by Mark J Rose
“That’s about it, I think.”
“The Republic of the United States of America,” Franklin said. “It has great possibility!”
Matt waved Charity over to the table, pointing to the glasses of ale that were now empty. She brought two more over with a smile on her face. Franklin met her gaze and handed her two shillings. “That’s for you, my dear.”
“Thank you, Dr. Franklin,” she replied. She smiled and walked away.
“I may not have a baby face, but I can still outspend you,” Franklin said. He traced the folded paper in front of him with his finger and read another question. “Disease. Has man conquered disease?”
“Smallpox is gone,” Matt said.
“Variolation?”
Matt nodded. “Not with smallpox, though. Tell your friends and family to variolate with cowpox.”
“Cows?”
“Ask any milkmaid who has gotten cowpox whether she’s had smallpox. All will say no.”
“And you?” Franklin asked.
Matt shook his head. “I can’t get it. I’ve been vaccinated, which is similar.”
Franklin looked down again. “What about hunger? Does everyone in these United States have enough to eat?”
“More than enough, I think,” Matt replied, chuckling. “They’re always talking about Americans getting fat and especially poor people who don’t have access to good food.”
“Doesn’t the fact that you’re poor preclude you from eating too many victuals?”
“Poor people eat more victuals that make you fat,” Matt explained.
“Those victuals are cheaper?” Franklin asked, surprised.
“Well, no,” Matt replied. “You can get a vegetable salad fairly cheap.”
“By definition, poor people can’t buy enough victuals or else they’re not poor.”
“I can’t explain why people don’t eat healthy food,” Matt admitted.
“Does the European continent enjoy this free market society where even the poor are fat?”
“They’re considered a free market, but they tend toward socialism.”
“So not as successful,” Franklin affirmed.
“Some successful and some not,” Matt said. “They’ve organized into a big cooperative called the European Union. It’s supposed to be like the United States in the way it trades. It was good for a while, but once the economy got bad, the differences between countries were emphasized.”
“Wars?”
“Small ones,” Matt explained. “There were two world wars in the twentieth century where almost every country was involved. About sixty million people died.”
“Sixty million?” Franklin exclaimed. His expression became almost scolding. “With all you have?”
“I didn’t start them,” Matt replied. “They say the next world war will be the last.”
“Seems there will always be wars,” Franklin said disappointedly.
“Not big ones,” Matt said. “The last world war ended with a single bomb that can destroy an entire city.”
“Do many nations have these bombs?”
“There are enough bombs to destroy the whole face of the planet,” Matt replied. “The thinking is that if everyone has them, no one will use them.”
“Very trusting,” Franklin quipped.
“I always wonder what the chain of events would be that convinces a nation to use one of these bombs again.”
“Who used it the last time?”
“The United States,” Matt said.
A shocked expression covered Franklin’s face.
“Smart people came from all over the world to help the United States be the first to develop this weapon.”
“Did they use it to conquer the whole world?”
“They didn’t conquer any of it. Americans want to be left alone.”
“Does your military rival that of the British Empire?”
“The United States is more powerful militarily than Great Britain by many times, but they’re close allies.”
“A common culture,” Franklin said matter-of-factly.
They both went silent to drink their ale. Franklin was deep in thought, so Matt resisted the urge to say more. Franklin eventually asked, “Why would you not miss this great country? Was it this powerful weapon?”
Matt shook his head. “I never even thought about the bomb. I had a chance to go back to my own time and said no.”
Franklin gave Matt a look of disbelief.
“I’m still trying to justify it in my own mind,” Matt said. “I left my country and my family for this.” He glanced around at the people in the tavern.
“Was it your love for this Virginia lady?” Franklin asked.
“Maybe,” Matt admitted, “but it was more than that. There was corruption in my time. People were constantly squabbling. Sometimes I couldn’t hear myself think. It was twenty-four-seven name-calling.” Matt paused to do some introspection. “Maybe it’s as simple as that. I got tired of all the name-calling.”
“You’re in sore trouble if the only reason you stayed in this time was to escape the loons.”
“At least you can walk away from them here,” Matt replied. “You can’t in the future. They’re on your phone, your computer, and your television.” Matt tried to think of a better explanation but really couldn’t. “There’s no science-based justification,” he said eventually. “I made the decision to stay, and so here I am.”
Franklin shrugged his shoulders like he was fine with Matt’s explanation.
“Now I have a question for you,” Matt said. “I’m going to Richmond at the end of September to attend a wedding. He’s the brother of the woman I intend to marry. The bride’s from a wealthy family. I’ve been to their parties. They’re elaborate affairs with many beautiful women.”
“You’re obviously trying stoke my envy,” Franklin said.
“You want to come? I can bring one guest.”
“Richmond’s a long way, and September is very hot.”
“You said you needed to inspect the postal routes.”
Franklin nodded and thought for a moment. “Many handsome ladies?”
Matt smiled.
“Let me see if it fits my schedule.” Franklin had no commitment in his voice, but his expression told Matt that he already had his traveling companion.
34
Aspirin
About ten minutes after Matt mixed the new willow bark into the reaction, he knew the aspirin synthesis would be a success. The new bark was lighter than normal and was bone dry. The brown tar never appeared, and when it came time to purify the mixture, Matt knew the yield would be high. He was able to dissolve the product in hot alcohol and form a supersaturated solution that had the consistency of syrup. He let the solution cool and then dropped in a few crystals of the aspirin he’d already made in smaller batches. The new aspirin fell out of the solution as clear white crystals. Matt dried the crystals and filled a quart container with almost five hundred grams of white aspirin powder. It was enough to make a thousand doses of his version of Alka-Seltzer.
Matt started pressing tablets the next day and began selling the fizzing medicine in the store. He already had a regular customer base and it was a natural addition to his stock. He built a display box and set it up in Poor Tom’s Tavern. After a few weeks, Charity was selling more Miller Head and Stomach Tablets than Grace Apothecary. Charity was a natural salesperson, having worked the bar since she was a young girl. Matt made sure she had a supply of free samples. She kept small cups and water behind the bar so she could demonstrate the fizzing tablets and let people feel their effect. Matt loved the way she giggled like a schoolgirl when the tablets hit the water and started fizzing.
Charity’s father came to Matt soon after with an offer to sell the tablets around town. The man had a network of Philadelphia tavern owners and was willing to act as a distributor for a cut of the profits. Matt had never imagined taverns as the main distribution channel for his medicine, but they were rapidly in
creasing his customer base across the city. Matt was already working through one of Franklin’s friends in the Philadelphia government to patent the tablets.
Matt charged a half shilling for a two-tablet packet, which seemed a reasonable price. After manufacturing and distribution expenses to the tavern owners, with an additional payment to Charity’s father, Matt was making over thirty pounds per week on head and stomach tablets alone. In addition, the traffic in his store had grown substantially, and he was now making twenty more pounds per week selling soap and personal care products.
Because of the demand, Matt was spending most of his time synthesizing aspirin in the laboratory while Jacob took care of the shop. Jacob had assumed responsibility for purchasing the sundries and was making substantially more than Matt had expected after only two months. The young man was contacting new suppliers on his own and arrived in the morning with a wagon full of all manner of items. Jacob recorded everything in a ledger that he kept in the front desk. He seemed to have a natural ability to maximize profits. Truthfully, Matt sometimes had no idea what Jacob was doing aside from selling things and putting money in the strongbox.
One Monday, Matt walked out to the shop carrying a box of ingredients for pressing tablets. There was a young boy there busily stocking shelves. “Good morning, Mr. Miller,” the boy said. He stopped what he was doing, walked over, waited for Matt to set his box of supplies down and shook his hand.
“Who’re you?” Matt asked.
“Ward Smith,” he said. “Quite pleased to meet you, sir!”
“What’re you doing here, Ward?”
“Restacking,” Ward replied. “These toothbrushes keep falling.”
“You know offhand where Jacob is?”
“Picking up the perfumed ladies’ soap.”
“When did we start selling that?”
“Mr. Chester imports it from England.”
A customer stepped through the door. “Pardon me, Mr. Miller,” Ward said. He walked up to a man Matt had never seen in the store and handed him a box, then accepted his money and thanked him. “At your service, Mr. Douglas,” Ward said as the man left. Matt watched Ward walk behind the counter, write in the ledger, and put the money in the metal strongbox.
“Ward,” Matt said, “how long have you worked here?”
“Two weeks. Before and after my lessons.”
“How come we’ve never met?”
“You’ve been too busy,” Ward said. He returned to his task. “I gotta get this done before my brother comes back.”
“Oh, okay,” Matt replied. Matt pondered Ward while he walked to his tablet press, set it up, and began pressing tablets. Matt realized he’d been in the lab almost constantly, making batches of aspirin. The rule he’d learned as a graduate student was that when an experiment started working and you didn’t know exactly why, you kept at it because you never knew when it would stop. The synthesis hadn’t stopped working, though, so Matt had stockpiled almost four kilograms of aspirin. The last couple of weeks had been a blur. Matt would arrive immediately after sunrise and would hear Jacob arrive a few hours later. Matt left by three o’clock to exercise the horse and dog, and tried to practice tae kwon do for at least an hour a day, expecting he’d face Levi Payne eventually in Richmond.
It was the first time Matt had used the tablet press in two weeks. He’d pull the lever down to squeeze the tablets together and then pop them from the mold with a pick. He could press two tablets per stroke. “That would be better with two people,” Ward said as he watched from the shelf he was organizing. “I could fill those holes and then wait for you to work the handle.”
“You think you could measure the same every time?”
“That little spoon doesn’t look too hard to use.”
“Show me,” Matt replied. He pushed the extra molds across the bench to the boy along with the bowl of powder and the measuring spoon. They were soon pressing tablets at three times the speed Matt could alone. “Every two tablets is like making a half shilling,” Matt said.
By the time Jacob pulled up in his wagon, they’d filled the bowl next to the press. “Almost two hundred shillings,” Ward said, looking at the bowl.
Jacob came in as they were finishing. He inspected the measuring scoop in Ward’s hand very closely.
“I didn’t know you hired someone,” Matt announced.
“Could we talk in back, Mr. Miller?” Jacob replied. There was urgency in his voice and he gave his brother a dirty look. “The shelves should be restocked before the afternoon customers arrive, and the wagon needs unloading.” He looked at his brother with a frown and motioned to him with his head to get moving, then walked with Matt into the aspirin synthesis room to talk. “I hired Ward to stock the shelves,” Jacob said.
“Fine with me,” Matt replied.
“How often will he be required to work the press?” Jacob asked, irritated.
“He was helping.”
“He should be stocking and selling.”
“Hire another employee, then,” Matt said.
Jacob stood in thoughtful silence. “We’d need a bigger space.” His grin was obvious.
“You already have a building somewhere?” Matt asked.
“Market Street,” Jacob replied. “We could triple our stock and you could use this all for your experiments. Even the ladies’ soap can’t mask the smell from that cantaloupe room.”
“But if I’m here and you’re in another store,” Matt said, “I won’t be able to help out with apothecary questions.”
“Most come to the store to purchase supplies,” Jacob said. “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Miller, but Ward has been here for two weeks and today is the first day you noticed him.”
“I’m busy in back making aspirin,” Matt explained, irritated.
“While we’re selling them out front,” Jacob said. “They’re not our only profit. Have you seen the ladies’ supplies?”
“Selling ladies’ supplies is not what I had in mind for this apothecary.”
“You don’t want to sell ladies’ supplies?”
“If you’re making money,” Matt said, “I’ll stay out of your way.”
“I propose a new storefront, then,” Jacob replied, “and that my salary be all commission.”
Matt took a moment to think, but it was obvious that Jacob had been responsible for growing Grace’s Apothecary into something Matt had never imagined. Foot traffic was what sold headache tablets, and Jacob’s growing selection was bringing more and more people into the store.
“Fine,” Matt said simply.
They spent the next hour working through the details of the growing business and writing their agreement on a piece of paper. They stopped as the evening rush began and Jacob had to return to the front, leaving Matt in back to package headache tablets. Stock was getting low, and he’d have to work all week to replenish the supply.
35
Fighting Lessons
Matt was falling into a vertical pit surrounded by a wall of grey rippling paint. He bounced from side to side, and each time he collided with the wall, a jolt of electricity shot through his body and pushed him back. There was a flash, and he was suspended above an enormous frame of rectangular moving portraits. They vibrated and he became overwhelmed with the magnitude and complexity of the frames that stretched beyond the horizon.
Matt dropped toward the ground and his stomach leapt into his throat. He had experienced these prescient dreams enough to know that falling had nothing to do with dying, but nonetheless, he prepared himself for the pain he knew he’d feel as he broke through the moving pictures. As he breached their surface, it surprised him when his energy didn’t fade and the pain never came. He looked around to find that he was enclosed in a room of moving stories. Unlike his past dreams, the narrations were slow enough for him to see actions and faces. He looked down and saw the boundary approaching. He braced himself again, but still felt nothing as he smashed through the floor. Cubes came, one after another, until he had destro
yed too many to count.
His journey ended with the familiar drumbeats…fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen. His world flashed white and his visions were over. Matt opened his eyes. He could barely make out the ceiling in the dim light of early morning. Countless smashed cubes remained vivid in his mind. How much did I see? He sat up, grabbed the pad of paper that he kept beside his bed and wrote as fast as he could. He’d seen his fight with Levi Payne. It would be in Richmond in some place where horses walked all around. The fight ended with Matt’s dead body lying face down in the dirt.
Matt took a deep breath to calm himself. He’d worked hard to obtain the success he needed to return to Richmond and ask for the hand of Grace Taylor. The only thing keeping him from his future, it seemed, was a man who had vowed to kill him. This was the same man who was responsible for Matt being beaten, robbed, and left for dead. Matt thought of his visions again, but now the specifics were becoming muddled. Multiple futures now stacked on top of each other, some in which he and Grace were very old, and others where Matt didn’t survive his confrontation with Levi.
Matt’s loathing for Levi knew no bounds, but he despised him most for this. He would rather wake up in the morning and think only of Grace, but instead, most mornings he rehearsed confrontation scenarios. Some of these included members of the Taylor or Payne family, and others imagined Matt meeting Levi in the street as before. Sometimes Matt questioned whether he was delusional. Sometimes he suspected he might be going insane.
Crazy or no, both his dreams and his reality told him that there was no way to avoid a fight. Levi had already tried to kill him twice, so there was little room left for negotiation. The last time he faced Levi in the street, Matt barely survived, hampered by his inability to execute kicks that should have been routine for a black belt. He’d practiced tae kwon do four times per week since coming to Philadelphia, but he still had the overwhelming feeling that he wasn’t good enough to beat Levi Payne, a man who had spent his life fighting.