Chapter 3: A Different Proposal

Dad is the principal of Maple Heights Academy. I always thought that was kind of cool, even if it meant everyone knew our business.

He’s the kind of man who believes in hard work and second chances. I remember him helping a kid who got caught cheating once—didn’t yell, just made him work it off in the library and told him, “Everybody deserves a fresh start.” That’s Dad for you.

He always admired hardworking, underprivileged students like Ethan. I remember him telling Mom, “That Whitmore boy’s got grit. He’ll go far.”

Dad had a soft spot for kids who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. That was his thing. He’d always say, “You never know what someone’s been through.”

I trailed after the maid into the living room, and Dad smiled and said:

“Ethan, this is my daughter Savannah. She’s pretty well-read herself.”

Ethan looked at me with those intense eyes. “Miss Brooks.” My stomach twisted, but I stood my ground.

His gaze was steady, a little too familiar. I felt a chill prickle up my arms, but I kept my face blank.

I looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. I smoothed my sleeves and gave a polite nod. “Dad, Mrs. Lane invited me to church today. Her car’s already waiting outside.”

My voice was calm, measured, but I could feel my hands trembling just a little.

Mrs. Lane was my mom’s close friend, who’d moved up north after she got married.

She was a force of nature—warm, generous, with a laugh that could fill a room. I remembered her teaching me how to bake bread when I was ten, her hands always busy, her stories always wild.

She’d just come back to town because her daughter Mariah was getting married.

The house had been full of flowers and excitement for weeks. The scent of lilies and fresh bread seemed to linger in every corner.

She married General Lane, a local hero, so folks give her a lot of respect, too.

People in town still told stories about how General Lane saved the mill during the flood... I always thought it was a little overblown, but it made me proud to know them.

As I expected, Dad didn’t push the issue. Relief washed over me.

He just nodded, got it.

I went with Mrs. Lane to St. Michael’s Church to light a candle for my mom. The scent of melting wax and old hymnals filled the air, the cold stone floor beneath my knees.

Mrs. Lane looked at me, her eyes getting misty. “Sav, your mom’s gone, but I still remember the match our families talked about before you were born. If you don’t mind the cold and the long winters up north, when the general gets back next month, I’ll have him come speak to your dad. We’d treat you like family.”

Her voice was gentle, sincere. My throat tightened a little. I squeezed her hand, grateful for the warmth.

I pulled a pair of thick kneepads from my bag. The yarn was soft, and the stitches were neat beneath my fingers.

The fabric was soft, the stitches even. I ran my thumb over the seam, a small sense of pride blooming in my chest.

“Before she passed, Mom mentioned the match too. I’m grateful you and Lane don’t mind. I’d be glad to go up north. I sewed these kneepads myself—please give them to him.”

My voice was steady, but inside, I was trembling. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of the kneepads, and my heart was racing.

Mrs. Lane was delighted. “I knew you were a thoughtful girl. There aren’t many folks up north, and my boy isn’t the bookish type, but he believes in one wife, one marriage. He knows a good wife brings peace, and a happy home is everything. He’ll treat you right.”

She beamed, pride shining in her eyes. It made me want to believe her, even if I wasn’t sure I could.

I just smiled, lips pressed tight.

It wasn’t much, but it was all I could manage. For a second, I let myself hope.

Mrs. Lane had mentioned the engagement in my last life, too.

I remembered the conversation like it was yesterday... My chest tightened, regret sharp as ever.

But back then, I was all about Ethan. Even just a few days ago, during the parade, I tossed a sachet I’d sewn myself to Ethan on horseback, right in front of Mariah.

The memory burned with embarrassment. My cheeks flushed just thinking about it.

Ethan caught it and smiled at me. His eyes seemed to say, “Savannah, wait for me to propose.”

That look had made my heart race, had filled me with hope. God, I was so gullible.

So I just blushed and told Mrs. Lane, “Marriage is a big deal; Dad will decide.”

And when General Lane came back to town, Dad had already agreed to Ethan’s proposal. I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me.

Even though Mrs. Lane was disappointed, she still gave me a generous dowry and called me her goddaughter:

“Savannah, I’m heading back north. Lane’s your brother now. If you ever need anything, just write.”

Her kindness was a balm, even as I felt the sting of regret. It almost made me cry.

I felt both touched and guilty for her kindness.

It weighed on me, knowing I’d let her down. The guilt sat heavy in my chest.

Later, the northern border was invaded, and the war dragged on for years. Money was tight, and I donated half my dowry to the troops. It felt like the least I could do.

I remembered the long winter nights, counting every dollar, wondering if it would be enough. The letters from the front were few and far between, but I sent what I could, hoping it made a difference.

That made Ethan sulk for a whole month. I rolled my eyes just thinking about it.

But now that I’ve got another shot, I don’t want to let Mrs. Lane down.

This time, I owed her more than words. I was determined to do right by her.

Just as we finished talking, Mariah, who’d run ahead to watch the pastor’s blessing, came bouncing back.

Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her eyes bright with excitement. She was practically bouncing on her toes, her breath puffing little clouds in the chilly air.

She excitedly showed off the rosary in her hand. “The pastor blessed these himself—they’ll definitely help me find a good match! Sav, you should get one too. Maybe it’ll bring you luck.”

Mariah was always chasing after signs and blessings... Sometimes I wished I could believe in that kind of magic, too.

Mariah grew up in the north, and when it came to her marriage, she wasn’t as shy as the girls from town.

She spoke her mind, laughed loud, and never apologized for wanting what she wanted. I admired that about her.

Mrs. Lane laughed and teased her, then turned to encourage me:

“Mariah’s a little wild, but she’s got a point. It’s not every day the pastor’s handing out blessings—Savannah, you should go ask for one, too.”

Her voice was gentle, coaxing. The hope in her eyes made my chest ache.

After everything I’d been through, I didn’t expect much from marriage anymore. I was tired, and my dreams were small.

As long as Lane treats me with respect, I’ll do my best to be a good wife. I’ll raise his kids and keep a happy home. That’s all I want now.

It wasn’t a grand dream, but it was enough. I let myself want it, just for a moment.

But thinking about how, in my last life, he died defending the northern border, the memory hit me hard.

A pang of grief hit me. My chest tightened, and I blinked fast, willing the tears away.

I stood up under Mrs. Lane’s hopeful gaze, ready to ask the pastor for a blessing of safety for Lane—

My hands trembled as I straightened my skirt. I took a deep breath, determined to do this right.

A young man who serves his country deserves to make it home.

He deserved to come home, to grow old, to see his family thrive. My throat tightened again.