Chapter 17 #3
“Interesting,” Jack said. “Laurie will be thrilled. She’s been enamored of the nineteenth-century English novel since she was a teenager.”
“Then we certainly will have at least one thing in common,” Jada remarked happily.
“Is that the other Bennet house you mentioned?” Warren questioned while pointing across the lake.
“It is,” Jack said.
“It does look strikingly similar to this house even from this distance.”
“Apparently that was the goal,” Jack said. “Obviously a huge amount of effort was expended in their design and construction. I was told it necessitated bringing craftspeople all the way from Italy.”
“And you said it is currently occupied by militiamen from Holland?” Warren said. “That’s big-time weird. How many?”
“I was told four,” Jack said. “I met one of them who played basketball with us yesterday. You might meet him, too, if he comes today and you’re up for playing.
He’s a nice enough fellow and a decent player but without much finesse.
Curiously enough, he’s a microbiology technician in a hospital in Amsterdam, which caught me by surprise. ”
“So, what are these four militiamen doing here?” Warren asked, still staring at the house across the lake.
“I don’t know exactly,” Jack said. “Supposedly they’re here to help the local Diehard Patriots by instructing them in whatever it is that far right-wing militias do.
The town’s police chief described the Diehard Patriots as a group of local ne’er-do-wells whose lives had been permanently upended by the closure of the Bennet Shoe factory.
Apparently they like to go out at night to practice shooting their AR-15s for fear of coming government overreach, and the Dutch fellows give them pointers. ”
Warren looked at Jack and assumed a confused expression. “That’s some weird shit. Somebody should go over there and check those boys out.”
“The police chief did exactly that,” Jack said. “Right when the militia people first arrived he visited and made a point to meet them. He said they were remarkably cooperative and respectful and that their papers were in order. And they’re hardly ever seen off the grounds.”
Warren looked back across the lake at the house. “Weird shit,” he repeated.
“What about swimming in the lake?” Jada asked. “I see through the trees there’s the pool. Is the lake not good for swimming for some reason?”
“I asked the same question yesterday,” Jack said. “Quite the contrary: The lake is fine for swimming. Did you bring your swimsuit?”
“I certainly did,” Jada said.
“I was hoping you had,” Jack said. “The water is crystal clear and the temperature is just about perfect unless if you dive down eight or nine feet or more. If you do, it gets downright cold. But the surface temperature is fine. Laurie and I swam before breakfast this morning, and it was delightful. Speaking of Laurie, come! Let’s say hello. ”
Waving over his shoulder for the others to follow, Jack headed over to the steps that descended down to the lawn.
From there it was a short walk through the copse of young birch trees to the pool house, pool, firepit, and barbecue.
Laurie, who had seen them coming, got up from her poolside chaise longue to welcome them.
After Laurie and Warren exchanged a quick embrace, Jack introduced Jada and included that she was a professor of nineteenth-century English literature.
Laurie’s face lit up, and she was quick to point out that at that very moment she was rereading an old leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice that she’d found in the library.
While the women were happily talking books, Jack motioned Warren to follow him down the lawn and out onto the dock.
Skirting the overturned canoe, they sat in matching Adirondack chairs.
It couldn’t have been more comfortable with a warm sun beating down, a slight breeze, and the temperature near perfect.
“I noticed that when Jada asked about swimming in the lake you didn’t say much,” Jack said. “Are you a swimmer?”
“Hardly,” Warren admitted. “I learned in my twenties, and after a lot of effort at least I won’t drown if I happen to fall into a pool, but I’m not that big on it.”
“I understand,” Jack said. “Did you bring a bathing suit with you on this trip?”
“Jada insisted. So, yes I brought one.”
“Good,” Jack said. “Have you ever been in a canoe?”
“Never.”
“I’ll be happy to take you for a paddle while you are here if you are interested.”
“I suppose,” Warren said. He was again staring out across the lake.
“I’m getting the message you are not all that interested in canoeing. Are you back to wondering about those militia guys?”
“Right on,” Warren admitted. “Did the microbiology technician say anything at all about being a militiaman?”
“He did,” Jack said. “He told me it’d been his major hobby since he’d been a teenager.”
“Okay, that makes a certain amount of sense,” Warren said, “especially considering the recognized stupidity of teenagers the world over.”
“You’re right,” Jack agreed. With that thought in mind, he found himself, like Warren, staring across at the Bennet Estate.
The only problem was that thinking about the four men from the Netherlands reawakened the original question: What the hell could have attracted them to Essex Falls, hardly a militia mecca and a long way away from Amsterdam.