She glanced up at Jack and caught him smiling at her from his writing desk. “What are you smiling about?”
“I am happy to see you making yourself at home. I like that you don’t let silly pretenses interfere with your comfort.”
“Well, I imagine crafting an epic poem takes a lot of time, so I ought to be here a while.”
“It does,” Jack said. “It’s why I chose to work in the parlor today. I thought it would be more comfortable for you.”
“How very kind of you. I’m ashamed to admit comfort is one of my weaknesses, so I am thankful to have it.”
“Most people prefer comfort to hardship.”
Ottilie lowered her book. “I realize that, but some people—martyrs and soldiers—conduct themselves like heroes, despite horrible discomfort. I doubt I would shine under those circumstances.”
“You’d be surprised at the strength of the human spirit. I’ve known men and women who have not only survived but thrived after enduring unspeakable horrors.”
“That’s clear from your book. It’s what makes the story so remarkable. The characters’ emotions and experiences feel genuine, almost as if you’d lived them yourself.”
He shifted in his seat. “It’s not a good idea to try and read the writer into his work of fiction. My book isn’t an autobiography.”
“I know, but all writers draw on their own experiences, don’t they?”
He picked up his quill. “Maybe.”
He seemed reluctant to engage, but Ottilie’s curiosity was aroused, so she persisted. “For example, you write about war in your novel.”
“What of it?” he said without looking up from his desk.
“Were you involved in any battles during the conflict?”
“The conflict?” He glanced up.
“The American Civil War,” she clarified. “You were in America during the war, correct?”
“I was.” He returned to his papers.
“Did you fight?”
“For a time, but I wasn’t in any particular regiment.” Again, he spoke without looking up, which only aroused Ottilie’s curiosity more.
“What do you mean? You didn’t join the military?’
“Not directly.”
“How does one participate in combat indirectly?’
Jack put down his quill and rubbed the back of his neck. “War is complicated, Miss Hamilton, and battle can take many forms. The American Civil War was a particularly complicated and bloody affair.”
“I thought it was about ending slavery in America.”
“That was part but not the whole of it.” He folded his arms on his desk and looked at her in apparent defeat.
Ottilie pressed a finger to her lip, contemplating his words. “Well, I must confess my ignorance. I’m curious to learn more.”
“There are books on the subject. I’m sure the library has a few.”
“I am certain it does, but I want to hear a firsthand account, not what a history book tells me.”
Jack laughed. “Perhaps I will reward your persistence one day, Miss Hamilton. But for now, I must occupy my thoughts with Ancient Greece.”
