The Accidentals(82)

They both smile at me, and we head for the library.

Jake leads us through the library stacks, up to level six. We reach a metal door marked “Maintenance Only.”

Jake spins around to flash us a little smile. Then he turns the handle and looks inside for a moment. The coast clear, he walks in.

I follow him into a poorly lit room, containing a few cleaning supplies and a pile of dusty fluorescent lightbulb sleeves. An arrow-shaped sign on the wall reads: To Tower. We follow a passageway until it ends at an old wooden door.

“Well, now we find out if the key works, or if I’ve brought you here for nothing.” Jake takes a set of keys out of his pocket and chooses a big flat brass one. He fits it into the lock and jiggles it. The door clicks open.

“Score,” Frederick says. “Now we climb?”

“That’s right,” Jake says, leading the way.

I follow, my legs beginning to burn after the second flight. It’s cold in the stairwell, but soon I’m sweating. Frederick pokes me on the backside when I stop in front of him for a breather. I whip around to see him wink at me. Somebody’s having fun.

After each set of ten steps, I turn left and see ten more. The stairs are a steep, metal affair, the railing a piece of old pipe. The light gets brighter with each flight, and soon I can see why. The four clock faces on the tower are made of thick, translucent glass. Each one must be eight feet across. I pass first one and then another clock face, their shapely black arms rising toward noon.

The stairs go on in spite of my burning thighs and the stitch in my side. Just when I think I can’t take any more, the steps finally break through a plank ceiling and into a little wooden room. Jake stands, winded, against the wall. He wears a shy, triumphant smile.

“Cool,” I say, and his smile widens. “Coming, old man?”

Frederick emerges, grasping his chest in mock exhaustion. And then he looks up. “Wow.”

Above us hang dozens of giant old bells, all different sizes. Some are as big as me. But at the top, on the end, a few are only the size of a toaster. On one wall in front of us is a set of levers, arranged like the pattern of an organ keyboard. Nearby there’s a music stand and an ancient wooden stool. Frederick bends over the levers for a closer look.

“If you ring a bell, we’re totally busted,” Jake says.

“Gotcha,” my father replies. He counts the levers. “Two and a half octaves. This thing looks old.”

“Some of the bells are from the 1860s. But I think those levers aren’t quite so old. The people who play this are part of the Carillon Guild. They hold auditions every spring. It’s very competitive.”

On the adjacent wall is a single door. Jake slides back the metal bar securing it and swings it inward. An ancient metal hook chained to the wall holds it open for us.

I follow Jake outside, where I’m greeted with a sweeping view of the Connecticut River valley to the west, and the mountains of Vermont beyond. “This is amazing.” The students on the sidewalk below are miniaturized.

“Great view,” my father agrees, stepping outside. “What am I looking at? Are those the Green Mountains?”

“Yeah. And that’s Smarts Mountain up there.” Jake points to the north.

The three of us move slowly around the tower walkway, stopping to take in the different viewpoints. From up here, Claiborne’s brick buildings look like pretty little toys.

It’s breezy, and the cold stings my face. I rub my hands together again, wishing I hadn’t left my gloves at home. “That’s Mount Ascutney,” Jake points toward the south. He reaches around me from behind, taking my hands in his and rubbing my cold fingers. He does this almost absently, as if we’ve never fought, as if everything is still okay. I lean back against him, fighting a lump in my throat.

I catch Frederick watching us, and he winks. The wind whips through again, and Frederick brings the hood of his sweater up over his head and holds it there.

“I guess we should go in,” Jake says. He walks toward the corner of the tower, and I follow him. But just as we’re about to reach the door, there’s a slam.

Jake scoots over to the door and pushes the handle. It doesn’t move. When he looks at me, the fear in his face is undisguised.

“Oh my God,” I say.

Frederick snorts. “No way.”

Jake stares at the door. “There wasn’t even a lock on it,” he says. “What the hell?” He lets go of the handle and presses on the door itself. “Goddamn it.” He kicks the bottom of the door in frustration.

I don’t even know what to say. But just as I’m beginning to panic, the door opens suddenly from within, and a narrow face peers out. “I was just having a little fun with you,” it says.

Jake pushes the door open and jumps over the threshold. “Did you have to do that?”

Inside, the narrow-faced person is revealed to be a skinny guy with a curly black mop of hair. Whereas Jake styles himself as a nerd, this guy is the real deal. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously as he stares at the three of us. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re not supposed to be up here, anyway.”

Jake takes a deep breath. “True. But I think you took a year off my life just now.”

Frederick laughs. “Good prank, kid. You had us.”

The guy squints at Frederick. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”