Free Different Sin by Rochelle Hollander Schwab

asked.
    David nodded, startled. “And Hetty, of course, till she died. Mike’s mother. He must’ve been about twelve then. Let me see. Yes, she died right after the big fire in twenty-seven, when I was thirteen. We were all out the entire night passing buckets up from the river. She took a chill, passed on just a week or two later.”
    “Do you know how long your father owned Hetty when Mike was born?”
    “No, I have no idea.”
    “Well, it’s not that important.” Zach looked at his scribbles again, frowning in concentration.
    “What did you want to know for?” David asked.
    “Just an idea I had. You told me your father was always fond of Mike, that he had him run his errands, do odd jobs in his office. I suppose he realized, even then, that Mike was his son?”
    “Well, of course he did. He always knew that.” David stared at his friend. “I’ve already told you all about Dad and Mike.”
    Zach smiled. “I know. I just wanted to check my facts before I started writing. Yet your father sold him to a slave trader. He wasn’t much more than a boy then, either. Didn’t you tell me seventeen or eighteen?”
    “About that.” David was filled with sudden unease. “Before you start writing what?”
    “Well, I need to check with Greeley first, but a man selling his own son— You can see what kind of an impact that would have on our readers.”
    “On your readers! Forget it, Zach! I don’t want you writing a story about Dad and Mike!”
    Zach leaned toward David. “I don’t think you realize how much a piece like this can turn public opinion against slavery. I should think you’d appreciate that more than most, David.”
    “I don’t give a damn about slavery! You’re not spreading scandals about my family all over your paper,” David said, angrily aware of the others turned toward them, listening. “And I’m sick of hearing you all talk about them like they were an exhibit from Barnum’s!” He rose, shoving his way through the tables, still furious as he slammed the front door of the boardinghouse.
    Mrs. Chapman stuck her head out of her room, glaring at him in annoyance. David sighed. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He closed the door to his room quietly, trying to calm down. At least he’d nipped Zach’s notion in the bud.
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    David overslept the next morning, missing breakfast, just as glad not to see Zach and Elliot. He bought a sweet roll, eating it on the ferry on the way to his assignment in Brooklyn.
    He was still put out at suppertime. He nodded shortly to Elliot and Zach, then dug into his food, making desultory conversation with Mr. Wilson, the elderly bank clerk who had the room next to his.
    “David.” Zach caught up to him as he left the dining room. “Don’t just rush off without a word.”
    David turned, reluctantly smiling at Zach.
    “I need to talk to you about the piece on your family.”
    David’s smile faded. “There’s nothing to talk about. Just forget it, will you! I’ve had a long day. If you’ll excuse me, I’m turning in.” He took the stairs two at a time, his mood sharp with annoyance again.
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    “Care to join me for a beer, David, or are you still in a huff?”
    David looked up as Elliot leaned against the edge of his drawing table early the next evening.
    “A beer sounds good. I’ve been copying these onto the blocks since morning,” David smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I got a little peeved the other night over Zach’s notion to do a story on my father.”
    “So I saw.” Elliot smiled. “Fact is, I was kind of surprised to learn you changed your mind.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, since he’s gone ahead with it, I just assumed you had.”
    “Gone ahead with it!? You’re sure?”
    Elliot nodded. “I ran into Dick a couple of hours ago, and he said Greeley was enthusiastic about the idea, told Zach to finish it up this morning so he could make the weekly edition.” He smoothed his