Free Facing the Hunchback of Notre Dame by Zondervan Page B

Jessica, his mum, always said that life does that—turns out for the best—but he’d failed to believe her before now. When Auntie Max had told Walter about the school in Kingscross and her willingness to pay for him to attend there, Jessica Liddel had jumped at the offer.
    “Just think of it, Walt,” she’d said. “A good education at a good school. Never, never, never could we have afforded such a thing on our own.”
    His mum’s words had overflowed with such hope that Walter would have rather dog-paddled across the English Channel than disappoint her. After all, it had always been just Walter and his mum, and he tried his utmost to keep it that way.
    The wind drove the rain at them from the right and at such an angle that an umbrella (had they possessed one, which they did not) would have been rendered useless.
    None of them thought about practical things like umbrellas or the proper gear for inclement (nasty) weather. Nowadays children receive no instruction on that sort of thing. Oh no! Better to be wet and look like a soaked dog than to carry about an umbrella or, heaven help us, pull on a pair of those awful galoshes that you can easily remove at the door to keep from dragging mud and muck all throughout the building.
(If you think galoshes are part of a Hungarian meal, then tough luck. You shall have to look up the real meaning of the term on your own. I am doing this on principle, you see.)
    Walter led them on a brick pathway that hugged the left side of the church. Rhododendrons lined the other side. They walked to the back of the stone building, and Walter shone the flashlight on the cornerstone that said 1877. They stopped before a door that was painted the standard church-door crimson color. Walter grasped the handle and pressed down the latch with his thumb. Good. It gave way and he silently pushed the door inward.
    Ophelia followed him. “I’m glad Father Wellborne remembered.”
    “I’m glad he didn’t know we can’t see Jupiter on a night like tonight,” said Walter.
    Linus wiped his feet on the mat. “Right.”
    Ophelia didn’t comment on the ludicrous (laughable) nature of their excuse. No sense in doing that now.
    Quasi shut the door behind him, removed the shawl from his head, and looked around. He inhaled deeply through his nose and sighed. “They all smell basically the same, don’t they? These old churches?”
    Ophelia touched his arm. “Are you glad we came?”
    “Yes. This makes me feel a little better inside.”
    “Let’s go.” Walter pointed the flashlight beam toward a set of narrow, circular stone steps. “These go up to the bell tower.”
    Walter, then Ophelia, then Quasimodo, then Linus, ascended the steep staircase.
    “The bell tower doesn’t look this high from the street,” complained Ophelia. The steps seemed to go on and on.
    The door at the top of the staircase was unlocked as well, and they soon stood inside the square room at the top of the tower. The twins were out of breath, while Walter and Quasimodo were doing just fine.
    Linus aimed the flashlight up toward the ceiling, illuminating the four bells.
    Quasi, bending back at the waist, looked up. “They’re quite small.”
    “Large enough to make the neighbors complain,” said Ophelia.
    Quasi laughed and nodded with his whole body. “Oh yes! One of my favorite pastimes!” He turned to Ophelia. “Of course I couldn’t hear them very well then. Do you think I can take these hearing aids back with me?”
    Ophelia looked at Walter.
    Walter shrugged. “These were just her spares. Madge already bought a new set—state of the art. Go right ahead.”
    Quasimodo reached up and touched a bell. “Thinner, smaller, but a bell nonetheless. Why are there ropes here if they are, as you say, automated?”
    “Sometimes the electricity, or the power that runs them, goesout. So I guess they’d have to ring them the old-fashioned way,” said Ophelia.
    “That’s good to know.” Quasimodo continued to run his