Different Sin

by Rochelle Hollander Schwab

  David closed his eyes, feeling the warm pressure of Zach’s lips on his. He sat helpless a long moment, then his lips parted, and he caught Zachary in his arms, pulling him closer.

  Zach’s fingertips brushed his face lightly as they finally drew apart. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Zach murmured. “You’re trembling,” he added softly. “We needn’t do anything further.”

  “I—” David’s words caught in his throat. “I want to,” he whispered finally. He reached out for Zach and pulled him down on the bed beside him, trembling still as they undressed.

  He lay in Zach’s arms then, his friend’s strong, male body hard against his own. Slowly he let his hands roam over Zach’s naked skin, his tentative touch quickening with the incredible pleasure of caressing him freely at last.

  He hadn’t dared even imagine the tingling excitement of Zach’s caresses on his own body. Zach’s beard brushed David’s face as he kissed him again. His hands moved down David’s back, firmly cupped his buttocks, stroked his member with tantalizing gentleness.

  David gasped. Waves of pleasure swelled within him, rising higher and higher like an incoming tide. Zach drew David closer as he moved against him in accelerating, urgent rhythm. His exploding release subsided into smaller ripples. He gave a shuddering sigh and lay back in Zachary’s arms, his body fitting itself to Zach’s as if they’d lain together always.

  Chapter 9 — 1860

  FOR A MOMENT, AS HE CAME SLOWLY TO CONSCIOUSNESS, David thought he’d dreamed again. He woke fully then. Morning sunlight illuminated Zach’s room, the rumpled bedclothes, his shirt and trousers tossed on the floor alongside the volume of poetry. David turned stiffly, feeling Zach’s warm bulk next to him. He took a deep breath, wincing at the odors of their mingled sweat and semen.

  Zach stirred. He threw his arm lightly across David’s chest and gave a long, contented sigh. He lay quietly another moment, then kissed David on the forehead and sat up, stretching. “We’d best get up. We’ll want to have time for a good wash before breakfast is ready.”

  David watched him numbly. It seemed impossible that Zach could be going cheerfully about his morning routine, pouring water into his washbasin as if nothing had occurred between them. He lowered his feet slowly to the floor, unable to move further. “My God, Zach, what have we done?” he said at last.

  “Nothing to regret.” Zach crossed the room and laid his hand on David’s shoulder. “We’d best get dressed now. There’ll be time to talk later.” David managed to nod. It was Sunday; at least he didn’t have to show himself at Leslie’s. He’d had thoughts of attending services at Trinity this morning, but that seemed equally impossible now.

  He pulled on his discarded clothing, opened the door a crack and peered out. He’d been in and out of Zach’s room dozens of times in the years he’d boarded at Mrs. Chapman’s, but now he made certain the hallway was empty before scurrying down it like a sneak thief.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  They walked without speaking till they reached the Murray Hill Reservoir.

  “I never intended to cause you distress,” Zach said at last, as they paced around the broad esplanade, out of earshot of other strollers.

  “You’re not to blame. I wanted it as much as you. You make me feel like—like a woman is supposed to,” David admitted, his voice barely audible.

  “I feel the same way about you.” Zach laid a hand lightly on David’s shoulder.

  “Zach, for God’s sake, people will see us!” David jerked away before Zach could drop his hand. He stared down at the water. “It’s a sin,” he said, not looking up.

  “Perhaps. But I daresay there are worse sins than loving.”

  David glanced at Zach. “I’ve been lusting after you for months,” he muttered.

  “It’s more than lust, David, on my part at any rate, I promise you that.”

  “Zach, for God’s sake, we can’t let it happen again!”

  Zach sobered. He moved toward David, stopped a few, careful feet away. “It made me very happy to be close to you last night. But I’ll not do anything to change our friendship.”

  “We’d best get back.” David strode off, barely waiting for Zach. How the hell could they go on with their friendship as if nothing had happened? He ought to move out of Mrs. Chapman’s, stay away from Pfaffs-

  “David!” Zach’s strong arms yanked him from the path of a hurtling coach. The driver’s flung curses rang in his ears.

  “You all right, David?”

  “Yeah, fine. God, I didn’t even see it!” David leaned back against Zach, starting to shake at the near miss. Zach tightened his grip on David reassuringly.

  David took a deep breath. He straightened and turned to Zach, taking in his anxious expression. He managed a smile. “I’m fine, Zach. Thanks!”

  How could he give up Zach’s friendship? He’d just have to make sure his unnatural lust for him didn’t lead to a repeat of the shameful episode of the night before.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  His first thought had been right, David told himself more than once as summer mellowed into fall. He should’ve left Mrs. Chapman’s. It would’ve been easier than seeing Zach daily, making casual conversation with him, all the while trying to forget the feel of Zach’s naked body next to his.

  True to his word, Zach didn’t press him to repeat their sin. Still, David didn’t dare be alone with him. When he wasn’t on assignment for Leslie’s at one of the numerous election rallies, he spent his evenings in the stuffy boardinghouse parlor or nursing an ale at Pfaff’s.

  Despite his efforts to put his lust out of his mind, he was reminded of it everywhere. The sight of Whitman, sitting in silent magnetism at a corner table of the beer cellar, induced a rush of remembered passion.

  Retreating to the privacy of his room was no help. More than once he found himself staring at the sketch of Zach he’d done so long ago, crumpling it to toss into the stove, then pulling his hand back at the last moment and returning it to its hiding place. It was better to spend his time with others, sick as he was of the parlor under Mrs. Chapman’s gaze, trying to read or pass the time with small talk against the steady background of rustling newspapers and clearing throats.

  At least in his hours at work he could lose himself in concentration. With just over a month to go till the November election, campaigning intensified. David’s pencil skimmed over his sketchpad as he watched the torchlight parade of Wide-Awakes, uniformed squadrons of youthful Republican supporters, as they poured down Broadway. From his vantage point at the front of the cluster of reporters, David could clearly see the napless caps that gave the young men their nickname, the shiny material of their capes, their flaming torches, mounted atop the rails that had become Lincoln’s symbol, swaying in unison as they marched. As he gazed further down the street, the raised torches seemed to blend into a stream of flames.

  Zachary tapped his shoulder, speaking into his ear to be heard above the cheers and singing of the marchers. “An impressive showing for the Railsplitter.”

  “It makes me wish I had brush and paint instead of my pencil, to capture that torchlight.” David stepped a foot or so away from Zach. He squinted at his sketch a moment, lifted his eyes back to the parade.

  “I was thinking more of the numbers of Honest Abe’s supporters.” Zach raised his voice. “This country’ll be in a bad way if the Republicans fail to carry the election.”

  The final marchers were in sight. The assembled reporters scribbled the last of their notes and shoved their pads into coat pockets. David continued to squint at his sketch, reworking the lines of the massed flames as the torchbearers passed from view. Finally he tucked the sketchbook under his arm. The street had become virtually deserted. Zach stood waiting.

  David fell into step beside him. Their footsteps crunched on the cobblestones as they walked. “I’m afraid we’ll be in a bad way if Lincoln does win,” he said finally. “At least if the fire-eaters are sincere in their threats to secede.”r />
  “Better disunion than carry slavery a foot further into free territory! But I wouldn’t worry, David. The Southerners’ll back down from their threats when the election’s over, I’ll warrant you that.”

  “I hope you’re right.” David fell silent, swinging his free arm as he walked. The back of his hand brushed Zach’s. David jumped, pulling his hand away. He brought his mind back to the threat of disunion. “Dad writes that more and more people at home are calling for separation.”

  He fell silent again, thinking of the Southern fire-eaters’ threats to wage war rather than remain in the Union if Lincoln was inaugurated. A shiver of unease ran through him.

  Zach guessed his thoughts. “The slaveholders’ talk of making war is sheer bluff. Outside of their slaves, what resources have they? No industry to speak of, precious few rail lines. Their real aim’s to bully the Northern voter into voting against Lincoln.” He talked on in lowered tones as they entered the darkened boardinghouse. David listened, for once preoccupied by their conversation, automatically walking alongside Zach as he turned down the hall to his room.

  “There’s no need to be concerned,” Zach said again. “Well, I daresay we’d best say goodnight.” He grasped his doorknob, hesitated a second, then slowly turned the knob.

  David’s preoccupation ended. He was suddenly intensely aware of Zach’s body, mere inches from his in the dim hall. He sensed Zach’s unspoken longing echoing his own. His own lonely bed waited down the hall.

  He stood motionless, trying to force himself to turn away. He trembled, then slowly covered Zach’s hand with his. The door pushed silently open under their hands.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  David bowed his head as Michael asked grace, glad to avert his eyes from his father’s gaze. He was being foolish, he told himself. His father couldn’t know about the act he’d repeated with Zach almost nightly in the weeks since the torchlight parade. He’d fled to Boston for Christmas, relieved at removing himself at least temporarily from the occasion of sin, but the knowledge of his deed traveled with him. It seemed impossible that his act was not writ as large to the world as the letter A worn by the adulteress in Hawthorne’s novel.

  Michael ended the grace to a chorus of soft amens. His father turned to David. “I’m glad you were able to get time off work for a visit. The way things stand, there’s no saying when we’ll be able to be together like this again.”

  David managed a smile. His father’s last utterance registered belatedly. In his preoccupation with his private torment, he’d paid scant attention to the still seething controversy that had culminated in South Carolina’s proclamation of secession four days ago.

  “You think it’ll come to war, Dad?” he asked. George Carter turned up his palms in a helpless shrug. “I pray not, though if Lincoln tries to hold the secessionists by force....”

  The rest of the family gazed at him solemnly. Only little Joshua, just a week short of his fourth birthday, plunged his spoon happily into the oyster stew Rachel had prepared for Christmas Eve dinner.

  “It won’t come to war, Grandpa Carter,” Peter—Mike and Rachel’s oldest—said bitterly. “The North finds trade with the South too profitable to fight a war over slavery. More likely they’ll grant the slaveholders every concession they can to keep them in the Union. There’s already been three states repealed their personal liberty laws.”

  David looked at Peter in astonishment. “You can’t mean you’d welcome a war!”

  “If it would free my people, I would!”

  “David, you’re a newsman,” Rachel put in. “You must have more knowledge than we do of what’s likely to happen.”

  “I’m afraid not. I don’t do much reporting, except for a few scribbles to explain my sketches. And I’ve never paid much attention to politics.”

  “We’d be better off with disunion,” Peter said. “At least there’d be no more fugitives returned to slavery like my father was! And the government wouldn’t be bound to protect slavery anymore, so revolts would have a better chance. John Brown might’ve succeeded if not for the power of the army.”

  “He might have,” David said slowly. “But I can’t agree with shedding blood over slavery. I mean, I can understand how you feel about it—”

  “Not really,” Michael stated.

  “What?”

  “You can’t understand how we feel, just seeing it from the outside, even coming up as close to it as you did. You’ve no idea what it’s like to be another man’s property. You’ve never been whipped or sold or—” Michael broke off. His face seemed graven in stone. He looked across the table, meeting his father’s eyes.

  Then he’s never really forgiven Dad after all, David thought. He stared in fascination at his father and half-brother. A moment went by. Michael’s expression softened. A look of affection slowly grew between the two men as they continued to gaze at one another.

  David looked down at his plate, abashed at his sudden dismay.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  “I missed you,” Zach told him. He propped himself up on one elbow and smiled at David, running his fingers gently down David’s jawline.

  “I—” Hell, he’d missed him too. His visit to Boston hadn’t changed a thing. “I was just gone a week. For God’s sake, let’s get our clothes on.”

  He shoved his shirttails into his trousers. “I thought about you a lot,” he said finally. “But it was good to see my family while we still have a chance to get together.”

  David managed a smile. “Mike and Rachel gave Joshua a pair of skates. We took him over to the Frog Pond the day after Christmas. You’d have enjoyed seeing it.”

  He’d stood there as the three older children took turns guiding Joshua in circles around the crowded pond, barely seeing the scene before him, thinking of Zach’s love for skating, thinking of Zach’s unnatural love for him—

  “You all right, David?” He started at his half-brother’s question.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “You seem troubled. You still worrying about war?”

  David managed a smile. “No, I think Peter’s probably right about that. I was just thinking how peaceful the Common looks under the snow, and what a contrast it is to the pond. I doubt you could squeeze in another child. I thought I might do a sketch of it.” He opened his sketchbook, glad he’d brought it along to give credence to his lie.

  He brought himself back to the present. Zachary was smiling at him wistfully. “I envy you your family,” Zach said.

  “It’s good to have them.” David studied Zach a minute. “What you told me about your father— This is why he threw you out, isn’t it?” His hand made a semicircle, encompassing their hastily clad garments, the rumpled sheets.

  Zach slowly nodded. “Yes, it’s why. I had a friend, a year older than myself. Ephraim. We were very— very drawn to one another. He looked a little like you must’ve done as a boy, tall and thin, with yellow hair forever falling in his eyes.” Zach smiled painfully. He reached out and pushed a few strands of hair off David’s forehead.

  “Pa caught us fondling one another,” he said after a long pause. “We’d gone into the woods behind our homes after firewood—we often helped one another with our chores. There was a hollow half filled with fallen leaves we’d lie in. Pa came out to see what had kept me at so simple a task. We were too taken up with one another to hear his footsteps.

  “Pa used to lean on a hickory staff when he walked, on account of his rheumatism. When he took in what we were doing, he raised it over his head as if he would smite us. Then he looked at Eph and said, ‘You’re not my son, Ephraim. Your own father must do with you as he sees fit.’ He stood there with the stick in his hand all the while Eph was taking to his heels, and I shrank back, waiting for it to fall. Then he lowered it, and looked at me—the way you might look at a rat you’d just killed in your pantry. ‘Neither are you, Zachary. You’re no more son of mine.’ I’d have rather he’d beaten me, I’ll tell you that. Even if he’d struck me d
ead.”

  “Oh God, Zach.” David laid his hand on Zach’s, pulled it back. He sat looking at him numbly. “How can you be so easy about us now?” he whispered finally.

  “I wasn’t easy about it then, I’ll grant you. I was certain my father’s God would consign me to eternal hellfire, though Mother promised me the Lord hated the sin, not the sinner. But I couldn’t repent of it. I spent hours on my knees trying to pray for forgiveness, but whenever I closed my eyes I’d see Eph lying there with the leaves in his hair and that crooked smile he had, and I couldn’t be sorry for what we’d done.”

  “I don’t see how you bore it.”

  “It came to me after a while that I was as the Lord made me.” Zach shrugged mightily, as if he were shaking off the memory as a dog shakes off water. “I didn’t ask to be fashioned this way—to love men instead of women.”

  “I’ve been with women!”

  “I didn’t say you hadn’t. But not half so eagerly, I daresay.”

  David flushed, not answering.

  “At any rate, I’ve come since to a different view of sin.”

  “Christ, Zach, what other view can you come to!”

  Chapter 10 — 1861

  DAVID SET BILL WAUD’S SKETCH OF A SOUTH CAROLINIAN REGIMENTAL review in the top rack of his drawing table, ready for copying. He picked up his pencil resignedly, thinking a moment of the argument he’d had with Leslie when the editor had announced his decision to assign a staff artist to Charleston, two days after Lincoln’s election. “Why are you picking Bill to send? I’m a Virginian, after all,” he’d pointed out. “I’m at home in the South.”

  “And equally at home, I’m given to understand, in the company of Greeley’s correspondents.”

  David flushed. Surely Leslie knew nothing of what had occurred all fall between Zach and himself! The editor couldn’t have guessed that his eagerness for the assignment stemmed as much from his desire to get away from temptation as from interest in the convention called by South Carolina to vote the state out of the Union.