On Monday, in Flat Rock, North Carolina, a forested town thirty miles south of Asheville, a half dozen police cars lined the curb outside Blue Ridge Community College’s Bo Thomas Auditorium. Congressman Mark Meadows, who represents the state’s Eleventh District, was holding his first in-person town hall of the year. A onetime aspiring meteorologist who operated a sandwich shop with his wife before going into real estate, Meadows won his seat in 2012, after the Eleventh was redrawn with most of liberal Asheville cut out. In 2015, he helped found the Freedom Caucus, which he now heads, and which has helped make him a “central figure and chief influencer” in Washington. The caucus opposed the White House’s early efforts on health-care reform, leading Trump to promise that he would “come after” Meadows “big time.” Still, Meadows reportedly texts daily with Steve Bannon, lunches weekly with Paul Ryan, and has become so beloved by Breitbart News that the conservative site has called for him to become House Speaker.

But how do his constituents feel? In Flat Rock, the auditorium was filled to its four-hundred-and-fifty-person capacity an hour before the town hall was scheduled to begin. Outside, in a spitting rain, a dozen protesters in a roped-off area held signs: “SINGLE PAYER UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE: JUST DO IT”; “WHEN INJUSTICE BECOMES LAW, RESISTANCE BECOMES DUTY”; “REFINE AND REPAIR, NOT REPEAL AND DELAY.” Also, “IT IS NO COINCIDENCE THAT A LARGE GATHERING OF BABOONS IS CALLED ‘CONGRESS!’ ’’ An elderly man in a shirt that read “Trump won, resistance is futile” walked up to the group. A middle-aged protester asked the man why America couldn’t have single-payer health care when “thirty other countries have it.” The Trump supporter replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe in government health care. Everything the government touches turns to crap.”

After going through an airport-style security check, I sat down in one of the last rows of the auditorium, next to a retired history teacher named Evelyn Brush, who described herself as a “lone voice in the Republican wilderness” where she lives. “It’s a very unenlightened state,” she said, shaking her head but smiling. Brush offered me a hard candy. “They can’t relate to other people’s suffering—I think that’s what it is,” she added. Brush is a member of the Henderson County Democratic Party, and she recognized many of the faces in the auditorium as “ours.” She also belongs to a multi-faith discussion group—Brush is Christian—that meets weekly at a synagogue in Hendersonville and had put together a list of demands for Meadows, which she showed me. Among the demands: “Leave transgender people in the military,” “Fund public education,” “Don’t restrict vetted immigrants,” “Vote for the country, not Trump,” and “Remember the poor.”

Brush attended one of Meadows’s town halls last year, and, though she disagrees with him on most issues, she was impressed. He “acted like a gentleman,” she said. He even answered her question—she asked him to explain, for those who were unclear, the difference between an “immigrant” and a “refugee”—a fairly unusual outcome for dissenting town-hall attendees. Brush said that Meadows had “tried to present some facts to people that were totally without facts and only had passionate opinions. He straightened them out in a very professional manner.” She added, “These were the people who voted for him, mostly, and he risked alienating them.”

Sitting in front of Brush, and next to a former head of the Henderson County Republican Party, was Ed Joran, who is retired “from the trash business,” he said. He wore a Meadows shirt and a pin reading “Deplorables for Trump.” He said that he agreed with everything that Meadows has said and done in Congress. “He’s tough but personable. I think he could be a candidate for President in maybe 2020, definitely 2024,” Joran told me. He added, “I think he’s at 78 r.p.m. He might be able to do more. But look what he did in his second term in Congress—he got rid of Boehner! And this Republican majority can’t even pass a health bill!”

Just then, the Henderson County sheriff, Charles McDonald, took the stage to introduce Meadows. After reaffirming the importance of the First Amendment, he urged the crowd to allow for a “smooth evening” and gently spelled out the consequences of doing otherwise: immediate and unceremonious removal. These words elicited groans, and a few dozen people raised signs that had been given out at the door that said “Agree” on one side and “Disagree” on the other.

The ‘Disagree’ side got more use here and throughout the evening. In the course of nearly two hours, Meadows, suited and relaxed, answered twenty-seven pre-submitted questions, most of which were pointed and challenging. Roughly half concerned health care, including the very first: “What health-insurance plan do you have now?” Meadows explained that, like other members of Congress, he has Obamacare. It costs him and his wife roughly a thousand dollars each month in premiums, with a deductible of seventy-five hundred dollars, he said, seemingly in pursuit of sympathy. His answers were measured and often thoughtful. Still, the liberal-leaning crowd—almost entirely white, riled-up, and of retirement age or thereabouts—frequently expressed their displeasure with what he had to say.

When Meadows described a health-care proposal that he said Lindsey Graham was working on—“block-granting Medicaid and Obamacare subsidies”—the crowd loudly booed. Someone shouted, “1.3 million people will lose coverage!” Joran turned to me. “People here are behaving just like their kids at Berkeley,” he said with disgust.

Meadows said that he prefers “free-market solutions” to health care. (When a constituent doubted his claim, later on, that “every five-per-cent reduction in regulations creates one million jobs,” Meadows was uncharacteristically curt: “Google the study,” he said.) “Some have suggested, and let’s have a real discussion about, Medicare for all,” he said. After some cheers, he continued, “The price tag is just unbelievably high.” So, to pay for it, he said, “It has to be a tax—”

“On the rich!” someone yelled.

“You can take the top one per cent and tax them fully, and it still won’t pay for Medicare,” Meadows coolly continued. “If you disagree, here’s what I would ask you: send me the information.”

Another shout: “I have!”

“We had 29,992 e-mails or letters in the first seven months of this year,” Meadows said, claiming that each one had been read. “So I can tell you, if you’ve got a way to pay for Medicare for all, that will tackle one of the problems. Send me the facts and figures.”

Another voice rang out: “Canada!”

Meadows said that Congress would continue to try to reform health care but, he conceded, “If we don’t have a bill in September, I think it’s probably not going to happen.”

Later, someone asked if Meadows would support a law requiring Presidential candidates to release their tax returns. “No,” he replied. “That’s not required by the Constitution.” But, he added, “I’m all for disclosure and oversight.” The question clearly referred to President Trump’s refusal to release his own returns, but Trump was not mentioned by name. His name only came up once or twice the entire evening.

On one occasion, Meadows was actually able to unite the room in applause. “I’m one of the few members of Congress that believes in term limits,” he said, in response to a constituent’s question, “and I’ve actually co-sponsored legislation to suggest that we need to have them.” After the cheering subsided, he said, “Look, I got you guys to agree on something!”

As it happens, I spent a day with Meadows once, about twenty years ago, in Highlands, North Carolina, in the southern Appalachians. The congressman’s company, Meadows Mountain Realty, catered to Atlanta couples, like my parents, who were looking for second homes; he eventually sold us on a piece of land outside town with valley views and plenty of terrain for me and my brother to explore. It didn’t have an obvious water source, so Meadows recommended a guy who sent a man to search for well sites with a forked stick. It seemed odd, but the man did find water. And, while Meadows didn’t do the dowsing himself, I’ve always associated him with divining rods.

On Monday, the final question concerned Trump’s promised border wall. How much would it cost? Meadows tried to glide past the details, before saying that it would be “two billion this year, probably,” and twelve to twenty billion to eventually complete the construction. He defended the importance of “securing our border,” but he did undercut one of the President’s most memorable promises: “Mexico, I don’t think, is paying for it,” he said.

Brush appreciated this answer. “He’s honest,” she whispered.