Chapter Seven
The Underground Church
I, of course, attended my husband’s church on Saturdays—which he and his parishioners celebrated as “the true Sabbath.”
Saturday afternoons he was often absent—engaged, he said without further explanation, in “important church functions” to which I was not privy.
I would host a tea or teach Sabbath School; he would be home in time for dinner, sometimes bringing guests, usually but not always members of the congregation, sometimes strangers who I can most charitably describe as “scruffy.”
And it was under the tag “charitable” that I had tried to understand these guests.
Located in a strip mall storefront, The Church of the Message enjoyed—or suffered—a mixed local reputation, something I knew from the years before my marriage; once I was wedded to
