She wasn’t wearing any clothing.
“Welcome to the Christian Purity Bible Camp,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Rona Harris.”
Wordlessly, Ben took her hand and shook it.
“Thank you for joining us. May I show you around?”
Ben tried to keep his eyes glued to her face, which was a considerable challenge under the circumstances.
“I’d be happy to give you the grand tour. Or if you’d like, you can talk to some of our happy campers.” She paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “Would that be acceptable?”
“Buh—” Ben replied.
“Is there something wrong?” Rona raised a hand to her face. “Oh my. You didn’t know, did you?”
“Buh—wuh—” Ben sputtered.
Christina walked around from her side of the van, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the view. “We knew you were pure,” Christina said. “We just didn’t realize how pure.”
Rona laughed. “I thought everyone knew by now. Everyone who knew enough about us to visit, anyway. How did you find out about us?”
Christina stepped in front of Ben. “Denny Bachalo is a friend of ours. He recommended it.”
“Good for him.” She turned back to Ben. “Perhaps Denny should be your tour guide.”
“That’s a great idea,” Christina supplied. “Do you know where he is?”
“I don’t, but Kerrie will. She’s in charge of daily activities. Sort of like our cruise director.” She laughed. “Why don’t we head toward her cabin? We can talk along the way.” She took Ben’s arm and wrapped it around hers, drawing him close. “Shall we?”
“Buh-wuh—wuh—” Ben said compliantly.
Ben walked side by side with Rona, with Christina just a few steps behind. Somewhere along the way, he managed to find his voice.
“Would you feel more comfortable if I put something on?” Rona asked.
“In a word, yes.”
“All right.” She reached into her small purse, withdrew a chiffon scarf, and wrapped it artfully around her head. “There. Is that better?”
She and Christina giggled.
“Much,” Ben said quietly. “Thanks.”
As they strolled through the grounds, they passed several people sitting under shade trees, reading, meditating. Male and female. And every one of them naked as the day they were born.
“Somehow,” Ben said, “despite all the strange things I’ve encountered these past few years, I never expected to stumble into a Christian nudist camp.”
Rona tittered. “Well, a few years ago, I would’ve laughed if someone had told me I would be superintending one. But here I am.”
“I didn’t think Christians liked nudity.”
“That’s the impression we’re trying to correct. Christian discomfort with nudity goes back to Adam and Eve. You know, in Eden we were naked, but after we sinned, we were clothed. Hence nudity is associated with sin. And of course, most fundamentalist groups encourage modesty in dress so as not to provoke … passionate responses.”
“Some of Christina’s outfits have provoked passionate responses,” Ben said, “but probably not in the way you mean.”
“Here at the Christian Purity Bible Camp,” Rona continued, “we believe these views have distorted the proper focus, have obscured the true meaning of the parable. Why go on obsessing over Eve’s mistake? After all, when we become Christians, our sins are forgiven. We hope we can recapture some of the purity of spirit that must have been present at the beginning. Some of that original goodness.”
Ben looked at her blank-faced. “By shedding your clothing.”
“How better? If clothes are simply a reminder of our fall, why shouldn’t we cast them aside? Here at the Christian Purity Camp we say, let’s put away the reminders of what we failed to do, and seek instead to discover what we can do.”
“The Bible does say God created man in His own image,” Christina offered.
“Exactly.” Rona was getting excited, catching fire on her favorite subject. “And if that’s so, what right have we to hide God’s own image? His image reflects one aspect of His divinity. It’s a gift—not something to be buried under T-shirts and stonewashed jeans.”
“So you founded the Christian Purity Bible Camp.”
“Oh my, no. I didn’t start it. I’m simply a local facilitator. And a believer, of course. The first camp was established in North Carolina. This is the seventh in the nation, and we have plans to start three more next year.”
“Wow.”
“We even have a national newsletter—The Fig Tree Forum. Ah, here we are.” She stopped in front of a tiny cabin. “Let me step inside for just a moment.” She knocked gently on the door, then entered.
As soon as she was gone, Christina whirled to face Ben. “Ben, you’ve gotten me into some pretty bizarre situations over the years. But a Christian nudist colony? This takes the cake.”
“Look, it’s not as if I knew—”
“Well, you should have. From now on, before you take me anywhere, I want you to thoroughly investigate one major question: do they wear clothing?”
He patted her on the shoulder. “Christina, just say a little prayer. I’m sure your angel will get you through this.”
“Get me through? My angel is telling me to get the hell out of here!”
Before they had a chance to continue the discussion, Rona emerged with another woman. Kerrie was much younger than Rona—probably mid-twenties, Ben guessed, and he had every reason to be able to make a good guess, because all the available evidence was on display.
“Hi, I’m Kerrie,” she said, with a buoyant bounce in her voice and, Ben noted, the rest of her as well. “I’m glad you could come.”
Ben struggled ruthlessly to maintain strict eye contact. “This is Christina McCall,” he said, pointing. “And I’m Ben Kincaid.”
Kerrie drew back suddenly. “Not the Ben Kincaid.”
Christina’s lips parted. “The Ben Kincaid?”
“I mean—” Her hand rose to her mouth. “The lawyer. The one who represented Mayor Barrett.”
Ben tilted his head to one side. “That was me.”
“I can’t believe it! I used to watch you every day on television during the trial.”
“You must’ve been terribly bored,” Ben said.
“Oh, no. You were fabulous! Before I joined this camp, I considered becoming a lawyer myself. Especially after I saw what you did in the courtroom.”
“Believe me, it was nothing great.”
“You’re too modest. I’m surprised they haven’t put you on Court TV or something. You’ve got it all. You’re young, smart, cute—”
Christina rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should wait in the car.”
Kerrie flew toward Ben, practically overflowing with enthusiasm. He tried to step away, but she clasped his hand and held him fast. “If I can help you in any way, Mr. Kincaid, I would be so honored. Really I would.”
Ben cleared his throat. “We want to talk to Denny Bachalo. If you know where he is…”
“He’ll be down at the prayer meeting right now. I’d be honored if you’d let me show you the way.”
Ben glanced up. “Well, okay. Christina—”
Kerrie didn’t quite frown. “She’s welcome too, of course.”
Christina smiled wryly. “Like I said, maybe I should wait in the car.”
“That’ll be fine. Of course”—Kerrie turned back toward Ben—”if you’re attending the prayer meeting, you’ll have to … change your attire.”
“You mean … put on something a little less—”