Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

26 August 1018
Bois-de-Bas

Dear Journal,

It has been a delight to have Jack here these past weeks—a delight for Amelie and me and for our girls. For Jack, I fear, it has been a trial.

Jack has always been a man of action and the outdoors. I daresay he would have remained with his regiment indefinitely had he been able; but as it is all his usual pursuits were sadly curtailed when he lost his leg. Since then he has made the transition to man of letters, burrowing deeply into the dry swamps of the War Records Office, and I do believe he could become quite the historian in time. But time and opportunity are precisely the issue of the moment.

The pursuit of history requires records, and the records of interest are in Cumbria, whither he has come with the furies behind him. He could attempt a history of the colony here in Armorica, but those records are in Mont-Havre, and that, we have learned, is similarly closed to him. And I take leave to doubt that the expatriate community in Toulouse would be any more welcoming to him than Yorke society has been.

So here he remains in Bois-de-Bas with nothing to do but play with my daughters and brood.

He reads to them by the hour; he takes them for rides in the goat cart, giving Patches some much needed exercise—I may say, we have not needed to mend her pen even once since Jack arrive. He maintains a cheerful demeanor whenever he is in company.

But I have walked in on him the parlor many times and seen his fallen countenance. It is not good for Jack to be idle.

There are one or two young ladies of the town who have been giving him thoughtful, but I do not believe he has been able to notice them.

I would gladly employ Jack at the wagon-works, were there any activity there suitable to his skills and temperament. I suggested employing him to sell wagons—for he is a cheerful, likable fellow—but he rejected that out of hand.

“To sell your wagons I should have to go to Mont-Havre,” he said; “At present, my reputation there would quite spike your guns. And in all truth you need no salesman; I’ve seen your list of orders.”

He has no need to work, at least here in Armorica; his stake in Tuppenny Wagons will see to that. But Jack needs to be doing; and, I believe, he needs to be writing, for he has a lively and pleasant style. If he could but write and sell what he writes, I do believe he could be both productive and happy.

Perhaps the solution is simply to wait on the fruits of Lord Doncaster’s suit at law against the publisher who so butchered Jack’s book. Aye, and then wait longer for it all to die down and be forgotten.

He has taken to frequenting Sergeant Allen’s inn of an evening; and though he has not yet come home too worse for drink, I fear it is not good for him. He must begin to look forward once again.

If only I knew what he had to look forward to.

Next letter.

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Photo by Thomas Park on Unsplash