She didn’t see Helen again until the end of that day, when a truck came to gather up all the girls and take them back to the House of Miriam. They all washed up and then sat together around a large oaken table while Helen led them in prayer. She read a chunk of the book of Isaiah and then gave a quick lecture on the value of physical labor (“Each callous on your hands is a kiss from God”) before inviting them to tuck in.

The dinner wasn’t luxurious by Sasha’s standards: just biscuits, a thin brown gravy, and a palm-sized slice of beef for each of them. But they had oranges for dessert, which was a treat, and Sasha felt more comfortable than she’d ever have believed among her new sisters.

Caroline had fled from Florida, North America’s Banana-est Republic. She’d been shot in the arm making her way to the Heavenly Kingdom. She said almost nothing—Sasha wasn’t sure she even spoke English—but Caroline worked hard. There was an intensity in her eyes that was a little scary and humbling at the same time.

Then there was Susannah, from the Blackstone Nation. Sasha couldn’t help but notice she was the only Black girl there. Susannah had spent most of their work day singing to herself. She had a beautiful singing voice.

And then there were the three other AmFed girls: Emmeline, Rosie, and Anne. They’d all left a few weeks before Sasha had made her own journey. Anne had actually gone to the same middle school as Sasha.

She wasn’t great with names, so most of the other girls in her group were still more of a collection of smiling faces than real people at this point. But they’d all been so warm to her. There was a real effort, from all of them, to make regular physical contact. They put hands on each other’s shoulders and cheeks. They hugged constantly. Sasha experienced more touching in her first twenty-four hours here than she’d experienced in her last five years in the American Federation. There was something intoxicating about being touched and feeling so cared for.

The only girl she didn’t like was Mae. Like Sasha, Mae was within spitting distance of age eighteen. She’d fled from the UCS and she had a gift for letting everyone around her know when they fell short of God’s standards. During their work day she’d spent more time policing the other girl’s posture than she’d spent scrubbing toilets. When Anne had hitched up her shirt sleeves, it was Mae who’d scolded her for immodesty. When Susannah took off her shoes and socks during their lunch break, Mae had yelled that she was “an unfair temptation” to the young soldiers walking by on the street.