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The lights of the stadium reached high up into the night sky, and far out to each side, with glaring white radiance. Brad pulled the truck into the last parking space left and turned off the motor.
He’d finally convinced Jemima to let him take her out on an Englisch date.
He reached back to get the ponchos he’d brought, because the night air was cold, but was struck by the Duchess’ expression. She was leaning forward, peering up at the stadium in rapt wonder. He grinned and pulled the ponchos out.
“Pretty big, eh, Duchess?”
“I’ve never seen anything so big,” Jemima breathed. “And the noise, it must be – well, I can hear it through the car door!”
“Yeah, it gets pretty crazy,” Brad admitted, and handed her a poncho. “I brought these, because it’s going to get cold. Ready?”
Jemima turned her big green eyes to Brad’s face. He thought he saw excitement and just a little bit of fear in them. He reached out for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Come on.”
Jemima smiled uncertainly.
Brad gave her a knitted cap to keep her ears warm, a silly little red thing with a long tassle, and thought she looked adorable in it. The big red poncho covered up that black getup she always wore, and for the moment at least, she looked just like anybody else.
Brad stared at her wistfully. If things went as he hoped they would, she’d soon be free to dress as she pleased, and to go anywhere she liked.
Because she’d be with him.
He pulled on his own knit cap and poncho, and took her hand.
He’d been careful to get good seats, pretty far down, and close to the 50 yard line. It was a college ball game, between his own school and their closest rivals, and it was getting close to kickoff.
He shouldered across the row of seated people, found their seats and helped Jemima get settled in. She was looking around at everything like a kid, and her eyes were as round as saucers. He smiled and leaned over.
“Do you know how football is played?” he asked.
She smiled and shook her head.
“Well, one team kicks the ball to the other team. And the team with the ball tries to move all the way down the field, to their goal line.”
Jemima turned her big green eyes on him.
“Why?”
He felt his mouth slipping open. “Ah – well, to score points, and to win the game. The Miners and the Rockets are archrivals, so it should be a great contest.”
“Which one do we want to win?” Jemima asked him, and Brad bowed his head and smiled.
“We’re bigtime Rockets fans,” he informed her gravely, and she nodded and picked up a plastic pompom.
“Rockets!” she cried.
Brad looked at her affectionately. He was hoping that this would be the first of many evenings out in the real world for Jemima.
He flagged down a vendor, and bought her a big cup of hot coffee and a hot dog, and the same for himself. He laughed at her reaction when the cheerleaders came prancing out on the field in their scanty outfits.
Her eyes got round, and her cheeks went pink and she was adorably embarrassed. To be fair, though, she was right – they had on very little, and it was cold. But for his money, not one of those glamour girls could compete with the Duchess, because their beauty depended on heavy makeup and a flashy wardrobe – things that seemed oddly garish, now that he’d grown used to her fresh-faced beauty.
The teams jogged out onto the field to the roar of the crowd, and everyone stood up and screamed. Brad laughed to see Jemima put her hands over her ears as the roar built like a wave to the point of kickoff – and then subsided.
Near the end of the first quarter there was a crushing tackle, and a man was down on the field. The medics and trainers rushed out onto the field, and Jemima stood up with one hand clapped to her mouth.
“Oh, Brad, something’s wrong!” she cried. “They hit him too hard, he’s hurt!”
Brad looked around them, smiling apologetically at the people sitting behind them. “Yes, they’re taking care of him, Duchess,” he soothed, and slid a hand under her elbow. “You don’t need to be upset.”
Jemima allowed him to press her back into her seat, but insisted: “He’s still down! Why do those boys play this game if it can hurt them?”
“He’s all right – look, he’s standing up now.”
The player stood up slowly and was escorted off the field, to the applause of the crowd. Jemima seemed mollified, but when he glanced at her again, her head was bowed and her eyes were closed.
“What is it, Duchess?” he asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
She moved her lips, and then opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Yes, I’m all right.”
“What were you doing?”
“I was praying for that boy who got hit,” she replied earnestly. “And the others. I didn’t know football was such a dangerous game!”
He couldn’t help laughing, and leaned over and kissed her cheek, because he couldn’t help that, either. “Of course,” he laughed.
After the game was over and the Rockets had won, and Jemima had enjoyed her first ever football game, and he’d been more entertained than he’d been in years, he’d had to drive her right back to her house. It was a long way back, and she had to get up at an insane hour.
But their farewell in the car had been warmer than ever, and more tantalizing. And before she had gone, he’d given her the little gold ring with the emerald chip. Her expression had been worth every penny of what it had cost him, and then some.
“Oh, Brad,” she’d gasped, and then rewarded him with another, very appreciative kiss. “Oh, I could never wear this, but I’ll always treasure it. It’s so—”
And she’d kissed him again.
That night, he lay awake on his bed, reliving it. He blew smoke rings toward the ceiling, and they magically transformed themselves into likenesses of Jemima. The way she’d looked in that silly red cap, the way she laughed at the dancing mascots and her mesmerized fascination with all the sights and sounds.
He could only hope that he was making headway, so that when it came time to ask her to leave home – to come away with him – he’d have a shot.
He turned on a little bedside light, sighed and picked up one of the many books the Duchess had given him as part of their deal. They were black and thick, and were crammed with hundreds of pages of tiny type and looked like they were a century old, at least.
There was also a copy of the local Amish newsletter. He leafed through it. It was filled with weather reports, crop news, recipes and livestock advice.
Yes, he was in love with the Duchess.
Nothing less than love could’ve made him crack such boring books, but he tilted up the cigarette, opened the first one and began to read.
