Homebody Page 0,82
must be bigger now, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. One thing for sure: He couldn't ignore the tunnel forever. If he wanted it sealed off, he'd have to remove the rubble and build a proper masonry wall.
Well, that wasn't the job for today. He had the wrecking bar. He was going to take out a wall. And man, would it feel good to hack into the lath and plaster. He was in the mood for some serious hacking.
When she saw him come out with the wrecking bar, Sylvie visibly relaxed. "Oh, good. You found it."
"Why couldn't you just tell me in the first place?"
She turned away and started up the stairs. "I knew you'd accuse me if I helped."
"Or better yet," he said, "why didn't you just leave it where it was?"
She stopped on the stairs, her head hidden now by the ceiling. "I didn't take it. And if I did, I wouldn't have put it there."
"You have better hiding places?"
She sank down and sat glumly on the landing. Now he could see her face again. She looked really upset. "I don't go there."
"Why? It's nothing. The old ladies next door said it was a rum runner's tunnel. They said this place used to be a bordello." He slapped the wrecking bar against the palm of his other hand. It felt good to have it in his hands.
"How interesting," said Sylvie, not sounding interested. "A tunnel. Who would have guessed it."
"Sylvie, what is it with you? Why can't you just say you're sorry you hid my wrecking bar and you won't do it again?"
She looked up at him with anger in her eyes. "When I do something wrong, I say I'm sorry."
In disgust, Don pushed past her to go up the stairs. "Then I guess you must have done this just right." A few steps above her, he stopped and turned. "Aren't you a little old to be playing the bratty little sister?"
"I'm nobody's sister!"
He continued up the stairs. He heard her calling after him. "I'm not your daughter! I'm not your sister! I'm not your anything!"
Time to get rid of the wall separating the stairs from the south parlor. This one had been built earlier than the other dividers in the house. Probably dated from the twenties, from the bordello days. So it wasn't a stud wall, it was as thick as the wall on the other side, with the same kind of molding. And it wouldn't be drywall, it would be lath and plaster. A messy job, but he was already filthy from the dirt behind the furnace.
He swung the wrecking bar and it went deep into the wall. He pulled it away, and laths gave way and chipped out like broken ribs, with plaster dust flying back into his face. He ought to have his safety glasses on, but he was too mad and it felt too good to be tearing at something. He took another swing at a spot about a foot over, but this time the bar rang against thick hard wood. It surprised him, to find a timber only three feet from the end of the wall. Nobody put vertical posts that close together, not even in bearing walls. He moved farther over, swung again, and this time a huge chunk of plaster gave way and shattered onto the floor. The laths behind it were easy now to pry away from the timbers. Sure enough, it looked as though there were heavy timbers every three feet. Ludicrous. What were they thinking?
"What are you doing!" cried Sylvie. She stood in the doorway, panic on her face.
"What does it look like?"
"You can't tear down that wall! It's the... it's the spine of the house!"
"Look, Sylvie, it's a nothing wall. See how the front door is off-center to the house? That's so the load-bearing wall can run right down the middle of the house and hold the floor joists for the second story. This wall isn't holding anything up, it was just added so they could put a door between the entry and this apartment. Or maybe so they could get customers up the stairs to the prostitutes without everybody in the parlor seeing them."
"You're wrong," said Sylvie. "It's holding everything up! If you break that, you'll - you'll paralyze the house, you'll - "
"You ought to give lessons to those loons next door," said Don. His patience was gone. "This is a house, not a person." He tore out another lath.
Sylvie ran over