Chapter 9
“Please don’t treat this afternoon like an investigation.” Clare looked out the window as the truck jounced down a packed dirt road framed with bare-branched trees and drifts of withered leaves.
“They might know something, Clare. How many racist fan clubs could there be around here?”
“You mean in the over nine thousand square miles of the Park?”
“Which has a population less than that of Syracuse, yes.”
She shut her mouth over a snappy comeback. At least his meeting last night in Albany had left him a lot more eager for their getting-to-know-you lunch. She could stop feeling guilty about her spontaneous acceptance of Meghan Smith’s offer. Maybe.
“Is this the turnoff?”
“It looks like it, yes.” GPS could be less than accurate in back-country areas; they were consulting the directions Meghan had given her.
Despite being dirt, it was a new road, with a wide, unforested verge and none of the ubiquitous dry stone walls that ran along old lanes and property lines.
It opened even wider into a generous cleared area, with a two-story log house facing southwest, and a couple large machine storage sheds along the tree line near the road.
They pulled onto a gravel parking square at the side of the house.
“The exit signal is ‘Honey, have you checked in with Mom?’”
“I remember.” Clare laid her hand on his arm. “I promise, I won’t linger. When you want to go, we go.”
To her vast surprise, Russ didn’t want to leave as soon as possible.
Rick, it turned out, was a contractor who had built their house himself and installed the very nice sunken-stone patio they were using for outdoor entertaining.
Since Russ had been thinking about renovating the rectory carriage house into guest quarters, the two men were soon in a deep discussion of framing, reinforcing foundations, and the benefits of septic tanks versus town water.
“It’s been such a game changer.” Meghan stepped down from the kitchen level and set a breadboard on the round wooden table flanked by tall heaters. “We spend so many months stuck inside in the cold weather. This has given us two, maybe three more months of fresh-air family time.”
Her kids were running around the yard, playing some game with elaborate and undiscoverable rules.
Ethan, snug in padded overalls and a thick jacket, had discovered the curving built-in stone wall made a perfect support for adventures in walking.
Clare was keeping her eyes on him in case he was able to cross the flagstone expanse from the wall to the fire pit.
Meghan carefully set a hot dip in a chafing dish onto the table. “Oh, God, the learning-to-walk days. Rick wanted to put a helmet on Marissa. Can you imagine?”
Since it sounded like an excellent idea to Clare, yes, she could imagine. “So he’s not as keen on free-range parenting?”
“I’ve converted him, mostly.” Meghan unscrewed a thermos and began pouring hot cider into two mugs.
“He’s been talking about getting them their junior hunting licenses since the day they were born, and I pointed out he wanted confident, self-reliant kids when he finally took them into the woods.
And you know, free-range doesn’t mean running wild.
My kids are good listeners. It’s finding that balance.
You want them to obey you, but also to be able to think for themselves.
” She handed Clare a mug and sat down. “I’ve seen the results of doing it the other way.
My oldest sister stayed in Long Island and her kids couldn’t be in their fenced backyard without her watching them.
We can scarcely get her to visit, she’s so afraid one of them might step into the forest around here.
” She waved her hand at the trees encircling their landscape.
“Her oldest is in high school now, for crying out loud. And of course they just suck down everything the school system and Big Media tell them.” She leaned in toward Clare.
“If you want your kids to think for themselves, you need to start early.”
Clare wrapped her hands around the hot drink. “So … how do you deal with school?”
“I homeschool.” She held up a finger. “I know what you’re thinking—I’m a minister, I’m working, homeschooling wouldn’t work for me.”
Clare was actually thinking it sounded like indoctrination camp. The Smith children might be free-ranging, but she doubted there was much free thinking going on.
“The trick is to get into a homeschooling group. You can trade off with other moms, the kids can do club sports together—it’s the perfect solution.”
“Babe, Russ and I are going downrange to shoot.” In the bright December sunlight, Rick looked nothing like the man who had been trading blows with Ron Tucker two weeks ago. Even the two rifles he carried looked harmless.
“Okay, hon. I’ll blow the whistle when the lunch is ready.”
Clare caught Russ’s eye. He smiled easily. “We’ll have an appetite by then, I guess.”
Okay, then. She suspected he was going to find out a lot more than how good a shot Rick Smith was. Russ had been the most skilled interrogator the MKPD had, and he got there by being every suspect’s friend.
Meghan stood up and waved an arm over her head. “Marissa! Dalton!” The kids came trotting over. “Dad’s shooting downrange, so you need to play on the far side of the yard.”
“Can we go inside and play Pokémon?” Dalton asked.
“Have you two had any screen time today?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Okay, then. But keep an ear out for when I call for lunch.”
Both children chorused, “Thanks, Mom!” and pelted toward the house.
“Wow.” Clare shifted to watch them go. The little girl carefully shut the door behind them. “My grandmother Fergusson would have been impressed with their manners, and she was a Southern lady of the old school.”
“It’s that balance.” Meghan poured more cider into her mug and topped off Clare’s drink before screwing the top on the thermos.
“Rick and I are their authority figures, and they know we’re in charge.
So then they can trust us when we say, ‘You can handle this.’ A lot of parents are either afraid to lay down the law because, I don’t know, they don’t want their kids to get mad, or they’re like my sister, and they smother them. ”
That made … complete sense to Clare. So long as you didn’t have to become a racist to do it. “So how does this fit in with your, uh, political philosophy?”
Meghan laughed. “I’m not political. I leave that stuff to Rick and his buddies, some of who’ll go on until you think your ears are gonna bleed.
” She laughed again. “I think about it this way. How do you make free people unfree? First, you raise them up so they can’t trust themselves.
They can only follow rules and orders.” She gestured toward Ethan, who had reached the edge of the wall and was teetering between returning toward them or crossing the flagstones to the other wall.
“Second, you take away their guns. Lots of attacks on the Second Amendment. Third, you make them believe they’re inferior.
That’s what’s happening now. White people should feel guilty.
White people are responsible for everything bad that ever happened to anyone else.
White people should step aside and give their places in college or their jobs to someone who deserves it more. ”
“I don’t think anyone’s supposed to feel guilty. Just that we need to recognize it was, in fact, white people who took land away from the Native Americans, and who enslaved Africans, and who enacted laws that kept all those groups poor and marginalized and without access to justice.”
Ethan had decided to take a leap of faith and head to the far wall. He tottered, unsupported, in the air, trying to coordinate the unfamiliar dance of feet and arms and balance and gravity.
“I get that, I do. But slavery’s been over for, like, a hundred and fifty years.
There aren’t any laws keeping Blacks down, or Indians, or whoever.
I’ve got nothing but respect for anyone who stands on their own two feet and makes something of themselves, like my parents did, and like Rick and I are doing.
But don’t sit on your ass and cry about oppression and try to shame me for having a decent life. ”
Clare took another sip from her mug. “So who do you think is trying to make you feel bad?”
“Big media. These super left-wing policy people in government and in colleges, who get spotlighted in the media. Ultimately, it comes down to money. Who gets it, who gets to keep it. Which means the Zionists.”
Mercifully, Ethan lost his battle with gravity at that point and thunked onto the paving stones.
He screamed in outrage, jolting Clare from her stupefaction.
“Hey, little man.” She picked him up for a kiss and cuddle.
“You’re okay.” She unhooked an overall strap and stuck a finger in to test his diaper. “Oh, uh, Meghan?”
“He needs a change? Let me show you where the bathroom is.”
Clare took her sweet time cleaning Ethan up and swapping out his diaper. When she was done, she paused while washing her hands and looked at herself in the mirror.
What had she been thinking? How was she supposed to get through to this nice, friendly mom who thought The Protocols of the Elders of Zion was factual?
It sure as hell wasn’t going to happen over a single lunch.
She was going to have to commit to actually befriending Meghan and seeing if she could gradually wean her off the racist and anti-Semitic poison she’d been drinking, or she could thank her for a pleasant afternoon and never see her again.
And at this moment, she had to be honest, that last option was looking pretty good.
Meghan was closing the oven door when Clare and Ethan emerged from the bathroom. “It smells great. Can I help with anything?”