As much as I did not want to confront the fact, it was time for the three of us to complete the last leg of our journey to Exeter. 

Shortly, my friends would return to the South, and I would be left to navigate a new setting on my own. The new setting caused me some apprehension – but not terribly so. However, being without these two friends, not to mention Mary Kathleen and my parents, was near overwhelming. I tried to shove such thoughts from my mind, but the thoughts were winning the contest.

After the three of us found our way back from Harvard into Boston, we wired Mr. Albert C. Perkins of our arrival at the train station in Exeter. Mr. Perkins was the newly appointed principal of the school. He wired back immediately, saying he was looking forward to meeting us at the station.

“That’s kinda surprising,” said Jared. “If he’s the head man at the school, seems like he’d be sending somebody in his stead, not handling the meeting and greeting and such by hisself.”

Horatio said, “Inclined to agree. That might say something about the sorta head man he is. Maybe you gonna like this place better ‘n you think, Harry.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Shouldn’t take much time to find out.”

“Look,” said Jared. “Me and Horatio know you ain’t wildly excited about this whole arrangement. Wouldn’t expect you to be. On the other hand, you agreed to go through with the deal, and we know you ain’t gonna back out of it. Not your style.”

“Nope.”

“That’s right,” said Horatio. “So best thing … just ease into it and give it a chance to work into something good. Something that might help get you ready for what’s coming down the line as you get growed up and have to start running things down home.”

 “Little man’s right.”

“And if you do give it a good run and it don’t work out,” said Horatio, “what’s the first thing you gonna do?”

“Tell me.”

“You gonna get yourself down to the telegraph and holler at me and the cracker.”

“He’s right, Harry. We’ll get up here in a hurry and bring you back home.”

I said nothing and let the tears roll down my cheeks as they gently shoved me back and forth between them.

It was around the first of September when we got to the village of Exeter. As our train pulled into the station, I noticed something that had escaped my attention on our way Northward. The climate had changed. 

In South Carolina the air would have been hot and muggy. Some would say oppressive. But that was not the case in New Hampshire. It was crisp and cool. More like the weather of late October or early November back home. It was most pleasant to breathe in that invigorating air, but I felt a tinge of foreboding for what winter might bring.

“Get your head outa the clouds, Harry,” said Horatio. “I believe that gentleman down there waving at us is Mr. Perkins. Time to get all this stuff off the train.”

Horatio was pointing at a tall, gray haired man in a rumpled suit. Through his thick beard and moustache emerged a beaming smile. Both my rapid heartbeat and the churning in my stomach began to slow down.

Before the three of us could wrestle our bags off the train, the man sprinted up the steep passenger-car stairway and said, “Come now, gentlemen, do let me assist you with all that. I don’t suspect we New England folk can match your level of southern hospitality, but at least we can make a feeble effort, now can’t we?”

“That’s most kind of you, sir,” said Jared. “In South Carolina we do pride ourselves on courtesy and good manners, but on our journey up here we have been most pleased by the civility and warmth with which we have been treated by just about everybody. I for one, sir, think that speaks well for the promise of repairing the great rupture this country of ours has undergone.”

“Well, son, you must be Jared. Harry’s mother wrote me about you. She suggested I try to recruit you to be a student here at Exeter right along with Harry.”

“Due respect, sir,” said Horatio, “I think that would not be a good idea. I fear your renowned school would be forever changed, and not for the better, were you to act on such a decision.”

“And you, of course, young man, are Horatio. Perhaps you would consider being a student here. Harry’s mother indicated that you have a towering intellect.”

Before Jared could make some snide remark about our friend’s physical stature, I intervened: “Mr. Perkins, it is my pleasure to finally meet you, sir. And thank you so much for coming to the station to greet us. We did not expect that and feel honored you took time out of your busy day to do it.”

“In point of fact, Harry, my day is not all that cramped with activities. That will change, of course, as more and more of our boys return from the summer recess. But now let’s get you settled into your dormitory room.”

It took but a minute or two for the four of us to load our bags onto an old wagon that appeared to have spent more time bumping over rocks and ruts in fields than rolling on the pavement of city streets. The ancient mare hitched to its front looked like she had little time left before ascending to the great pasture in the sky. 

As the wagon wended its way up a gradual grade, Mr. Perkins kept turning back to the three of us to ask about our trip and to tell us about the town of Exeter and a bit of the history of the school. The more he talked the more I sensed we were in the presence of an extraordinary man. 

The building in which my dormitory room was located was a three-story stone structure that looked somewhere between 50 and 75 years old. At first I found it intimidating, sitting up there, as it did, on the highest point of the hill overlooking the town. But that feeling began to wane. 

Maybe it was the ivy that had covered its southern end. Maybe it was its hunkered posture that bespoke belongingness and solidity, not dominance. Or maybe it was just the smell of old hardwood – mostly oak and maple – that had been recently varnished. It seemed to say, “Come on in, son. Starting every September for a long time, I’ve looked out for boys like you; and I shall do the same thing long after you’re gone from this earth.”

“Well, here’s the place you can call home for the next nine months,” said Mr. Perkins as he spread his hands out at the sparse room with two small desks and two crude but sturdy-looking beds. 

“These accommodations are far from luxurious, but I think you’ll find them comfortable enough. Why don’t I leave you to get settled in and say goodbye to your friends? I shall see you and some of our other new arrivals at the dining hall at six o’clock.” Seconds later his shoes were clattering down the stairwell.

“Harry, you can get all your things stowed away after me and Horatio are gone. Let’s get ourselves outside into that fresh air.” So the three of us traipsed out of the building and found a few benches under some tall pines – a tranquil spot where we could look out to the north for some fifty miles. 

“Well, damn,” said Horatio, “that is one helluva vista.” It was. I did not know it at the time, but we were gazing at what was the southern end of the White Mountains, sometimes referred to as the Presidential Range. Seeing those ancient peaks was one of my most positive memories of a place that would unalterably change my young life.

Jared said, “Why don’t we make this short and sweet, Harry? Me and the little man can find our way back to the station and on back home. You get yourself settled into this place. Write us a letter now and again. We’ll do the same, ‘though I’ll probably leave that part to Horatio. Come next June, me and him’ll come up here and fetch you. How’s that sound?”

Once again I was so overcome I could not speak. Both of them hugged me tightly and then they were gone. I felt more alone than I ever had in my life.

After several moments of numbness, I made my way back to the dormitory and found some paper and a pen lodged among my bags. Then I strolled back out to the benches on the hilltop and plopped myself down. 

My thoughts ran to Mary Kathleen and my family. I both wanted, and felt a responsibility, to write them, but I was uncertain what I would say. So, as I have so often done when I want to write something, I released my thoughts as if they were a pack of young dogs, barking and straining to get out into a meadow. 

Some thoughts charged out in wide circles with no clear purpose. Some took tentative steps with their noses to the ground, sniffing whatever they could sniff. And some just sat, looking befuddled and staring blankly at nothing at all.

Suddenly I heard the loud ringing of church bells and realized they were announcing the hour of six o’clock. I vaulted from my seat on the bench and sprinted towards the dining hall. Immediately I ran pell-mell into a tree trunk of a man and bounced off him onto the grass.

“Must be a powerful hunger you’ve worked up for yourself, laddy,” said the man. I knew he was speaking English, but his accent was so thick I struggled to decipher his words.

“Don’t worry yourself, son,” he said as he pulled me by the arm up off the lawn as if I were a small sack of potatoes. “Nobody here understands me either. I’ve been away from my native Glasgow for decades, and the brogue’s still as heavy as a boulder. Mr. Perkins has oft recommended a course in elocution down in Boston. Have told him ‘twould be for naught. In spite of his natural optimism, I believe he concurs with me.”

Somehow I managed, “Sir, please accept my apologies for my clumsiness. I am a new student here at the Academy and did not want to be late for the dinner meeting that Mr. Perkins told me about.”

“I’m headed there myself. You walk in with me and you’ll be shielded from any scolding for your tardiness. What’s your name son? And where do you come from? Not one of the New England states, that’s for certain.”

As I gave him a brief description of who I was and where I was from and how I had gotten up to New Hampshire, he listened with a warm smile and frequent nods of his massive head.

After I had finished, he said, “Name’s Alexander McPherson, Harry. My primary responsibility here at Exeter is being the rugby football coach, but I also teach some English – a rather frightening prospect, doncha think?”  

“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. I suspect you could teach all of us a thing or two about Robert Burns.”

“Ahh, now there was one gifted and tragic soul who left us all too soon. Twenty-nine or thereabouts at his passing. But he also left us some of the finest poetry ever composed in the English language. Would you not agree, Harry?”

“I would, sir, though my knowledge of poetry is limited.”

“And how about the game of rugby? D’ya have any knowledge and experience in that domain?”

“No, sir, I do not. I must confess that I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Perhaps we can change that. I’ve noticed two things about ya already that would indicate potential for being a good rugger.”

“Sir?”

“First thing I spotted was how you catapulted yourself off the bench when the bells commenced to clanging. The second was how ya didn’t whimper and whine when you ran straight into me and ended up on your arse. Boiled down, I’m seeing a lad with speed and toughness. We might be able to turn ya into a first class wing. We’ll get you out there with the lads soon enough and see if I’m right.”

At that moment I had little grasp of what he was telling me, but he had me intrigued.

Once we reached the dining hall, Mr. McPherson nudged me into a large room with an oaken floor and eight or nine sturdy looking  tables that would accommodate six people each. Mr. Perkins was standing next to two of the tables, around which were seated boys about my age or a bit younger.

As Mr. Perkins called out and welcomed the two of us, I was distracted by the barrenness of the room and the echo made by even the slight scraping of a chair against the floor. More and more, I could see that New England was a different place from where I had been raised. That same room back in South Carolina would have been appointed with curtains and rugs and other accoutrements that would lend a subtlety and softness to it. Here it was the bare essentials that seemed to matter.

“Boys, this is Harry Wylie, who has just arrived by train from South Carolina. Harry, find yourself a seat and we’ll have us some dinner. After that I’ll give you all my thoughts about what you can expect from Exeter.” 

With that, Mr. Perkins sat down next to Mr. McPherson and the two launched into an animated conversation, ignoring the rest of us completely.

As I searched for a place to sit, I scanned the faces of the boys. Each looked to be of the same genetic background as me – Scotch and English and Irish. Some looked sullen and not pleased to be there. Some looked excited, champing at the bit to get a start on things. Some seemed welcoming. And some stared at me as if I were an interloper. 

What I saw in none of their faces, however, was the heaviness that the war had hung on the faces of boys where I had come from. I confess I was a bit envious of that fact, but at base I believe I could have said to them: “No child should have seen what I and my friends have seen. The fact that you did not is a blessing.” 

I found a vacant chair between two fellows who looked as if they were my age, give or take six months. To my right was a redheaded chap with a freckled face and a mischievous smile. To my left was a sandy haired chap with a haughty look. As I sat down, the one to my left ignored me, but the redhead stuck his hand out and said, “Name’s Albert Donnegan, Harry. Pleased to make your acquaintance. You’ve come a great distance to get yourself up here. You must be exhausted.”

I had to struggle to focus on the words he spoke because his accent and rhythm so intrigued me. It was mostly New England, but the rhythm was Irish. As he spoke, I detected a hint of a derisive snort to my left. I thought: “How lucky we are that Jared is not here to confront this bloke and cause a commotion we do not need.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Albert. I am a bit fatigued, but I must say the fresh air up here is having an invigorating effect on me. Back home it’s still mighty ‘close,’ as we say down there when the weather is hot and humid.”

From my left I heard, “I can’t fathom how anyone would want to live in that region, especially after all the devastation you people brought upon yourselves from the war.”

As I turned to look at the boy, Albert said, “And you, sir, what is your name?” Perhaps we would have a commotion here even without Jared.

The boy gave Albert a derisive stare but said nothing. Albert smiled at him with an expression that said, “I’ll keep smiling at you, chum, until you answer my question or stop staring at me, one or the other.” I sat waiting, anxious to see how this drama would unfold.

After another few seconds, the boy gave in. “My name is Carleton Rogers.”

“Well, that’s a start, Carleton,” said Albert. “Where are you from and why are you here at Exeter?”

“You’re a rather curious sort, aren’t you?”

“Both of us are, Carleton,” I said as I mimicked Albert’s stare and smile. 

“I am from the town of Marblehead in Massachusetts, and I am here to prepare for the entrance exam at Harvard.”

“Good for you, Carleton,” said Albert. Then he turned to me as if Carleton had evaporated from view and asked, “Harry, what brings you all the way up here?” 

I was about to answer when I heard a knife or a fork being banged against a glass and Mr. Perkin’s voice: “Boys, could I have your attention, please?”

For the next twenty minutes Mr. Perkins stood and spoke crisply and eloquently about the history of the Academy and what all of us could expect as new students. I was attentive to what he had to say, but I was more interested in soaking in the reactions of the other boys as he talked. Perhaps it was my way of taking their measure, of seeing what I would have to contend with over the coming months. 

Somehow I knew it was they, not the adults at the school, who would offer the most challenge, as well as the most fun and excitement to be had at this place. As things turned out, my prediction was mostly accurate, but not completely. 

After Mr. Perkins completed his speech, he asked if there were any questions. Of course, there were. But none was posed. So he told us we were excused and that we were to be in our rooms no later than ten o’clock, with all lamps extinguished, and that Mr. McPherson would be around to check on us.

“And where would your room be, Harry?” asked Albert. When I told him, he said, “I’m on the same floor. I have a question for you. How would you fancy having me as your mate, rather than some bloke you don’t yet know?”

“Well, I’m not sure, Albert. You remind me very much of one of my best friends back home. I am as tight with him as I would be to a brother if I had one. But, speaking frankly …”

“Only way to speak. Then it’s a perfect match. I’ll square it with McPherson. Don’t imagine he’ll offer objection. He’s already got me picked out as his hooker on the rugby club.” 

Before I could do anything but chuckle, he was off to talk to the Scotsman. It was the first time I had seen him standing. Whatever a “hooker” was, I surmised it must be a person short of stature but strong and sturdy. Like a bulldog.