"Are you okay, Rachel?"

I took a deep, shuddering breath and then smoothed my hands down the front of my skirts as the detective made a U-turn in the dirt and drove away in a cloud of dirt. I wanted to scream and run after him, fling myself at his non-descript car and cling on to the bumper as he took me away from this place. 

But my sister was watching me.  Little Miriam with her wary expression and her big brown eyes. She gave me a tentative smile and I forced myself to smile back. "Of course."

She grabbed my hand. "Good. Because Mother told me to come fetch you." She tugged at my arm.

"Really?" I hoped she would forgive my mud-stained skirts and stained overdress. The sudden rain this morning had left the fields a rutted mess, and the lingering humidity had me feeling sodden and short of breath even before Detective Jenkins had rattled me so badly. Mother had been watching me very closely ever since my return and I didn't want her to see me looking anything but serene.  "Do you know why?" 

Miriam was almost bursting with the importance of her task. "You have a caller."

"A caller?" I gasped as I let her tug me back down the muddy central path that ran between all of the Chosen houses. It wasn't a road. More like a trail beaten down by the women's feet walking from house to house to borrow a set of needles or offer potatoes from storage. It was the pathway of our lives, our day to day existence. It used to seem so long to me. 

Now I realized it was less than a quarter of a mile long. 

Was I really okay with my world being this small?

My sister's hand in mine brought me back to myself. I followed her up the steps to the rarely used front door of our house, and then stopped when she shooed me to one side. "Mother said I am to let her know when you get back," she announced primly, clearly relishing the responsibility. 

I obliged her by demurely stepping off to the side of the porch and as I did, I caught the sight of movement through the window. My mother scurried by, clearly agitated about something, and when Miriam politely caught her attention, she startled, throwing up her hands in frustration. Curious, I leaned in to see what could possibly be bothering her so much, but Miriam must have told her I was back from meeting with the detective because she turned and looked straight through the window, right at me. I couldn't read her expression, and that bothered me. My mother was usually an open book, but right now she was closed up tight. 

The low rumble of far off thunder made me jump. Something was wrong. "Rachel!" My mother's voice was bright and falsely cheerful. "There you are!"

"Yes, I was speaking to the detective, Mother. Of course I told him that everything was fine and—"

"Yes, good, but come inside the house, we can't keep them waiting any longer."

"Them?" I echoed as I trailed behind her. 

Inside the house, the humidity was even worse. This morning's storm had soaked the laundry that had been hanging on the line to dry, which meant that every spare surface was draped with damp clothing, which only added to the feeling of closeness. As I looked around, I realized that all this laundry would need to be rewashed, since the heavy rain had splashed up droplets of mud all over it. Which meant I'd be spending today doing chores I'd already spent all day yesterday doing. 

My fingers twitched as I tried to fold them demurely in front of me, but I ended up clenching my fists instead. "Rachel?" my mother called from the front room. "Come join us."

"I have all these chores still to do, I don't have time!" I wanted to say. But I didn't. I ducked my head in apology and headed to obey my mother. 

She was sitting in the front room, which was odd. Usually this was men's space, but when I looked again, I saw that my father was seated silently, with his head bowed in prayer. In the folding chair next to him sat a woman I vaguely recognized. She was short and squarely built and her light brown hair was streaked with gray. Her equally square husband was seated closest to me. In between them sat a reed-thin young man I didn’t remember at first, then wracked my brain. "Levi?" I asked. 

He looked up at me with a flash of desperation in his eyes that he quickly masked before looking back down at his feet again. His father gave him a rough sort of nudge. "Hi Rachel," Levi said tonelessly. 

"We should give glory on this blessed day," my mother trilled. She folded her hands. "Father we thank you for revealing your plan to us, your faithful servants." 

I ducked my head and squeezed my hands together, miming piety even as my head was racing. What was going on? What was the plan she was referring to? And why was my own father allowing my mother to lead the prayer? That was usually a man's role. "We know you have chosen us to walk a narrow path, but we know it will lead only to glory."

Murmured amens didn't do anything to clarify what was happening. Levi's mother mouthed a few more silent words of blessing and then opened her eyes. "We believe it is a good match. Levi has assented and we have prayed on it."

"So have we," my mother nodded quickly. 

I looked between them both. "What is going on?"

My mother looked at me with her hand clasped to her heart, her eyes half-lidded in rapture. "It's Providence. God's holy will." She gestured to the red-faced young man with the blue eyes. "Rachel! Levi has agreed to marry you!"