“Those things are a mother’s department,” Batya’s father said to Reb Moskowitz, his tone apologetic, and gestured to the girls to follow. It would not have been appropriate to ask the distinguished guest to wait outside, nor was it appropriate to leave girls alone with a man.

Once outside, Batya’s mother said, “It’s not right to let Batya go with a groom who has no matchmaker to vouch for him.” She turned her face heavenward, as if her grandmother could see her.

“Did you see how much respect he received at the synagogue?” her husband replied. “They know him. Rather than just a single matchmaker, the whole congregation is vouching for him. Besides, doesn’t the Talmud teach us that forty days before a child is born, a voice from heaven announces, ‘The daughter of this person is destined for so-and-so?’” He pointed his finger over his head. “The Master of the Universe has led Reb Moskowitz to our humble abode. All along, our unexpected luck has been in God’s planning.”

Batya’s hand wrung the edge of her apron. Yes, her life had been preordained. She could lavish her loved ones with luxury and rescue them from Russia, but she couldn’t bring herself to acquiesce.

She felt herself tremble.

It was dark now, and they were standing outside in the cold air. The moon rose on the horizon, full and yellow, so close that Batya could reach out and touch it. “I don’t want to leave you.” She hugged her mother, then moved to hug her father. “Please. Not yet.”

“If we don’t let Batya go with him, he might find another bride on his travels,” Batya’s mother said, as if thinking aloud. “My mother always said that if it’s supposed to, a miracle will find you.”

Her father touched Batya’s hair. “Maybe God has answered our prayers? Finally, we got our bissele mazel.”

Batya felt numb with the enormity of what was required of her now, not in two years’ time. What if she refused to leave? What if she threw a fit, screaming and crying, proving to Reb Moskowitz that, rather than virtuous, she was a shrew he wouldn’t want for a bride?

Her father grabbed both his wife’s hands. “Zelda, here is our mazel, and it’s not even little.”

Disengaging his hold, she turned to Batya. “Did I want to leave my mama to get married? Every bride-to-be is scared, and every mother bird is unhappy when she must push her chicks out of the nest so they can fly.”

She turned to enter the hut. Her husband followed her, half hopping in glee. Batya and Surale trailed behind him. Surale was quiet, but her chin quivered with suppressed tears.