I put Cat in charge of guarding the hidden painting, and an hour later, we were at Old North Church in Boston’s North End. It’s a sturdy, blocky redbrick building with a bell tower that looks like it was built by Practical Pig. The sidewalk and courtyard surrounding the church are redbrick, and all the other buildings on Salem Street are also redbrick. There’s parking on one side of the street with enough space left for a single car to navigate the remaining blacktop patched road. Across the street from the church is an Italian cafe and a shop selling T-shirts to tourists.
I’d walked the Freedom Trail a couple months ago and stopped in to see the church, so I knew something about it. Built in 1723. It’s an Episcopal church with services on Sunday. Other days, it’s open to the public as a national treasure with tours and a gift shop. The interior is white, with some dark wood trim and elaborate chandeliers hanging over the center aisle. Pews are set into boxes, and there’s also a second-floor balcony with a pipe organ.
“I’ve never been in here,” Glo said, looking up at the chandeliers. “This is so historic.”
We were the only tourists in the church. Glo was walking around, reading plaques. I sat in one of the pews and listened to the silence, imagining what it must have been like to worship here two hundred years ago. Someone was working on the balcony level. I could hear footsteps and an occasional
“The chandeliers and the bells were shipped here from England,” Glo said from the back of the church. “How cool is that?”
A guy looked over the balcony railing at Glo. “Are you interested in the bells?”
“Yes,” Glo said. “Can they still ring?”
“We usually ring them for Sunday service. And we have weekly practice sessions.”
“Wow,” Glo said. “I’d love to hear them.”
“I’m one of the bellringers,” he said. “If you come back on Sunday, maybe we could go out for coffee after.”
“Sure,” Glo said.
“I have some questions about the bells,” I said to him.
“Give me a minute to finish cleaning up, and I’ll be right down.”
“How do you always manage to get a date?” I asked Glo. “You’re like a date magnet.”
“I’m cute,” Glo said. “And I think it must be part of my wizard power. I think to myself,
I didn’t know about the wizard power, but she was right about being cute. I was sort of cute in a girl-next-door kind of way that didn’t seem to encourage dates. Glo was cute in a quirky, fun way that was obviously more approachable. Truth is, I wish I was more like Glo, but I’d feel like an idiot if I tried to wear a pink ballet tutu with green-and-black striped tights and motorcycle boots.
I heard a door close upstairs and the bellringer ambled over to us. He was around twenty. Still in his puppy stage, with long, gangly legs and big feet. Sandy blond hair that had probably been cut by a friend.
“Josh Sidwell,” he said, extending his hand.
“Lizzy Tucker,” I said, shaking his hand.
Glo stuck her hand out and smiled. “Gloria Binkly, and I’ve never dated anyone named Josh before. I’m, like, a Josh virgin.”
“Jeez,” Josh said. “I’m honored.”
“How do you get to be a bellringer?” I asked him.
“I’m a member of the MIT Guild of Bellringers.”
“Wow, a college guy,” Glo said. “I’ll bet you’ve never even been arrested.”
“I got caught smoking pot once, but I was underage, and I didn’t get charged with a felony.”
“Even better,” Glo said.
“So tell me about the bells,” I said to Josh.
“There are eight of them. They were cast in Gloucester, England, in 1744, and they were hung here in Old North in 1745. They were restored in 1894 and again in 1975.”
“Is it possible to play a song with them?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but they’re not designed to play a song. These are tone bells. We have certain sequences that we play,” Josh said. “It’s a complicated process.”
“This is confusing,” I said. “I was under the impression there were nine bells.”
“Nope,” he said. “Right from day one, there were only eight. Maybe you’re thinking about the Duane bell. Charles Duane was a church rector. He was the first rector to have the bells refurbished. He also had a small replica bell made as well and asked that it be buried with him. Sometimes it’s referred to as the ninth bell.”
“Where’s he buried?”
“Here,” Josh said. “There are thirty-seven tombs and over eleven hundred bodies buried in the basement.”
“That’s a lot of bodies to bury in your basement,” Glo said.
“They give tours,” Josh said. “It’s awesome. Charles Duane has a plaque and everything. Not everybody has a plaque.”
“Is it creepy down there?” Glo asked. “Are there ghosts?”
“The tour I took didn’t see any ghosts. At least, I didn’t see any. And it wasn’t creepy, except it feels a little claustrophobic.”
“Thanks,” I said to Josh. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“Are you walking the Freedom Trail?”
“No,” Glo said. “We’re saving mankind.”
“Excellent,” Josh said. “See you Sunday.”
“He was dreamy,” Glo said, when we got back to my car. “He could be the one I’ve been looking for. He spoke English and everything. I have a good feeling about him.”
We left the North End and hit 1A at rush hour. Route 1A isn’t good at the best of times. Rush hour is excruciating. By the time I rolled into Marblehead, I was starving and my back was in spasm.
“Remind me to never do that again,” I said to Glo.
“If I could just get Broom to cooperate, we could fly,” Glo said. “Then we wouldn’t have to worry about traffic. Harry Potter didn’t have to worry about traffic.”
“You realize Harry Potter isn’t real, right?”
“Of course, but he
Glo had parked on the street in front of my house, and I pulled in behind her.
“You got your car fixed,” I said.
“My neighbor fixed it for me. I went out with him once, but it didn’t work out.”
“He was shot with a nail gun?”
“No. He decided he was gay. He said it wasn’t my fault, but I’m not so sure.”
We went into the house, and I pulled food out of the fridge. All bakery rejects. Ugly meat pies and stale cupcakes. Glo was halfway through a meat pie and a beer when the back door burst open, and Hatchet jumped into the kitchen, brandishing his sword.
“Vile wenches,” he said. “Out of my way whilst I search this keep.”
“What’s a keep?” Glo asked him.
“You’ve blacked your windows,” Hatchet said to me. “You’re hiding something, and I want it.”
“Dude,” Glo said. “You need to chill. Have a meat pie.”
“I will not be dissuaded by your meat pie,” Hatchet said. “I want the clue.”
“Here’s the thing,” Glo said. “You’re kind of cute. Like, you’ve got this medieval thing going for you, and it’s sort of a turn-on. I mean, I met this other guy today, and he might be the one, but then again it might be you, if you could just get over the bossy part of your personality.”
Hatchet lowered his sword. “Thou thinkst I’m bossy?”
“Maybe you’re just hungry,” Glo said. “Does Wulf feed you? Take a meat pie while I get my book. I was thinking about you last night, and I found a spell that might help.”
Glo pulled
Hatchet looked at the meat pies. “Dost thou have a ham and cheese?”
