The finalists, p.6
The Finalists, page 6
Six sets of eyes turn to me.
“Women were first admitted to Hyde College in 1941,” I say.
The students turn back. Emily is the last, her lip curled in a sneer over the college’s tardiness in admitting women. Her anger would increase if she knew the board of trustees did it only because all the men went off to the war, sending enrollment plunging.
“When were students of color first admitted?” Natalia asks. “Specifically, Latinx students?”
Again, six faces swing my way.
“Well, I think a little later than the forties.”
“Nineteen sixty-one, sir,” Captain Stephenson says. “The first Black student enrolled at Hyde College in 1961. Her name was Myra Lott. She majored in education and spent her life teaching here in Bluefield. Quite a remarkable woman, really, if you read about her life. My mother-in-law attended the same church as Ms. Lott.”
“Thank you for knowing that, Captain,” I say.
“I don’t know when the first Latinx student was admitted. Do you, sir?”
“Well . . .”
Nicholas saves me by going on. “The six of you men and women have been selected from among your peers to be Hyde Fellows. Just by being here, you have already been awarded the prestigious Hyde Fellowship worth five thousand dollars toward your senior-year tuition at the college.”
Nicholas looks up from his book and nods.
No one gets the cue, so I start to clap. Then the six students clap as well.
A pleased Nicholas continues. “But today is the biggest day of all. And I mean—really big. Today, you compete for a chance to win the Hyde Scholarship. As you already know, the Hyde Scholarship provides the following for one student every year.” Nicholas lifts his right hand off the book and uses it to point while he enumerates the components of the award, a gesture he probably learned in a course on public speaking. “Free tuition. Free room and board. Free books. The award also guarantees the recipient an entry-level job with the Hyde Corporation upon graduation from the college. And there’s one more key part of the award.” He turns to me. “What year was this added, Mr. Gaines?”
“Fifteen years ago,” I say. “Actually, it was your father, Theodore Hyde, who insisted on the addition of this part of the scholarship. He really cared about access to college.”
Nicholas nods absently as though I just paid a compliment to a complete stranger. “The winner of the Hyde Scholarship will also receive repayment of any and all student loans they have taken out during their first three years in college up to the amount of one hundred thousand dollars.”
At one time, the college was able to keep the details of the Hyde Scholarship hidden from the students, so they learned this information for the first time when they were standing in the parlor. Given the social media age we live in, the information inevitably leaked out. But despite already knowing what the award is worth, hearing it said out loud and directly to them by the man who controls the access to those funds causes a ripple of excitement to pass through the room.
The back of my neck tingles, and it’s not just from the caffeine. After all this time, it’s still hard for me to wrap my head around the size of the award and the leg up on life it will give to one of these students. Tuition, loan repayment, a job. All at a time when it’s harder and harder to acquire those things. While I’m happy for the students in the room, my thoughts turn to my three girls, ages eleven, thirteen, and sixteen. What kind of world will they enter as they get older? How much help will I be able to give them if I lose my job or the college closes?
“As you all know,” Nicholas says, “the Hyde family selects the six participants every year based on a combination of superior academic achievement and financial need. We try to offer this opportunity to a diverse group of students in order to reflect the tenor of the times.” He clears his throat, a long, wet gurgling. “Major Ezekiel Hyde believed in making higher education accessible for everyone.” Nicholas studies his book for a moment and then glances up. “That’s the overview. It almost sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? Are there any questions before I tell you about the process itself?”
Past experience has told me there are rarely questions at this stage. The students are eager to hear about the process. If anyone asks questions now, it’s usually about something mundane like where the bathroom is or what time lunch is served.
Nicholas is about to go on when Natalia’s small hand goes up.
She’s been so quiet so far, I’m surprised, and I wonder if she’s just stretching. She’s so short I’m not sure Nicholas can see her.
But her hand is up. With a question.
Nicholas notices and nods in her direction.
All eyes turn to Natalia. I wonder if she’ll just say, Never mind, and let her question go. But she clears her throat, her hand placed against her chest, and speaks up.
“I did read something on Twitter this morning, a post by one of my professors,” she says. “I’m trying to see if there’s a delicate way to say this, but I don’t think there is. . . . Is it true that Major Hyde was some kind of a war criminal?”
10
“A WAR CRIMINAL?” WHEN Captain Stephenson turns toward Natalia, tea sloshes over the rim of his cup. He points at the portrait. “I think you’re mistaken. He was a patriot who served his country.”
“What do you mean, Natalia?” Duffy asks. “Was he a Confederate?”
“I, like, heard the same thing,” Sydney says, turning to Milo. “Remember? I told you when we were walking up. Right?”
Milo is nodding. Smirking.
All the students start talking at once, and I fear the situation inside is about to get as ugly as the situation outside.
Emily comes right up to me, owlish glasses reflecting the light. “Are you telling me I’m in a home that belonged to someone who owned slaves?” Her words are pointed, like she thinks I held influence over Major Hyde’s life. “Other things about this day are bad enough, but I just can’t, okay?”
“Hold it,” I say to the group. “Hold it.”
But they keep talking.
A shrill whistle cuts through and above everything.
Nicholas Hyde has stuck his thumb and middle finger—dirty nails and all—into his mouth and blown. The sound is so piercing everyone stops talking at once. They turn their attention back to him.
“Sorry for the noise,” he says. “I learned to do that when I was on the wrestling team.” His eyes pass over everyone, an authoritative glare. Even I find myself feeling like a scolded child. “If you just give me a moment, I can address those rumors about Major Hyde.”
He waits again. And while we anticipate his explanation, I picture the windows of Hyde House opening and piles and piles of Hyde family cash blowing out and going away, leaving the college with nothing.
But Nicholas addresses the room with great calm. “Major Hyde served in the Civil War. That’s true. Everyone knows that. He did serve in the Union Army, not the Confederate.”
“Wait,” Milo says. “Wasn’t Kentucky in the Confederacy? This is the South, after all.”
“Kentucky was officially neutral during the war,” Captain Stephenson says. “It didn’t secede.”
“But people did, like, own slaves here,” Sydney says. “Right? I took a class about it with Dr. Porter.”
“Porter,” Captain Stephenson says. “That man pushes his own agenda more than he teaches.”
“One second, please,” Nicholas says. “I had something to say, remember?”
Captain Stephenson nods at him as if giving him permission to continue.
“Major Hyde served in the Union Army. And, yes, he participated in the massacre of Confederate prisoners at Palmyra,” Nicholas says.
Emily puts her tattooed arm to her forehead like she’s about to swoon. If she does, we could easily find her a Victorian fainting couch around here to land on. “I can’t believe that,” she says. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“It’s called the fog of war, Emily,” Captain Stephenson says, his voice carrying a calm authority. “It’s regrettable, and no one likes it. Good soldiers always strive to protect and give quarter to prisoners. That’s why we have the Geneva convention. But I don’t know enough about the situation Major Hyde faced in Palmyra to render judgment. Maybe he was given an unjust order.”
“But he was on the right side of the war,” Duffy says. “Right? So that’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“You can’t just massacre people, even if you’re on the right side, can you?” Sydney asks. “I mean, that’s not cool. No offense, Mr. Hyde.”
“None taken.”
“It’s not cool,” Milo says, daring to risk his budding bromance with Nicholas by criticizing the major. “Not at all.”
“I really did just have my curiosity piqued,” Natalia says. “That’s why I asked.”
“Like I said,” Nicholas says, “the family has known about Major Hyde’s actions in the war for a long time. And now everyone is finding out. And I’m not condoning what he did one hundred fifty-five or so years ago, but I understand that it might make some people uncomfortable. If anyone would like to leave, they are welcome to go. We can summon the chief, and he can unlock the door for us.”
Everyone shuffles their feet, waiting for Emily to speak up. She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Nicholas goes on. “And let me remind you, the bylaws are very clear—if anyone steps so much as one foot out the door, they are disqualified from any consideration for the Hyde Scholarship and all its attendant perks. And in case you’re wondering, you lose the five-thousand-dollar Hyde Fellowship as well.”
Emily’s mouth closes. And no one else speaks either.
“Okay,” Nicholas says, “back to the task at hand. We’re on the clock here.”
11
NICHOLAS LOOKS AT HIS watch and shakes his head ever so slightly.
It’s a comforting sign that he’s concerned about keeping us on schedule. And we are about fifteen minutes behind.
I take a deep breath. Chief is right. Extra time is built in for lunch.
I know I’m just eager for the students to begin the exam because I want to talk to Nicholas more.
“As you all know,” Nicholas says, “the process has two main components. First, we will have a written exam in the formal dining room. That will take up the morning. We’ll have a break for lunch, and then the afternoon will consist of a personal interview with me and Vice President Gaines. The winner will be—”
I’m surprised—no, shocked—to hear my name.
It’s not in the bylaws. And every year in the past, the interviews were between the representative of the Hyde family and the student. Never me.
“—announced on Monday morning. Is something wrong, Mr. Gaines?”
I don’t play poker. Apparently that’s a good thing.
“Oh, I’m sorry. But I know this is your first year overseeing the process. The interview has never included me.”
“I’d like your help and input in choosing the winner,” Nicholas says. “Is that okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
My face flushes. Is this a good sign? Does he trust me that much? Does this mean I have a better shot at nailing down the 100 More Initiative?
“As I was saying, the winner of the Hyde Scholarship will be chosen based on three factors—comportment, presentation, and communication. Communication through the exam. Presentation through the interview. And comportment . . . who knows what I mean by ‘comportment’?”
It’s like being in a classroom. No one wants to guess. No one wants to be wrong.
Captain Stephenson’s hand goes up. “ ‘Comportment’ means your manner, your behavior. How you conduct yourself. How you treat others.”
“Right,” Nicholas says. “It’s a nebulous thing, but one we’ll be looking at today.”
“How exactly did you choose us?” Milo asks.
“It’s a combination—”
“I know that,” Milo says. “But how did you get that information about us? Did the college cooperate?”
“There’s been a long partnership between the college and the family.”
“But that seems like, well, what the captain said outside. An invasion of privacy.”
The students shuffle their feet more. Milo looks a little green around the gills as he gives the side-eye to Sydney. I remember the way they were talking as they approached the house, the awkwardness of the way they stood next to each other on the portico.
“As I already said, now that you’re inside, you can’t leave without forfeiting everything. But if you choose to stay the entire time, I think you’ll find it to be a rewarding experience. Or at least a memorable one. My family . . . well, my family . . .”
Nicholas wobbles again, tips to the left, and then straightens. Is there a provision in the bylaws covering the member of the Hyde family passing out from the aftereffects of a bender?
When he continues, he seems to be off script. He’s not looking at the book anymore.
“Earlier, Mr. Gaines said something about this house and my family’s legacy. And he was right. My family has built quite a legacy here at Hyde College. Quite a legacy. And being here today after so many years . . . well, it feels somehow like coming home. Like a circle being completed. For me. Finally. After a long time away. My mother. . . . if she were . . .”
Tears well up in Nicholas’s eyes. He sniffs.
The students are all listening. But they’re not sure what to do or say.
Neither am I.
Nicholas clears his throat. “Well, there is just one more thing to do before you all go into the dining room and start to write. The bylaws state you all must repeat the Hyde College motto, which was coined by Major Hyde and is inscribed on the statue of my great-great-great-great-grandfather at the entryway to the college. If you would all raise your right hands and repeat after me.”
The students do as they’ve been told. Six hands go up in the air.
“ ‘In duty, there is freedom,’ ” Nicholas says.
An awkward pause settles over the room.
Captain Stephenson says, his voice booming off the walls, “ ‘In duty, there is freedom.’ ”
“Good,” Nicholas says, “but you all have to say it as one. Ready?”
Six voices join together: “ ‘In duty, there is freedom.’ ”
12
THE DINING ROOM IS nearly filled by a fourteen-foot-long mahogany table, which sits on an ornate area rug. Heavy red drapes, faded from years in the sun, cover the windows, and the light comes from a bronze-finished chandelier decorated with elaborate floral scrollwork.
Ordinarily, sixteen chairs surround the table, but the campus staff removed ten of them so the six students can spread out and have plenty of room to write. At each chair, a lined composition book and several pens have been placed, requiring the students to write without the aid of a computer or any of the research materials that would be available to them on the Internet.
A couple of students groan at the setup. They settle into their seats.
There are only five. One is missing.
I do a quick inventory. Emily. No Emily.
Maybe she’s in the bathroom? But I know Nicholas is going to start laying out instructions, and we’re already a little behind. In the front of the house, I find Emily in the music room on the opposite side of the hall from the parlor. She has her face pressed against the window, knocking her glasses slightly askew.
“Emily?” I say.
She turns to me quickly.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Mr. Hyde is going to be giving you all instructions about the exam. You don’t want to miss them.”
“Oh, okay.”
But she doesn’t move.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Are you still thinking of leaving?”
“It’s just his . . . superiority. And conspicuous wealth.”
“You mean Mr. Hyde?”
She nods. “I don’t know how you can stand to work with him.”
“His family has done a lot for the college.”
She starts to object, and I raise my hand.
“I know. It’s all very complicated. And sometimes you have to work with . . . certain people . . . for the greater good.”
“Ugh.”
“Are you worried about something else?”
“No. It’s just . . .” She makes a vague hand movement toward the window.
“Is it the protestors?”
“Yes, that’s part of it.”
“What else is there?”
“It’s just . . . someone here . . . one of the other students . . . I’m not a fan of theirs.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s— Well, it is what it is.”
“Do you feel unsafe?” I ask.
“I don’t. I’d worry about someone else in here.”
“Who?”
“It’s fine,” she says. “I just need to do my job.”
Chief has been true to his word—the protestors have been pushed all the way back to the spot where Hyde Lane meets the main road circling campus. Instead of being at the edge of the Hyde House lawn—a few hundred feet away—they are now a few hundred yards away. Well out of throwing range. And far enough away that we can’t even hear them.
“Chief is out there, and he’ll be out there all day. If I know Chief, he won’t even take a lunch break. I don’t think those protestors can hurt anyone now.”
