Most outsiders would not recognize a Chosen Meeting House as a church. Rather than under lofty spires reaching heavenward, we met under tin roofs, in a corrugated metal box that was freezing in the wintertime and boiling in the summer. Our surroundings were meant to keep us humble and serve as a reminder of how impermanent life was here on Earth. 

Already, the metal shed had started rusting in the corners. I took my place in the uncomfortable metal chairs donated by a secular man before he renounced everything to join us. I had never wondered about him until this moment, always assuming that he'd done it to redeem his sin-stained soul. But now I found myself wondering his name. What kind of life did he have before he'd joined the Chosen. And what had he left behind?

The smell of rust hung in the humid air, as did the smells of the bodies around me as the rest of the community filed in. I tried to take shallow breaths. Were we always packed in this closely - like sardines in a can - or had I just never noticed until now? I looked over to the other row of chairs, trying to remember how many rows in total we used to pack in here. Was it always eleven? I could have sworn it was nine last I counted. 

I felt a jolt when I saw a man with dark brown hair and a beard slip into the last row, then hated myself for even looking for Beau here in this sacred place. I wrenched my eyes away from the bearded man and tried to focus on anything else. 

Sarah Hayes had a new baby, the one I remembered was now playing hide-and-seek with her skirts. I tried to take an interest in that, but it only made me feel wistful. People had been born since I had gone. And people had died too. Life had gone on without me. It didn't seem fair. 

"Have you finished your prayers?" my mother whispered, prodding me in the shoulder. 

Hastily, I turned and bowed my head, knitting my fingers together in my lap. My mother sniffed and then closed her eyes again. The irritation smoothed out of her face and was replaced by complete serenity as her lips began to move soundlessly. 

I screwed my eyes shut and tried to reach my own bliss. But I couldn't hear the sound of my prayers over the noise of the people around me. The stifled coughs seemed as loud as gunshots, and every rumbling tummy felt like an earthquake. I shifted and tried harder, determined to believe again. But instead of peace, I was filled with frustration. 

At last, one of the Elders, a young man I didn't recognize, maybe sent in from one of the other communities, called for bread breaking. We passed the fragrant loaves to one another and smiled our greetings, but my stomach roiled and I could barely swallow it down. I grimaced up at Rebecca, who was watching me closely. Like she was checking to see if I spontaneously caught fire the second the bread touched my lips. 

She seemed disappointed that I didn't.

There was a rustle and the sound of shifting bodies and I remembered at the last moment that now was the time to stand. I smoothed the heavy skirts that were now clinging to my legs and wiped my forehead before tucking my white cap snugly back down onto my head. For one moment, I crouched to reach for the water bottle I had always carried out in the secular world. But there was no water to be had during Meeting. The deprivation of being thirsty was supposed to remind us of our mortality. 

I swallowed. I could really use a drink. In all senses of the word. 

Then Widow Reed's high, warbling voice rang out making my hair stand on end when everyone joined in. My throat went dry. 

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound..."

It was the hymn I'd sung for Beau. The one he swore made me sound like an angel. I squeezed my eyes shut against the tears that were suddenly gathering. My mother, thinking I was overcome with the emotion of being "lost then found," reached down to squeeze my hand, and I wanted to yank it away and run from her, but I stilled myself and whisper-sang along. My voice definitely wasn't that of an angel. I sounded like the hiss of air from a leaking balloon.

One hymn slid into another as the spirit moved various Chosen to sing praises. It was a game of "who is most pious," and it could go on for hours. When the last song died out with no one suggesting a new one, I breathed a sigh of relief.

But only for a moment. 

Because I knew what came next. 

"Brothers and Sisters!" the new Elder boomed. "When one of us sins, it brings shame to all of us. We are all responsible to keep pure, both within our hearts and within this sacred community..."

My heart thudded so loudly in my ears that it drowned out the rest of his words, but I didn't need to hear him. I gripped the bottom of my chair, forcing myself to stay in my seat and not run screaming from the room. 

It was time for the Shaming. 

The Chosen believed if you sin you must ask forgiveness from both God and the community by standing in the front of the Meeting and confessing. Confessing was bad enough, especially when your sin was something private or worse, something you hadn't even known was a sin in the first place, like when Gloriana Hastings was shamed for wearing revealing clothes only because she had grown so fast that her skirts had risen above the ankle without her realizing. 

Or when you didn't know your sin was a sin because you had only been in the community a few days and still did not understand the rules. 

With a violent jerk, my mind wrenched back to that meeting all those years ago when my sister Miriam had first been adopted into our family at the age of eight. Sweet and shy, she'd endured things I couldn't even imagine within the foster system. We were eager to show her a peaceful life, and to give her the love and affection she'd lacked for so long. 

Right off the bat, her black skin had made her a target of whispers. She was watched far more closely than any other small girl in the community, and not even a full week had gone by before she'd transgressed. It was for the simple sin of going outside to collect the wash wearing only her undergarments. But she'd been seen and branded immodest. When her name was said at during Shaming, I had leaped to my feet to defend her, but my mother had yanked me back down again. I watched in horror as an innocent little girl, already so scarred by the life she'd led before coming to us, was forced to lift her skirts until the tops of her thighs were bared. She hadn't made a sound when the rod struck her tender flesh, I knew she'd learned to stay silent in the foster home she'd been in before coming to us. 

And that made it so very much worse. 

"There are those among you who clutch your sins close to you, letting them weigh you down. Brothers and sisters, how will you rise into Heaven on Judgment Day if your sins are an anchor around your neck? Confess your sins and when you are finished, call upon your neighbor to confess theirs, so they might be free from the weight as well."

I heard a rush of breath like everyone was readying themselves to speak at once. And I realized, with dull, numb horror, that nearly all of the heads were turned in my direction. 

I knew that was how it had to be. If I truly wanted to belong again, I needed to accept my punishment for leaving. I needed to confess all that I had done wrong while out from under their watchful eyes. 

But what if I didn't believe I had done anything wrong?

My mother reached out and pressed her hand on my shoulder. As if she wanted to keep me sitting in case someone said my name. "No," I whispered, not daring to move my lips. "I won't do it."

"Then," the Elder continued, sounding slightly disappointed, "I'd like to call on Sister Rachel Walker."

I jerked my head up, ready to run if he so much as came near me...

But he was raising his hand. "We welcome you," he blessed me as the rest of the congregation stretched out their hands. "We are grateful that you have returned to us, and we ask the Lord for His Almighty blessing on you, Sister Rachel, as you begin again to walk the path of God's Chosen."

I looked around, awestruck, at all the hands reaching out to bless me. "You belong here," my mother said as she squeezed my arm. "You belong here, with us."

I squeezed my eyes shut again and nodded and hoped that everyone believed that the tears that were now falling were tears of joy at having finally come home. I hoped I could believe it too.