Confluence - 1. Chapter 1

At Franklin, New Hampshire, the waters of the Pemigewasset and the Winnipesaukee flow together. From that point the river they form is known by neither name, but by the new name Merrimack, as if an entirely new river had bubbled up at the confluence. The town grew quickly after the establishment of water-powered mills in the early nineteenth century, and by the 1870s it was thriving.

Winfield Layne’s medical practice in Franklin was not thriving in the early spring of 1872. Mill workers were willing enough to use his services for their various injuries, but they had little money. The town’s more affluent citizens preferred Doc Lawson, who looked the part of an old country doctor and liberally supplied quack remedies rich in alcohol, laudanum, and extract of coca leaf. Most people found Dr. Layne too young and handsome to be taken seriously as a physician. They thought him more suited to a profession on the stage, despite the long beard he had grown to appear older; and they distrusted a bachelor.

The ice was beginning to melt in the unusually early spring, and River Street was muddy and puddled. Dr. Layne’s office was on a busy but not fashionable block. He was pleased that a new owner seemed to be taking the vacant storefront next to him: a young man was measuring the space and making notes with a succession of helpful friends. When he happened to spot the man alone, he decided to pay a visit.

Knocking on the open door, he said, “Nice to see someone moving in.”

The young man looked up with a quick, slight smile. “Good morning! Yes, I’m working on it. I’m hoping to have the shop open soon.” He started to rise, got his feet tangled, and all but fell before Layne grabbed his hand and steadied him.

“What kind of shop?” Layne was reminded of a squirrel; the young man was all jumpy, nervous energy. He was compactly built and dark-eyed, with a pleasant, pale face and neat mustache.

“Dry goods. General merchandise. Books and paper. Clothing and outfitter. Tools and other hardware. Lumber. A pharmacy.”

“Good heavens! That sounds like all the stores a town needs rolled into one. But a pharmacy -- that’s good. That will be convenient for my patients. I’m Doctor Winfield Layne. My office is next door.” Layne pointed in the direction of his office while placing his other arm around Owen’s shoulder

The young man shook Layne’s hand. “Pemberton Paul Owen. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Layne. You’re next door, you say?”

“Yes, you’re sidling up right next to my ... practice.” Dr. Layne saw the young man’s eyes flash, maybe with alarm, maybe merely with surprise. “Just through this wall on your south side. And where did you study pharmaceutical science, Mister Owen?”

“Philadelphia,” Owen muttered. His eyes shifted to the floor. “I was just going to take a break to get some coffee. I’ve been working long days, running here and there, ordering furnishings and supplies, not really getting enough sleep. Care to join me?”

That explains the nerves, Layne thought. “As it happens, I have no appointments for the next hour or two. I’d be delighted.”

********

At a small eatery Dr. Layne picked slowly at a piece of mediocre chess pie while his companion downed his fourth cup of coffee. Layne smiled in bemusement as the young man’s animation increased and the flow of his words became a torrent. Layne learned all about Owen’s father’s recent death, the small inheritance that Owen was using to set up shop, and the house he now shared with his mother out on Shannon Road.

“She must be very proud of her little Pemberton.”

“Ma thinks I never finish anything. She thinks I won’t persevere in this.”

“Well, I hope you do. And you seem very capable to me.”

“And she doesn’t call me Pemberton. My father’s name was Pemberton, too -- Pemberton William Owen -- so she calls me by my middle name.”

“She calls you Paul?”

The young man blushed. “Paulie.”

Layne smiled broadly. “What about me? Should I call you Paul or Paulie? Or Pemberton?”

Owen searched Dr. Layne’s eyes for mockery. “Pem, maybe, though that’s really Pa’s name. I don’t usually like people calling me Paulie, except Ma, of course.”

“I won’t call you that if you don’t like it.”

Owen lowered his eyes to his coffee. “I think if you called me Paulie I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m glad. I think Paulie suits you.”

“But call me Mr. Owen if other people are around.”

“As you wish. My friends call me Win.”

Owen chuckled. “It’s funny, you being named Win, like the Winnipesaukee, and some people call me Pem, like the Pemigewasset.”

“Two rivers destined to meet.” Layne smiled and pushed his plate away. “I’ll bet you were cute as a button when you were a boy. Must have been. Still are.” Owen’s hand went up to his mustache, and again those dark eyes flashed in alarm. “Got a girl?”

“I’m engaged to be married.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure she’ll be a great help to you in your new enterprise.”

“Ellie’s not very enthusiastic about it.”

“Oh. Well. Maybe she’ll come around.”

With a pained expression, Owen rubbed his stomach. “She thinks I’m in over my head.”

“I have to agree that it’s very ambitious to try to offer so much.”

“Is it too much?”

“Are you asking my advice? I hesitate because I’ve given advice in the past, and when things didn’t turn out well, I lost a friend.”

“Yes, I would like your advice. Please.”

“All right. I think you should choose a few things to do well. Of course I’d like to see a pharmacy, but that’s me being selfish. You should focus on whatever you know best. You’re trained in pharmacy, so--”

“I didn’t finish.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I didn’t finish my studies at the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy. Pa died and I had to come back home.”

“There are many apothecaries who have no formal training at all. And I could help you.”

“You could?”

“Yes, it was part of my studies. The important thing to remember is that it’s a fairly small shop. You don’t have enough space to offer all the goods ever made on the face of the Earth.”

“It’s true.” Owen pulled at his mustache. “Some druggists have something called a soda fountain.”

“I’ve seen one. At the Paris Expo. Beautiful. Built by a Mister Dows. Everyone loved his ‘ice cream sodas,’ as I believe he called them. Lined up for blocks.”

“You were at the Paris Expo?”

“Yes. Back in ’67.”

“I wish I could have been there. I wish I could have seen that.”

“Mister Dows lives down in Boston or Lowell. I believe he’s patented his equipment and is manufacturing it. You can buy it all.”

“I’ve never travelled, not even to Boston. But Paris! You really went to Europe?”

“Yes, for a few years after the war. They’re far ahead of us in medical advances. Very interesting experiments by a chemist named Pasteur. There’s a Doctor Lister in Glasgow who has had remarkable success with preventing infection. Enormous resistance to his methods, but I found his results most persuasive.”

“Win?”

“Yes?”

“Where are you from?”

“Sorry, I have a bad habit of talking shop. Where am I from? Born in Kentucky, then my family moved to New York, up by Buffalo, then down to Ohio, near Chillicothe. My father was a doctor, too. We weren’t wealthy but we didn’t want. I was a surgeon during the war. Terrible, all of it. Shiloh was --” Layne shook his head. “They gave me a Major’s uniform, but I would have preferred no uniform and more medical supplies. Half the time we didn’t have ether and had to operate without.”

“Why did you move to Franklin?”

“I found myself oddly unwelcome in Ohio. I treated Negroes, so the Confederate sympathizers thought I was an Abolitionist. I treated Confederate soldiers, so the Unionists thought I was a Copperhead. I treated anyone. I thought the less misery and suffering there was all round, the less bitter would be the peace that must follow. Franklin had been recommended by -- a friend... But now that I’m here, people don’t trust me anyway, since I’m a foreigner from the distant, exotic nation of Ohio.”

“I was born here. When they see that you and I are friends, they’ll trust you. We are friends, aren’t we?”

“I would very much like us to be.”

Owen extended his hand across the table. Layne took it. Owen did not let go.

“We must be friends. I need a real friend. Not just someone I say hello to in church and then we go our separate ways. A true friend.”

Layne looked at Owen thoughtfully. “Exactly what I had in mind.”