"It's up to you whether or not you are."

"I don't see why I would be one though!"

"People will want to ask you a lot of questions and you might not want to be bothered with them right now, is the main thing."

"I don't know that much but that doesn't make me a secret."

"Well, I'll let the Mother know, then.  If you don't want to miss the service you can come up when you hear music, or sooner."

"Is there a choir here?"

"Of course."

"Oh good!"

"We believe in selective choirs but there's also regular congregational singing, and praise concerts at the later service.  Participatory and non-."

"I'm not going to know any of the songs here yet."

"You can follow along in the hymnal, for the congregational parts.  And I think some of the praise songs project sheet music.  I haven't gone to the second service in a few years; that might be wrong."

"They project it? What does that mean?"

". . . There's a spot on the wall where it will appear.  Because of a person operating a machine, not the songs themselves."

"Whoa. We don't have that."

"I think most of the other universes which God has saved people from have had lower tech levels than we did, at the time."  She re-wraps the danishes.  "So there might be a lot of things like that."

"I guess! Is that what's up with the funny packaging too, my best guess was that it was a weird plant thing."

"If you don't have plastic then yes, it's plastic."

"We don't have it. Why is it on practically all the food?"

"It helps keep it cleaner and fresher than other containers.  And it's convenient."

"It takes a little getting used to but I guess everybody's here had that."

"I grew up with it.  And so did at least my grandparents.  Do you mostly use . . . glass?"

"Or, like, paper, or... sacks, or ceramic jars... my mum has a wooden breadbox..."

"Oh, we sometimes use those, but - " She's interrupted by two lines of melody from a loud and distant set of bells.  "Oh, I should let the Mother know you're fine with being announced."

"Thank you."

She nods.  "I'm Thekla, if you need to ask after me.  There's space in my pew if there's nowhere else you'd rather sit."  And she heads across the hall and upstairs.

A few other people deposit trays of breakfasty treats in the kitchen, with a wave or a 'good morning!' but without displaying much inclination for more conversation than that.  She gets several odd looks about the choir robe and perhaps just being an unfamiliar person in the kitchen but no one makes a deal out of it.  After ten or fifteen minutes (the clock on the wall is strangely comprehensible but doesn't help her with exact conversion) the organ upstairs starts with a song proper.