Chapter 7: The Soldier’s Proposal

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Caleb Morgan.

The only son of the Morgans—a family with a long military tradition.

My godmother’s own nephew.

The Morgans had a history you could read about in local history books—grandfathers who fought at Normandy, fathers who served in Vietnam, cousins still posted overseas.

At thirteen, he went to military school; at eighteen, he became an officer.

He’d always been the talk of the Fourth of July picnics: tall, polite, sharp as a tack. I’d heard stories of his discipline and kindness from half the church ladies in town.

The only problem: at twenty-one, he was still single, never even dated seriously.

But this ‘only problem,’ compared to his family background and military record, was nothing.

"Ah," my godmother sighed, "you don’t know, he… he…"

She shyly covered her mouth and whispered four words in my ear.

I understood at once.

But I didn’t expect things to move so quickly.

I had just promised my godmother to meet him someday to see if we were a good match.

The very next day, for some reason at the base, he hurried north.

Rumor had it he didn’t stop for a moment and drove straight through three states.

Seven days later, before dawn, he knocked at the door of my temporary apartment.

I had heard some rumors about him—

A little General Patton, a soldier everyone respected.

But what I saw was a gentle young man in a crisp white shirt, brighter than the morning snow.

He held a folded piece of paper, pointed at the moon about to set:

"I, uh, heard the moon’s supposed to be full tonight. Figured that was a good omen… or something."

I almost laughed out loud.

He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. There was a nervous energy to him, as if he’d rather face a firing squad than read a poem to a woman. It was oddly endearing.

The young officer, good at what he did, loved to tear up books, and hated pretentiousness the most.

It seemed this marriage truly worried him.

Was he actually afraid I would look down on him?

"Caleb, no need to be nervous."

I led him inside. "My godmother already told me about your situation. If you have anything to say, just say it."

I was already prepared.

But I didn’t expect him to be so direct.

"Aunt told you everything?"

I nodded.

He took a deep breath.

He slid a folder across the table, eyes earnest. “Everything I’ve got—bank accounts, the house, even my dog if you want him—it’s yours. If you ever want out, just say the word.”

"Aubrey." He presented the thick stack of documents, without even pausing for breath: "Marry Caleb Morgan as your husband!"

His words hung in the air, sincere and a little desperate, as if he were making a military pledge. It wasn’t romance, but it was safety—and that counted for more than I’d expected.