I know beyond a doubt that I’m going to die.”
“I don’t like it at all. It’s an awful reason to get married.”
“Is it?” He lowered his gaze to her. “One of the reasons God created marriage was to care for mothers and children. That’s what I want to do. I want to care for you and your baby. I want you to raise that baby yourself as you should.”
Leah wrapped her arms around her middle and lowered her chin.
At last he was getting through to her. “Your baby will have a name and a father. I’ll be her father. I’ll gladly call her my own. She’ll never have to know who her real father is. She’ll never have to be ashamed. You’ll always be able to show her my picture and say, ‘There’s your daddy, the war hero.’”
Her shoulders hunched up.
The baby’s real father . . . another thought seized him. “Listen, we won’t live together, so you don’t have to worry about any of . . . of that. I have to live on base, and we’re shipping out soon. I won’t—I’ll never touch you. Not like . . .”
She shook her head. “I don’t like the idea.”
“I do. Can’t you see this is the best way?” He squatted beside her. “You said you couldn’t see any good in this, but I do. I see great good. You can raise that little baby and have a family. No disgrace. No poverty.”
Leah pressed her hand over her eyes. “No poverty? Only because of charity. I won’t take your charity. I promised myself I’d never accept charity again. I won’t.”
“No, no, no.” Clay dropped to his knees and took her free hand in his. “It isn’t charity. You’d be doing me a favor.”
She peeked over the top of her hand. “A favor?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right now, my only purpose in life is to die.”
She winced.
“It is.” He squeezed her narrow hand. “I’m training hard so I can go into battle and die saving my buddies. But this—marrying you would give my life an even better purpose. Knowing that I helped you and your little one, that I provided for you . . . well, that would make me the happiest man in the world.”
The fight left her shoulders and her cheeks, and she slid her hand from her eyes to her mouth. Her brown eyes teemed with questions, with a desire to believe.
Clay pressed his hand to his chest and smiled. “Come on, Miss Jones, have a heart. Here I am, down on my knees, begging you to make me happy and marry me. Would you, please? Would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Clay Paxton?”
Leah fell silent for far too long, but then she slowly nodded. “Yes. Please.”
“Thank you.” He planted a kiss on the back of her hand. He hadn’t felt so good in over two years.
11
CAMP FORREST
SATURDAY, AUGUST 7, 1943
Darlene Bishop adjusted the short veil over Leah’s face and frowned. “I don’t understand you. A month ago, you didn’t even want a date, and now you’re marrying a man you hardly know.”
Seated in the chaplain’s office in Camp Forrest’s main chapel, Leah fingered the smooth fabric of the cream-colored suit the girls in the boardinghouse had given her as a wedding present. “I’ve never known a finer man.”
“You’ve never known any man.”
“Now, now.” Rita Sue Bellamy handed Leah a bouquet of creamy roses. “I think it’s romantic. Clay saved her life and visited her almost every day in the hospital. It’s no surprise to me or to anyone on the ward.”
“Thank you.” Leah inhaled the heady floral fragrance. Only Clay, Rita Sue, and her doctors and nurses knew she’d been violated during the attack, and only they knew about her pregnancy. That was how it needed to stay so that everyone would believe Clay was the father.
A soldier peeked into the office. “Excuse me. Are you ready, Miss Jones?”
“I am.” Today she’d lose the name of Jones, which always reminded her she was unwanted and unloved. Clay didn’t love her, but he cared for her and he did want to marry her.
Leah stood slowly, still a bit weak and lightheaded.
“I’ll go sit with my family.” Rita Sue pressed a kiss to Leah’s veiled cheek. “You look ravishing.”
Leah didn’t know what to do with the compliment or the affection. “Thank you.”
After Rita Sue left, Darlene stepped close, her brow furrowed beneath her flower-strewn hat. “Are you sure, sugar? It isn’t too late to back out.”
“I’m sure.”
“You know Latins