“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.
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 filled he dumped out its contents into a stone pit and continued with his weeding. After an hour of watching that, she got bored and headed back to their house with no interest in ever watching him at work again.
For the first ten years or so of their marriage she had no real complaints, although she didn’t much care for her husband’s hardened attitude towards her three miscarriages, acting as if it didn’t matter because the babies would’ve been girls. And she didn’t like the fact that months before she found out she was pregnant with Lester he had acted all nutty, mumbling stuff about how if she didn’t have a boy soon he’d have to divorce her-that it was stated so in the contract. But other than that cold behavior on his part things were okay. More than just the house being free, people did things for them during those first ten years. Doc Wilson never charged for medical care, old man Langston who owned the local butcher shop gave them their meat for free, and others helped them out, too. Lewis Black came by and did free carpentry. Tom Harrold the same with plumbing. Ed Goodan for the electrical. There was little she had to pay for during those first ten years. And there were times when Jack, in his own gruff way, acted kind of sweet with her.
About the time she was pregnant with Lester things started to change. Doc Wilson died and the new doc who took over started to charge them full price. Several years later when old man Langston passed the butcher shop on to his son, he made him promise to continue giving the Durkins their meat free. The son did for a while but after the old man moved down south he went back on his word. Over time most of those who’d been helping out were either dead or retired elsewhere, and the ones who took their places didn’t have the old generosity. Worse, she started noticing townsfolk looking at her funny, like they knew all about the scam she and Jack were running on them. Before too long the eight thousand dollar annual honorarium didn’t seem like much, even with the free housing-especially after Bert was born and they had two hungry boys to feed. The last few years they were barely able to scrape by. Pipes, water heater, furnace-something always seemed to need fixing in that old house, and she couldn’t afford to take the boys to the doctor anymore, let alone have their crooked teeth fixed. She had gotten to the point where she was just worn out from it. Hell, welfare would pay more than what they were getting.
The last cigarette she lit had mostly burnt out. She took several last puffs from it and crushed it out in the saucer she used as an astray. She heard some scuffling noises behind her and turned and saw her two boys. Both were thin as string beans with alfalfa-like hair that seemed to shoot in all directions. Lester was seventeen and already over six feet tall. With the way Jack stooped, the boy appeared to tower over his father. Bert was thirteen and short for his age-barely topping five feet. Both boys physically took after her, Bert maybe more so than Lester.
Bert scratched the back of his head as he yawned. Lester stared at her sullenly and sniffed. “Dad already left to pull weeds?”
Lydia nodded. “You two boys want breakfast?”
Lester rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, that’s what we’re here for.” Bert joined her at the small kitchen table and flashed a good-natured smile. It tore her up to see either of them smile with the way their teeth looked, almost as if cherry bombs had gone off in their mouths leaving them twisted and crisscrossing over each other. It killed her that she couldn’t afford braces for her boys.
“How’d you two like blueberry pancakes and bacon?” she asked. Lester, making a snuffling noise, said it was okay with him. Bert just smiled hungrily and rubbed his stomach. She got up and found the bacon, blueberries and eggs that she had hidden in the refrigerator behind a bottle of prune juice and a head of wilted cabbage. All she had to do was put things where they didn’t belong and her husband would never find them, lacking even that much imagination. She brought the items back to the counter, and along with some milk and flour, started mixing the pancake batter.