Different Sin Read Free

a bachelor, so I share expenses with my father. It works out well for both of us.”
    “I wouldn’t have taken you for a solicitor,” Walker said thoughtfully.
    David shifted uncomfortably, his legs cramped by the seat ahead. “I’m not much of one,” he admitted. “I took up law to please my father. I’m afraid I’m ill-suited to it.” He stopped, astonished to find himself blurting out still more of his private affairs to a stranger. Glancing at the other man, he noted his expression of sympathetic interest. He hesitated, then continued.
    “I’ve always had the urge to capture what I saw on paper. When I was a boy, I dreamed of becoming an artist. Then as I grew older, I listened to reason and gave up the notion.”
    “And now?”
    “Now, if it’s not too late, I’d like to pursue it again.” David searched for words. “I told you I’d been injured a few years ago. I came within a hairsbreadth of dying. It made me realize how little I had to show for my life. I don’t want to live out my remaining years as nothing but a failed solicitor.
    “I don’t know if I’ve any real talent as an artist, but it’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about.” He smiled ruefully. “Determining to pursue it hasn’t done me much good though. As you said, sir, there’s little demand for artists.”
    “We come to a parting of the ways, Mr. Carter. I’ve enjoyed our conversation.”
    David nodded, acutely aware of how much he’d revealed to Walker over the past hours, relieved they’d be parting once the cars pulled into New York. He checked his belongings at the conductor’s call, eager to catch the ferry to the Washington-bound train.
    “I wish you luck in placing those. They should be seen.” Walker nodded toward David’s portfolio. A thought struck him. “Matter of fact, I may be able to assist you. Greeley’s run an occasional woodcut if it can make a point plainer than words. If you’ll entrust me with a sketch or two, it’s not unlikely he’d reproduce them in the Tribune while the case is fresh in the public mind.”
    The thought of further contact filled David with renewed embarrassment. He shoved it aside. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Walker.”
    The newsman beamed. “Not at all. Greeley’s staunchly opposed to planting slavery on free soil. If I know the man, he’ll be delighted to best our competition with an eyewitness depiction of the cruelty of this damned Fugitive law.”
    “I’m still much obliged to you, sir,” David said, leafing through the portfolio for his most telling sketches.
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    David set his coffee cup in its saucer with a muted porcelain click and looked up from his plate of eggs and grits. His father sat in his accustomed place across the dining room table, as they’d sat together since David’s boyhood, with the exception only of the four years he’d spent attending university in Charlottesville. Displaying little weariness from his two day journey home, Dr. George Carter sat erect, with a vigor that belied his nearly seventy years, his back barely resting against his chair, his iron gray hair and firm features lit by morning sun that streamed through the archway from the parlor windows.
    “I’ve missed your company the past few weeks,” David admitted to him.
    His father smiled. “It’s too bad you insisted on cutting short your visit. Things settled down after you left.” For an instant his face was shadowed. Burns’ capture had stunned Boston Negroes. Like the rest, Mike, Rachel and their oldest youngsters, Peter and Abigail, had plunged into a frenzy of anguished protest and futile rescue attempts, that had been—David guessed—a bitter reminder to his father of how he’d inadvertently caused his own son’s recapture. The instant passed, the memory was set aside. “Reverend Grimes is heading a drive to buy Burns’ freedom, and he has a good part of the funds in hand already,” the doctor continued.
    David nodded, eager to