Confluence - 12. The Other Side

Mrs. Oglivy stopped and put her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. The figure of Doctor Layne receded ahead. “Don’t try to match his pace, Sarah,” she said to herself. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you show up dead.”

**************************

As if fleeing a battle, Layne ran without thinking -- over bridges, to the West Village, and down to the confluence of the Winnipesaukee and Pemigewasset, where the Merrimack begins. Mrs. Ogilvy was far behind him.

He was in a narrow clearing between river and trees. Winded, he sat on a stump listening to the swirling water. Memories drifted through his mind, memories particularly of Ezra Clark, his lover in the last year of the war. Clark was with a New Hampshire regiment and survived the siege of Fredericksburg with Layne near the war’s end, only to be killed at Farmville. Then, as now, Layne had had no chance to say goodbye, no last words, no last view of Clark’s body at rest, however disfigured, no final image to seal in his heart.

Outside Fredericksburg there had been many idle moments for wishful thinking. “Win,” Clark had said, “after this is over, you could come back to New Hampshire with me.”

“New Hampshire!” Layne had replied. “Too much snow for me. I’d freeze my tail off.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” Clark said.

“Well, Ez, how about if you come to Ohio with me? You might like it.”

“Ohio! I hear it’s full of bugs and snakes. No wilderness for me, no, thank you.”

“No more than anywhere else. You men from the thirteen original states are such snobs.”

“And for good reason. I don’t know why I got involved with a man from the wild West.”

“Ohio, the wild West?”

“Comparatively speaking.”

“Yankee provincial!”

“Frontier medicine man!”

And so their chaffing proceeded, a pastime not really meant to persuade. But after making love, Clark’s tone sometimes grew more serious.

“I want to show you Franklin Falls.”

“And what’s so special about Franklin Falls?”

“We can go skinny-dipping.”

“You can be quite tempting. Isn’t it cold?”

“Summer comes even that far north, you know. And anyway, you get used to it. Warming up afterward is half the fun.”

“It would be with you.”

“Say you’ll come with me.”

“Maybe. At least to have a look around.”

“And once you’re there, I’ll tie you up and never let you leave.”

“Promises, promises.”

Under the pretext of medical training, Clark spent as much time with Layne as he could. His war-weary commanding officer seemed sympathetic, and anyway had his hands full with the far more serious problem of desertion. At least he knew where Clark was. The war seemed to be in its endgame; the end would be in sight once Fredericksburg fell. At last it did. Surely what conflict remained was simple mopping-up.

But men die even in mere mopping-up operations.

Clark never had an opportunity to drag Layne to New Hampshire. But when Layne found Ohio inhospitable after the war, his thoughts turned to Clark’s home state, and after two years in Europe he ended up moving there, in part to honor Clark’s memory, in part looking for the fulfillment of a promise that could never be kept. And yet, in Owen, Layne had found a kind of echo of that old hope.

Upon arriving in Franklin, Layne had wondered if he was honoring Clark’s wishes or being unfaithful. Now thoughts only of Owen flooded Layne’s mind: Owen saying “Show me,” Owen moaning in his bed, Owen introducing himself, Owen talking a blue streak in the restaurant, Owen calling his name: “Win! Win! Doctor Layne!”

Wait -- was he remembering, or hearing? “Win, have you gone deaf? What’s the matter?”

Layne jerked his head up and turned to see Owen calling to him from the trees. “Paulie?”

“Well, yes! Who did you think it was?”

“I thought you were dead!”

“Didn’t you get my note?” Owen said, advancing to Layne in a stealthy crouch, glancing furtively from side to side.

“Of course I got your note. You said we’d meet on the other side, after death.”

Owen scowled. “No! I meant to meet me on the other side of the river! Why did you come here if you didn’t know that’s what I meant?”

“I don’t know -- I was simply running to get away. I thought you’d killed yourself!”

“That’s for everyone else to think. Why would I kill myself when you’ve just started teaching me how to live?” Owen wrapped his arms around Layne. “I had to do something. You were too willing to accept defeat. I think it’s because of the war. But I forgive you.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Why, thank you, young man. Wait! – Jim said he saw your body floating down the river.”

“Of course. That’s what I told him to say when I gave him my clothes to dunk in the water. Now you’d better go pack.”

“Pack? Where am I going?”

“You’re taking me to Paris,” Owen said breezily. “As long as we’re alone, I wanted to talk to you about the night before my wedding.”

“I was angry,” Layne said. "But that is no excuse. I am so sorry for my behavior.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Owen murmured, grinning. “It was exciting.”

Layne blinked. “What have I created? Or unleashed? All this time I thought I was the one who would be teaching you.”

Mrs. Ogilvy, holding her side, trudged up the narrow path to them. “I warned you that he wouldn’t understand that note, Mister Owen.”

“Right as always, Mrs. Ogilvy,” Owen sulked.

“Now what’s this about Paris?” Layne asked.

"Don't worry, Doctor,” Mrs. Ogilvy said. “You’ve made so much money off those rich patients in the last few months that you can easily afford it. And in no time at all those Parisians will be flocking to the practice of le bon docteur américain.”

“Le what?” Owen asked.

“You told me we were barely breaking even,” Layne said.

“I lied,” she replied with a bright smile.

Jordan Moreau walked up the path and greeted them. “Are we ready to go?”

“Wait -- who told you about this?” Layne said.

“I did, of course,” Mrs. Ogilvy said. “We see each other practically every day. Do you think we never talk? Jordan, your sister will be just fine living with me. You go on to Paris and don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ogilvy. Maybe I’ll be able to send for her some time. As for me, I am entirely ready to go someplace where people don’t look at me like a dangerous escaped zoo exhibit. Maybe they’ll even let me apply to medical school.”

Owen said, “But, Paris? I mean, you’ll have to learn French.”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “I grew up in New Orleans, Mister Owen. And I didn’t learn just Creole. I studied proper French in school. I think I’ll fit right in in Paris.”

“I hope I will,” Owen said. “Mostly I’m afraid some handsome Frenchman will steal Win.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about those handsome Frenchmen,” Jordan said. “I’ll handle them.”

Layne objected, “What will the town do, losing two pharmacists in one day?”

“We’ve been training Jim Schaefer,” Owen said. “And his wife is ready to take over the soda fountain, now that their youngest is working at the mill. And Ellie gets to be a well-off young widow. She already runs the store anyway.”

Mrs. Ogilvy bent down and touched Layne’s arm. “Mister Schaefer and I will wind up all your affairs, Doctor. Provided, of course, that you approve of our plans?”

Layne found no words to reply. Instead, he stood, picked Owen up, ran to the river and threw him in, and dove in after him. Pulling Owen up in the shallow water, he said, "That's for scaring me half to death," and kissed him.