Page 29 of All Saints: Pledge

Eades.

I blink, my finger flying to the picture above it, scanning the rows of people standing in the very choir pews I've just vacated.

It can't be.

It’s my grandfather.

15

My grandfather's face stares back at me from my phone screen. I'd snapped a picture of the framed photograph and rushed out of the church like my hair was on fire.

My background. I snort. Is this what Doctor Yusef referred to? The fact that my grandfather had been a student here, Choir Master in the very choir I just joined? Moreover, if the plaque is accurate, he was a distinguished donor to the All Souls Music Department until he passed away.

I try to wrap my mind around it as I hurry along the streets and through the quad to the library. My grandfather had been a farmer, with an interest in breeding thoroughbred racehorses. I’d have known if he led achoirfor All Souls College, wouldn’t I? Why hadn’t he encouraged my choir in high school instead of discouraging it? We could have bonded over our love for it if I’d had a chance.

My whole life, I'd wondered why my grandfather hated Oxford specifically. Now? Well, I'm utterly confused. If my grandfather attended Oxford, why not use his influence to helpme gain admission? What made him hate it? And why continue to donate money to a place you hate?

The big wooden doors of the library loom in front of me. Settle me. I imagine years and years of students approaching the same stone arches, seeking knowledge. Of course, they probably didn't have an eID that unlocked the door for them, but so much about the essence of the library seems unchanged by time. I skirt under the two story dome that runs down the center, and avoid looking at the paintings hanging underneath. I am truly afraid to discover my grandfather's portrait here, too.

A quick visit with a librarian has me headed to a secluded—abandoned?—section of the library. To reach it, I have to pass through two rooms filled with stacked chairs. This room has one gorgeous arched stone window, and several bookshelves filled with yearbooks, donor records, and news clippings about All Souls College. I hope that if my grandfather was notable enough to be in the chapel, that there's more information here.

My phone dings, and I silence it with a guilty look over my shoulder. The text is from a number I don't know.

Formal Sunday dinner is a requirement, not a suggestion.

I don't need to guess at which asshole is texting me. I recognize the arrogant tone of the words.

Silence is the best response, even though I had needed the reminder about the time of day. If I’m going to make the beginning prayer, I need to get back to my room and get changed into my ridiculous robes post haste. It's probably why the library is basically deserted.

On the heels of Kendall's text, Clara texts me.

Can I stop by your room on the way to dinner? We could walk together.

She probably wants to talk about Kendall, and I've never been so glad to have an excuse.

Sorry, I lost track of the time. I'm in the library. Why don't I just meet you there?

Don't be late.

Three dots bounce.

Don't leave me alone with them.

I don't have to ask who. I say a desperate plea that Clara and I both either make it or both get dropped at the same time. Imagining going to those meetings without a friend? Talk about terrifying.

My phone dings again, and I growl. I'm never going to get to look through records if I keep getting reminders about dinner.

I’ll walk you and Clara there. You have ten minutes.

I'm in the library, will meet you there.

I mash my fingers against the face of my phone as I respond to Kendall's text.

With that, I turn my phone off and address the stack of books in front of me. I have less than ten minutes to solve a decades old family mystery. No problem.

Thankfully, the records I'm looking for are labeled by year, and yes, there's my grandfather, graduating from OxfordUniversity. Top of his class. Exemplary student. A black-and-white photograph shows him in a suit, hair slicked back. But it's not his familiar face that has me leaning in close. It's the pin on his lapel.

No.

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