The Caretaker of Lorne Field

Chapter 4

The next morning Lydia surprised her husband by having the boys at the table with him for breakfast and by serving fried eggs and bacon with rye bread toast and grape jelly. Jack Durkin eyed the food suspiciously, then asked his wife what got into her and why she was serving real food for a change.

“You don’t like it, I can take it away and give you a bowl of corn flakes,” she snapped back at him.

“No need to do that.” He gave her a wary look and leaned forward, his arms circling the plate as if he were guarding it. “I was just wondering what got into you, that’s all. You hit one of your scratch cards or something?”

“I don’t play them! You want to keep pushing your luck, you ain’t never going to see bacon and eggs again.”

“Don’t worry, I ain’t saying another word about it.” Durkin took several greedy bites, then turned to his two boys. “What do you two say? You going to thank your ma for cooking you such a nice breakfast?”

Lester was sitting across from him, his face pale, his eyes puffy and mostly shut. He grumbled something unintelligible. Bert mumbled a quick thank you. He changed the subject by asking about the Aukowies, about why they just don’t cover Lorne Field with cement.

“Wouldn’t work,” Durkin said. “Once those suckers got big enough they’d break through. Then there’d be no stopping them.”

“Where do they come from?”

Durkin soaked a piece of toast with some egg yolk and chewed it slowly while he considered the question. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s nothing in the Book of Aukowies about it. But my guess there’s something like a root system under the field that these critters keep growing from.”

Lydia let out a loud snort and mumbled something under her breath that of course there was some sort of root system, where else would weeds like that come from. Durkin turned to her, annoyed. He was about to say something when he spotted the coffee maker on the counter gurgling and brewing fresh coffee. “I thought that was broken,” he said, his tone accusatory.

“I got it fixed.”

The coffee finished brewing. She poured two cups and joined her family at the table, handing one of the cups to her husband. He took a slow sip and closed his eyes, savoring the flavor of the French roast. “Nice to be drinking something other than mud for a change,” he said. “So why’s this my lucky day? Ain’t my birthday, I know that much.”

“Why don’t you just enjoy what you got and quit being such a damn fool,” Lydia said sharply. “And quit filling your sons’ heads with nonsense.”

“First off, I ain’t filling that boy’s head with nothin’.” Durkin pointed a thumb at Lester who had his eyes closed and his elbow resting on the table to support his head. “I think that boy’s asleep,” he added with disgust. “And even if he weren’t, that head’s a steel drum. Nothin’ gets inside of it. As far as Bert goes, everything I’m telling him is the truth. And I’m going to prove it, too.”

“How you gonna to do that?”

“You’ll see,” Durkin said, chuckling softly. “A couple of days from now you’ll be whistling a different tune. The whole town will be.”

“You’re just an old fool,” she replied. “That’s the only tune I’ll be whistling.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it with all the hot air in you. But you’ll see soon enough who the old fool is, you old battle-”

“Dad,” Bert interrupted. “If there’s a root system under that field, how about poisoning it?”

Durkin closed his mouth. For a long ten-count he kept his stare fixed on his wife, but the fresh brewed coffee and good food tempered his mood. He looked away from her to his son. “That was tried once,” he told him. “My great grandpa laced the field with arsenic. According to my grandpa, the next two seasons the Aukowies came up stronger than ever.”

Bert scratched his head as he thought about that. “How about digging up their root system?” he offered.

“You wouldn’t want to do that. First off, no telling how deep they go. And pushing up through the ground weakens them when they’re that small. You start digging a hole, you just make it easier for them so when they come up, they’ll be all that much stronger. No, son, you don’t want to mess with something like that. The only way to get rid of them is what we Durkins have been doing for almost three hundred years, which is weed them out when they’re still small and can be handled.”

Lydia started laughing to herself. A tight, cackling-type laugh. “Never mind me,” she said, her small gray eyes sparkling. “When I hear nonsense like that, I can’t help myself.”

Durkin glared hotly at her while he used what was left of his toast to clean off his plate, then pushed himself away from the table. “You can laugh yourself sick for all I care,” he said. “I save the world every day no matter what you think and I’m going to do it again today.” Turning his glare towards Lester, he added, “And wake that boy up. I don’t want to see good food going to waste. Especially given how little of it we get around here.”

After putting on his wool socks and work boots, he stumbled towards the door and muttered a reluctant thanks to his wife for sending him out with some good food in his belly. Once he was out the door, Lydia put Lester’s plate in the oven to keep the food warm, then nudged her son awake and sent him back to bed. Bert, who was a slow eater, finished his breakfast a short time later. He got up from the table, stretched lazily and told his mother he was going to go fishing at Shayes Pond and see if he could catch them lunch. Lydia watched him leave. When the door closed behind him, she went over to a cabinet where she kept a carton of cigarettes hidden, took out a pack and, after pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee, sat back at the table. She lit a cigarette, the smoke curling upward while she sat deep in thought, her face screwed into a deep frown. She had pretty much decided the night before what she was going to do, but the way her husband acted cinched it for her. He was going to prove to the world those things ain’t weeds? Had he gone insane and actually believed what he was saying? It was possible he was simply putting on a show for her and Bert, but she was-n’t so sure anymore. She decided it didn’t matter, she was going to put an end to this nonsense. She stubbed out her cigarette and headed to the basement.

One night the previous winter she had forced an argument with her husband about the Caretaker’s contract which ended up sending that old fool scurrying down to the basement to prove her wrong. What he didn’t know was that earlier she had Bert hide down there. Using a flashlight, she found the two stones along the back wall that Bert had shown her. The stones were harder to pull out than she would’ve thought and for several minutes she doubted whether she had the right ones, but eventually they budged and, using all her muscle, she was able to work them out of the wall. In the hole behind them was the Book of Aukowies and a wooden box. Opening the box she found the Caretaker’s contract. She knew the contract was almost three hundred years old, but the book looked even older. Small pieces of the leather binding flaked off when she picked it up and the gold leaf pages inside were brittle and had aged to a light brown. She wondered briefly how much she could sell it for. While it wasn’t in great condition, something that old still had to be worth real money-especially since it was the only book of its kind. Maybe an antique store would be able to give her a price. She left the stones on the dirt floor and carried the book and the contract back upstairs, dumping both on the kitchen table.

She brought the phone over to the table and called Helen Vernon and spoke quickly to her friend. While she waited for Helen to drive over, she flipped through the pages of the Book of Aukowies. It was the first time she had ever seen it. The language inside was too archaic for her to make sense of, but the book contained illustrations of Aukowies at each stage of their development-from seedlings to full-sized monsters. Several illustrations showed mature Aukowies ravaging villages. Lydia’s eyes dulled as she studied the pictures.

“Nothing but a load of nonsense,” she muttered to herself.

Jack Durkin stopped to wipe his brow. Only a quarter to nine in the morning and his shirt was already damp with perspiration. He stood for a moment gazing at Lorne Field. Half of the field weeded, the other half filled with two-inch Aukowies. A breeze blew momentarily across the field and the Aukowies swayed a beat faster than the wind, trying to squeeze in the extra movement. He knew his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He knew they were moving just that much faster than they should’ve been.

“Town thinks you damn things are nothing but weeds,” he muttered under his breath. “They’ll find out soon enough, won’t they?”

The Aukowies didn’t bother to answer back.

He placed his ripped baseball cap back on his head and yanked it down. A couple of safety pins held the torn fabric together enough so the cap still provided protection to his mostly bald scalp. Bending his knees and lifting, he swung the canvas sack over his shoulder and carried it to the stone pit where he dumped the Aukowie remains, then walked back to pick up his weeding where he had left off. That morning he had already come across three other Aukowies masquerading as daisies. As relentless as they were, they weren’t the brightest of critters. It took them three hundred years to come up with that daisy trick, and all he could figure was it would probably take them another three hundred years to come up with their next trick-at least as long as Lester was able to grow into Caretaker material. Jack Durkin worried about that. The boy just didn’t seem to have what was needed. Bert, on the other hand, would be just fine for the job. He had the right temperament for Caretaker: conscientious, resourceful, energetic. Lester wasn’t any of those. But he still had close to four years to prove himself. If at that time he still seemed incapable of taking on the responsibilities of Caretaker, something would have to be done…

Even with the heat and humidity, even with worrying about Lester, Durkin moved with a quicker, lighter step than usual. The breakfast his wife had given him helped with his mood, but it was more the excitement of knowing there was a way to prove to the town-and more importantly to his thick-headed wife and equally ungrateful eldest son-that these weren’t weeds he was pulling out all day. His situation would change after that, setting things back to the way they used to be with townsfolk recognizing the importance of what he did and with them taking care of him and his family like they used to. Like they were meant to. Which would mean Lydia would quit her shrewish nagging, and maybe he’d be able to last four more years as Caretaker without dropping dead of a massive coronary.

Durkin moved quickly as he went up and down the field pulling out Aukowies in swift, deft movements, ignoring both the crackling of his back joints when he bent over and the shrill high-pitched death cries of the Aukowies. Maybe their cries were too high-pitched for most others to hear, but he sure as hell could. And not just him. More often than not, whenever a dog was within earshot, he’d hear the thing howl as if its eardrums were being pierced. Dogs never got too close to Lorne Field, usually scampering off after their first few mournful howls. As he continued weeding, he whistled cheerfully, drowning out the dying cries of the Aukowies.

Lydia sat stiffly in the leather chair, her hands clutched tightly in her lap. Bluish veins bulged from her skeleton-thin arms like rope. Helen Vernon appeared more relaxed as she sat to her right in an identical leather chair. Across the desk from both of them sat Paul Minter, his own black leather chair plusher and more expensive-looking than theirs, which made sense since this was his office. Minter was in his early thirties, but with his Dutch-boy haircut and smooth round face, he looked like he was barely out of his teens. His brow furrowed severely as he read through the Caretaker’s contract.

There were only two lawyers in town. Hank Thompson was in his seventies and had been practicing law since Lydia was a little girl. He was a kind man with a thick head of grayish hair and the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen. A man whose gentle manner could put anyone at ease. She decided not to go to him. She didn’t trust him, not with the way he acted whenever he saw her husband-deferentially, almost like he believed in this Aukowie nonsense. If she consulted him, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d run to her husband and tell him what she was planning-attorney-client privilege be damned! The other lawyer in town, Paul Minter, was a relative newcomer to the area, moving there and setting up shop only three years earlier. Lydia also had qualms about seeing him, thinking it might be best to find an attorney well outside the county, but Helen convinced her that Minter would be safe.

Minter squinted for several minutes at the contract. Finally, he placed it gently on his desk, smoothing the vellum paper out with his fingertips, a bemused expression on his face as he looked from Lydia to Helen Vernon-almost as if he were expecting one of them to admit to the prank they were pulling on him. When both women continued to stare vacantly back at him, he shrugged to himself and picked up the Book of Aukowies. He took his time with it, carefully studying each page. When he was done, he closed the book and placed it next to the contract. He smiled in a bewildered fashion at Lydia. “This is on the level?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“This contract is dated 1710.”

“That’s right.”

“And this book is from the same time period?”

“I’d have to think so.”

“Amazing. I’ve been here three years and never heard a word about any of this.”

“I don’t suppose you would. We usually don’t talk about it with outsiders.”

“With outsiders?” He raised an eyebrow. “I guess after three years living here I’m still considered an outsider?”

Minter waited for Lydia or Helen Vernon to contradict him. When neither bothered to, he chuckled softly to himself. “Your husband’s still weeding that field?” he asked.

“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.”

“Aw, geez,” Lester complained. “I have plans for tomorrow-”

“Why you asking Lester to go there?” Lydia interrupted, her voice sounding awkward to her, almost as if it were coming out of an echo chamber.

“’Cause it’s about time I teach him how to kill Aukowies. And besides, I need him to help me make my video.” He turned to Lester, “About your plans. Too bad. We all got sacrifices we need to make. You just do as you’re told.”

“Dad, if you want I could do it instead,” Bert volunteered.

“I wish I could let you.” Durkin sighed, then shared a wicked grin with his son. “Bert, you should’ve seen the Aukowies today when I set fire to them. I don’t know why, but the flames shot twenty feet upwards. It was something to see.”

“Aww,” Bert said. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Well, you will. That’s going to be one of the things I plan on taking video of. Although I ain’t never seen flames shoot that high from them before. Don’t know whether the Aukowies will cooperate like that tomorrow, but we’ll see.”

“It would be better if you wait on this,” Lydia said.

Durkin ignored her and took a second helping of pot roast.

Lydia sat thinking. The din of forks scraping plates and water glasses clinking and the grunting and chewing noises from her husband and sons blended with the roaring of blood rushing through her head. That fool husband of hers would probably try to give his video to the local news stations, not only killing that lawyer’s plans but making the family an even bigger joke to the town than they already were. She knew she’d have to make sure no one saw any video he took. She’d still talk with Paul Minter the following day, but no matter what, she was going to have to make sure no one saw any of that fool’s video.

The certainty calmed the roaring inside her head. The din became distinct noises again. The throbbing behind her eyeballs eased to a dull headache. She opened her eyes and continued eating her dinner. She was finishing up when there was a knock on the door. Durkin got up from the table and, after a minute or so of talking with someone outside the house, brought Charlie Harper into the kitchen. Charlie carried a six-pack of imported beer in one hand and a video camcorder in the other. He put the six-pack in the refrigerator before joining her husband at the table.

“Thought you could use some good beer,” he said.

“I appreciate it, Charlie. How about joining us for some pot roast?” Durkin offered. “Lydia really outdid herself this time.”

“Smells great, but I better not.” Charlie showed an uncomfortable grimace as he looked around the room. He said to Lydia, “Ah, Mrs. Durkin, I apologize for interrupting your dinner. I didn’t know what time you and Jack go to bed and I didn’t want to risk waking you folks up.”

She murmured something about it being alright.

Charlie nodded, mussed up Bert’s hair. “Damn, if you’re not growing like a string bean,” he said. “Last time I saw you, you were half this tall.” Bert grinned sheepishly and said something innocuous before turning back to his food.

“And it’s a pleasure seeing the future Caretaker,” Charlie said to Lester, his hand outstretched to him. Lester looked annoyed, but reached up and offered a weak handshake in return. “Not me,” he said. “Pulling weeds all day is lame.”

“What’s he talking about?” Charlie asked Durkin, his heavy face showing alarm.

“Don’t mind him. He’s going to be Caretaker when he turns twenty-one. As the contract requires.”

“No, I won’t!”

“Oh, yes you will, Lester. When you see what’s at stake you’ll change your tune fast enough.” Durkin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his son. “And I want you to join us. Mr. Harper’s going to teach me how to use his camcorder and I want you to learn, too.”

“I already know how to use one. I’m not an idiot.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. And you’re going to join us.”

“I’m still eating-”

“I said now!”

Charlie cleared his throat and said, “Jack, that’s all right. I don’t mind waiting.”

“No, you come all the way here to do me a favor, I’m not having you wait. And you told me at the door Sam’s minding the bar for you. You’ve been put out enough.”

“Jack, really, it’s not a problem. A few more minutes won’t matter and Sam’s fine behind the bar.”

Durkin shook his head. “Right now that old codger’s probably drinking you blind.”

Lydia, her voice pinched, suggested that her husband have Charlie show him and Lester right there in the kitchen how to use his camcorder.

“I could do that,” Charlie said.

Durkin’s lips curled over his teeth like he wanted to argue with his wife, but he nodded. “Alright, whatever’s easier for you. Lester, you get over here so you can watch.”

“I can watch where I’m sitting.”

“Look, I’m not going to tell you twice-”

“I have to think the boy’s fine where he is,” Charlie agreed. He nudged Durkin good-naturedly with his elbow. “Here, let me show you how to use this.” He went through the basics with Durkin, turning on the camcorder, recording video and playing it back on the view screen. He handed the camcorder to Durkin and helped him as Durkin’s thick fingers moved awkwardly over the controls. After a few tries and repeated instructions from Charlie, Durkin seemed to get the hang of it.

“Okay, let me show you how to zoom.”

Charlie showed Jack Durkin how to use the controls to bring the lens in and out. He had trouble manipulating the buttons with his thick callused fingers, but after a while he figured out how to position his nail just right so he could do it. He turned to Lester and asked whether he got all that.

“Hand me the camera and I’ll show you.”

Durkin handed the camcorder to his son, who then flicked a piece of carrot from his plate at his brother and recorded Bert’s reaction as the younger boy brushed the carrot piece frantically from his hair. Lester played the video back on the view screen, all the while smirking to himself.

“Very funny,” Durkin said.

“You wanted to know whether I knew how to use it.”

Charlie took the camcorder from Lester and got Durkin’s attention. “Let me rewind the tape. I recharged the batteries last night so you should be all set to go tomorrow.” Charlie turned the camcorder off and handed it to Durkin. “You’re going to let me see the video you take?”

Jack Durkin nodded. “You and the whole town.”

After Charlie Harper left, Jack Durkin took a couple of bottles of imported beer to the living room so he could drink them while he soaked his feet. Lydia stayed in the kitchen washing dishes and cleaning up. Both boys went upstairs. When they were alone in their room, Lester reared back with a clenched fist and struck Bert square in the shoulder.

“Oww!” Bert cried. He shied away and rubbed his shoulder, tears flooding his eyes. “Why’d you do that?”

“For being such a kiss-ass. Oh, daddy, please let me do it instead of Lester.” He clenched his fist tigher, muttered “asshole” under his breath.

“You better not hit me again.”

“Oh, no?” Lester raised his fist to deliver another blow but Bert stood his ground. “You better not,” Bert said, his voice changing to something threatening enough to stop Lester from following through with his punch. “I lied to Dad downstairs. I know you were one of the boys who threw tomatoes at him. You, Tony Morelli, Sam Parsons and Carl Ashworth.”

“Bullshit.” Lester’s color paled. He edged closer to his brother, his mouth pushed into a tiny circle and a sour breath came out of him. “Whoever told you that is full of shit.”

“Nope.” Bert shook his head. “I know it for a fact. Why’d you want to throw tomatoes at Dad?”

Lester’s eyes shifted away from Bert. He shook his head. He couldn’t articulate to his brother the frustration and humiliation that drove him to do what he did.

“You don’t want to tell me, don’t,” Bert said. “But you better be nice to me ’cause I know what will happen if Dad finds out what you did. I know because I snuck down to the basement this afternoon and read his contract. Want to know what will happen to you?”

Bert made a fist with his left hand and yanked it up while his head drooped towards his right shoulder, all the while his eyes bulging in a lifeless stare and his tongue pushing out of his mouth. He held that pose for a few seconds, then broke out laughing.

A red blush replaced the dead whiteness in Lester’s cheeks. “You’re making that up,” he said.

“Nope. According to Dad’s contract you’re supposed to be publicly hanged for what you did.”

Lester stood silently for a long ten-count. He edged several inches closer to his brother. “You’re lying. I don’t believe you know where his contract’s hidden.”

Bert shrugged and showed his boyish grin. “Don’t believe me,” he said. “But you better start being nice to me. Else I’m telling Dad.”

“You do and you’re dead.”

“No, not me,” Bert said with the utmost sincerity. “But you will be. Hung by the neck.” He again acted out being hung, then punched Lester as hard as he could in the shoulder.