Chapter 9

MJT had two morning services, with Sunday School in between. I preferred the second service, which was more contemporary; the early service was more traditional. But what someone announced in one service spread to the other, and I knew that word of what I was going to say wouldn't take long to become general.

Our custom was to sing a song, have a Bible reading and prayer, and then go to the announcements. Tyrone read the announcements, and then asked me to come to the pulpit and make mine.

I'm not a preacher, and except for my turn at the Scripture reading I'd never addressed the church. I was nervous anyway, and my lack of experience made me more so. But I pressed on. "As you know, I've been involved in our ministry to the prostitutes on Central Avenue. What you don't know is that early on I ran into a childhood friend, who was working down there. She came to the place where she wanted out – she's not a Christian, and may never be, but she wanted out of prostitution. And one thing led to another, very quickly, and ... well, she proposed and I accepted, and we were married this past Monday."

I had to stop while there was applause. We don't clap much in church, though some do – we're an eclectic group, with people coming out of charismatic and Pentecostal backgrounds as well as more staid denominations. But that time the applause was general. When it died down, I said, "I appreciate that. I know this is very sudden, and the circumstances are unusual, and frankly if one of you came to me for advice in a similar situation I'd tell you to move a lot slower than I did. But you have loved me rather than judged me, and I'm grateful."

That was getting rather emotional, so I pressed on with what I'd come to say. "My wife – Alison – isn't a Christian, and that will no doubt cause us some problems. I've told her she's welcome to come to church with me anytime she wants to, and I know that if she does you'll make her welcome. But for now she doesn't want to, and I'm not going to pressure her. I'll get with Tyrone when we both have some free time, and I'll give him the full story, but I'll just tell you this. Al has had a very hard life. Her childhood was rough, and that led her into what I've come to realize is one of the most degrading things a woman can do. But she's my friend and has been since we were children, and now she's my wife, and I'll appreciate your prayers – for both of us."

I stepped down from the platform and sat down again. Tyrone returned to the pulpit, and discarded the order of service. He then and there led the congregation in prayer for me and Alison – and this time I allowed the emotions to overwhelm me. I wept there in my pew, not because I was sorrowful, but because the love of God's people was so wonderful.

It didn't take long for us to establish our routine. Al and I would get up at the same time, and she'd fake together some sort of breakfast while I got ready for work. She really wasn't much of a cook – she hadn't lied when she told me that. But she tried, and once I'd shown her how she did pretty well with fried eggs, and of course cold cereal isn't hard. I bought her some oatmeal and Cream of Wheat, and she tried those, though it took her longer to make them more than just barely edible. But she truly did try, and that meant more to me than someone who could put together a perfect breakfast while half asleep.

While I went to work Al – she told me about it – would clean the place, or walk around the neighborhood, or watch TV, or even read a little. She'd gotten out of the habit of reading while she was a prostitute, but she was picking it up again, choosing from my collection of SF and westerns and mysteries.

For that matter cleaning wasn't her strong suit. She'd only been 15 when she'd run from her father, and while she'd always kept herself clean – johns don't want filth when they lie down with a prostitute, at least not johns in her class – her notions of putting things away were primitive. But she saw how I kept my apartment, and tried to keep it that way. She didn't fold things the way I did, and she didn't always find the right place for something, but the effort was sincere and touching.

We'd been married a couple of weeks when I complimented her on her efforts. Actually I'd been giving out pretty copious compliments, figuring that encouragement in doing well was a good thing, but this time I sat her down on a Saturday and did it right.

"Alison," I said, as we sat on the curb by the parking lot in the sunlight, for it was a sunny day and warm enough that we didn't need to bundle up too much, "I really appreciate all you're doing for me."

"I'm not doing so much, Alan."

"You're doing things that are strange to you. Just being married is strange to you. Cooking and cleaning must be more so. You're doing your best to be a good wife to me, and I want you to know that I've seen it and I approve and I appreciate it."

She colored very prettily. Probably she hadn't done much blushing for years – shame is something you learn to live with, I suppose, when you're a prostitute. But I saw then that a sincere compliment could cause the blood to come up in her face. She didn't look at me as she spoke. "Alan, I chose to be your wife, and I want to do it right. You don't know how hard it is for me to cook, or to clean. These aren't natural things for me. But I want to do them because they're part of being your wife. It's just what I ought to do."