Outside the window, the Rebbe’s granddaughter could see flakes of snow rolling through the overcast nighttime sky.

And what if her groom didn’t like her? Would he still go through with the wedding? That would be less embarrassing than having it called off at the last minute, under the canopy with everyone watching. But would it be better? What if he went through with it just to save her feelings? Then what? Would he be cruel? Would he divorce her?

And all of this was to say nothing of what she thought of him. She’d heard plenty about the boy—a good young man, they’d said, the son of a rabbi. He was suitable.

But his suitability was based on other people’s expectations—not hers. Come to think of it, she didn’t even know how she would begin to evaluate the suitability of a young man.

The Rebbe’s granddaughter squeezed her eyes shut for the billionth time that night. She had to get some rest. None of this could be solved by sleep deprivation.

But every time she shut her eyes, the image of her grandfather swam up to meet her.

Her grandfather.

The Rebbe.

Standing beneath the wedding canopy.

Waiting for her.

Waiting.

Her grandfather was perhaps the most daunting part of this whole undertaking. One could feel the holiness in his gaze, and it was not always comforting. He had never been anything but kind to her in the rare moments he could spare, but the way he looked at her—looked into her—made her feel defenseless, like an open book, her pages riffled by the wind.

What would he think? If she was not good enough?

There was nothing for it. She couldn’t sleep.

With a sigh, the Rebbe’s granddaughter opened her eyes again. While they had been shut, a large gray cat had come to sit quietly on the sill outside her bedroom window. It was an odd thing—her bedroom was on the third floor, and the narrow sill did not seem like a very comfortable place to rest, particularly on a blustery night such as this.

Once, twice, the Rebbe’s granddaughter blinked.

The cat was staring intently through the window.

After a moment, the Rebbe’s granddaughter began to grow uneasy.

What did it want with her?

And then, softly, unmistakably, like purring, she heard the cat speak her name:

Rokhl.

Rokhl, the Rebbe’s granddaughter, sat up in her bed.

—

Mammon was in a foul mood.

“Unbelievable,” he grumbled. “Unbelievable! You completely ruined the effect. Foolish boy. Now all they’ll be talking about is that girl.”

His petulant little voice bounced and jostled with every bump and cobble they went over.

“Just you wait,” he said. “Just you wait. Once we’re back in my Treasure House, I’ll make you wish you weren’t alive.”