valid. Of course, there are clauses within it that violate both state law and the constitution and couldn’t be legally enforced, but yes, as long as the field is weeded according to the specifications laid out in the contract, your family should be able to continue to maintain the residence granted by it. I hope that puts your mind at ease.”

  “No, it don’t. What I want to know is if there’s anything you can do to get that contract revoked.”

  Minter pursed his lips while he studied Lydia Durkin. “Now why would you want me to do that?”

  “Because as long as that contract exists, her husband’s going to keep weeding that field, leaving Lydia and her family living in poverty!” Helen Vernon volunteered.

  Minter folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, the springs making a slight creaking noise. “There might be a better way to handle this,” he said. “It seems to me that both you and this town are sitting on a potential goldmine.”

  “What do you mean?” Lydia asked.

  “It’s very simple. What we have here is a small, scenic New England town with a three-hundred-year-old legend of monsters growing out of the ground and a Caretaker who protects the townsfolk from them. People eat that kind of stuff up. Do you realize how much tourism Salem, Massachusetts, rakes in each year because of their history with witch trials which, by the way, didn’t even occur in Salem?”

  When both women continued to stare blankly at him, he smiled knowingly. “A lot of money,” he said. “I’d have to think you have the same potential here.” He nodded slowly to himself as he thought it over. His tongue darted past his lips, wetting them. “This could definitely work. Imagine the Caretaker’s cabin turned into a museum with an attached gift shop selling tee shirts and replicas of this book, along with plastic models of monsters and God knows what else. We could even laminate the weeds and sell them too. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Picture tours to Lorne Field where we let people watch while your husband pulls little monsters out of the ground. Pipe in some unearthly screaming noises, along with some visual effects like monsters shooting past people’s heads. This could most definitely work. This could make all of us very wealthy, Mrs. Durkin.”

  “How wealthy?”

  “I’d have to think millions.”

  “Millions . . .” Helen Vernon whispered.

  “Jesus,” Lydia said.

  Minter pulled himself forward, a sheen of excitement flushing his round face. “Mrs. Durkin,” he said. “There’s quite a bit of work needed to get this started. We’re going to have to get approval from the town council. Also we need to line up investors and bring in the right business people. It’s going to take me a few days to consult with people and draw up contracts, but we should be able to talk more about this early next week. How does all that sound?”

  Lydia started to nod, then made a face as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “My damn fool husband’s not going to go for this.”

  “Of course he will,” Minter said. “I’ll talk to him. Why don’t we wait until I have more information and the contracts drawn up. Then I’ll sit down with him. Don’t worry about anything.”

  He shook hands with Lydia and Helen Vernon. When Lydia reached for the items she had brought, Minter asked if she could leave them with him.

  “I can’t do that.”

  Minter raised a dubious eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “He’d throw a fit if he knew I’d taken those. Nobody else is supposed to know about his secret hiding place.”

  “I’m sure it will be okay.”

  “No, it won’t be. I need those back. And you can’t let on that I ever showed you them.”

  Minter opened his mouth to argue but saw it was useless. “I’ll have copies made instead,” he said. “Why don’t you wait here. I’ll let you know when they’re done.”

  Minter gathered up the contract and book and left the room. Lydia sat back down in the chair. She looked down and saw her hands shaking. She couldn’t stop them.

  “I’m shaking like a leaf,” she told Helen Vernon.

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Pinch me. Make sure I’m not dreaming.”

  “You’re not dreaming, hon.”

  “You think he knows what he’s talking about?”

  “I think so,” Helen said. “It makes sense to me. If people go to Salem for witches, why not here for our monsters, even if they’re nothing but a bunch of weeds? Lydia, honey, I think you’re going to become rich.”

  “As long as my husband doesn’t screw this up.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Lydia didn’t say anything.

  “Honey, I’m sure Jack’s going to be as thrilled about this as you.”

  “You don’t know how crazy he can be.”

  “If Jack interferes with this, you’d have every right to have him committed!”

  “I’ll do more than that,” Lydia said, a darkness passing over her eyes. “I’ll skin that old fool from head to toe.”

  The door to the office swung open and Minter walked back in. “My receptionist is making copies now,” he informed them cheerfully. “It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

  “How much are you going to be charging for this?” Helen asked.

  Minter smiled at her, but with his mouth only. “I believe that’s between me and the Durkin family.”

  “I’m asking for her.”

  Minter looked from Helen to Lydia. Lydia’s face was hard, rigid, something that might’ve been carved out of stone. Her eyes locked on his. “Nothing upfront. Just the typical fifteen percent management fee,” he said.

  “That sounds awfully high.”

  “It’s not,” he said. “And it’s not negotiable.”

  “Fifteen percent’s fine with me,” Lydia said. “You work everything out and get my husband to go along with it, then you’ll deserve it.”

  “Mrs. Durkin, we’ll work this out. Your husband won’t be a problem. Trust me.”

  Minter’s receptionist stuck her head in and informed them that the copies were ready. Paul Minter took turns shaking hands with Lydia and Helen Vernon. When he took Lydia’s hand, he covered it with both of his own. His smile appeared genuine as he gave the back of her bony hand a warm pat. “I’m very happy you came in today,” he told her. “This is going to be a boon, not just to you and me, but to the whole town. I should be calling you early next week, but feel free to call me anytime before that.”

  On their way out, Helen told Lydia to cheer up. “Honey, you just won the lottery. No reason to be moping like this.”

  “I’ll cheer up after my husband proves to me he ain’t as big a fool as I think he is.”

  Later that evening when Jack Durkin returned from Lorne Field, he stumbled through the doorway, sniffed, then yelled out whether that was pot roast he was smelling.

  “Take your work boots off!” Lydia yelled back from the kitchen. “I don’t want you tracking dirt everywhere!”

  “I’ll damn well do what I want in my own home!” he yelled back to her, but he did a couple of one-legged jigs while he pulled off his work boots. With only a slight hobble to his gait he made his way to the kitchen. Lydia stood by the stove stirring something in a pot. She frowned at him. He ignored it and breathed in deeply.

  “You are making pot roast,” he exclaimed. “What’s gotten into you, woman?”


  “Shut up, you old fool,” she muttered under her breath.

  Durkin walked over to the stove, reached to lift the lid from a large pot that had been put on simmer. His wife slapped his hand with a sharp crack. “It’ll be ready soon enough. Don’t get in the way!”

  Durkin brought the knuckle of his slapped hand to his mouth and sucked on it. He was in too good a mood, though, to let her usual cantankerous behavior upset him. Craning his neck so he could look over her shoulder, he saw that she had mashed potatoes in the pot she was stirring. “Yankee pot roast and mashed potatoes, huh? You find out I’m dying or something?”

  “Don’t let it get to your head. Lester and Bert both been asking for it.”

  Durkin stepped back from his wife. Her thin body was stiff as she stirred the potatoes, almost stony, but there was something close to tenderness softening the corners of her mouth. Something like that in her eyes, too.

  “Hot as hell out there today,” he told her. “But I was able to get off my feet a few times. It helped. I ain’t feeling so much like a cripple right now.”

  “So you napped on the job, huh?”

  Red flashed for a moment deep in his skull—almost like a firecracker had gone off—but he swallowed back the insult he had ready for her. Something about the softness around her eyes and mouth made him.

  Gotta give the old battle-axe credit, he thought, she knows how to push my buttons better than anyone.

  “Nothing like that,” he said. “Had an extra spring in my step, that’s all. It must’ve been all that good food you served up for breakfast. Anyway, I finished all my weeding early and got to rest as much as twenty minutes at a time.”

  “You gonna stand there jabberin’ all night?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Just had a good day, that’s all.”

  “Why don’t you make yourself useful and set the table. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Make myself useful? Saving the world all day ain’t making myself useful enough?” He again swallowed back the bile ready to be spat back at her. He turned away from her and muttered under his breath that he’d call the boys down to do that.

  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.”

  “For Chrissakes, start paying attention to what’s going on around you!” Exasperated, Durkin pointed his fork at Lester for emphasis. “You keep asking around. And get me the name of that boy. This is important.”

  “Maybe you should let it drop,” Lydia said.

  Durkin stared hard at her. He could’ve been choking with the way his face purpled. A minute passed before he moved. All the while Lydia ignored him and casually ate her dinner.

  “I’m not going to let this drop,” he said finally.

  “Then don’t. Go ahead, give yourself a stroke worrying about it.”

  “They violated the contract!”

  “I think I heard something about that already.”

  Durkin flashed her an annoyed look before turning to his boys and telling them to keep asking around. “I want to know their names and what town they came from,” he said.

  He pushed his plate away and stared petulantly at it. Bert made a face like he had an upset stomach. Lester started pushing his food slowly around his plate. Lydia watched all this for a while, then asked her husband whether he was going to let good food go to waste.

  “I lost my appetite.”


  “That’s too bad. Especially since it’s your favorite.”

  Durkin stared reluctantly back at his plate, then started eating again, slower, grudgingly. Both his sons picked up their forks and started eating again, also somewhat grudgingly.

  Lydia asked her husband how he was going to prove he was pulling out something other than weeds from Lorne Field.

  He waited until he finished chewing a mouthful of food and said, “I’m gonna videotape the Aukowies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Charlie Harper’s stopping by later tonight to drop off a video camcorder. Tomorrow I’m going to record those mean little suckers in action. There’ll be no doubt then they ain’t weeds.”

  Lydia sat still for a moment before his words made sense. Then she felt a dull throbbing start behind her eyeballs. It probably didn’t matter that he was going to make a video proving those things were nothing but weeds. With or without that video, who’d actually believe they were anything but weeds? Still, realizing that didn’t stop the dull throbbing behind her eyeballs. She couldn’t stop thinking that somehow he was going to screw things up. That somehow his video would ruin the mystique of monsters growing in Lorne Field. That it would send that lawyer’s plans flushing down the toilet and their future along with it. She was going to have to call Paul Minter tomorrow and tell him about it. Thinking about that made the dull throbbing worse. She closed her eyes and rubbed small circles along her temples.

  “Maybe you can wait until next week,” she whispered.

  “What did you say? Speak up, I couldn’t hear a word you said.”

  “I said maybe you could wait to do that.”

  “What for? The quicker I prove to you and the rest of the town what these Aukowies really are, the better.” He turned to point a forkful of food at Lester. “Which reminds me,” he said. “I need you to go to the Army Surplus store on Maple tomorrow morning. Talk to Jerry Hallwell. He knows what you need and it’s already taken care of. After that I want you heading straight to Lorne Field. Don’t enter it, though. Don’t even step a foot in it. I’ll meet you at the edge.”