My Fatal Flaw

By Daniel J. L'Esperance

It is 1862. The raging Civil War is ripping America apart when a daughter of the South, thirteen-year-old Irene Harper, is torn away from everyone she loves and trusts. Left helpless, terrified, and alone, she is forced into a devastating battle between the North and South crashing in all around her. Her chance of survival is left even more hopeless after a life-threatening accident leaves her damaged and abandoned. How will she ever tell the difference between good and evil in her new world filled with vicious hunters and the terrified hunted? Irene attempts to adapt to her new crushing reality where she tries to survive as her sworn enemy's net tightens and draws ever nearer. Time freezes still at the very devastating moment when she realizes she is unable to save the one person she loves most, all because of her fatal flaw.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel J. L'Esperance
• Release date: Jan 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463775158

Book preview

My Fatal Flaw

Written and Illustrated by

Daniel J. L’Esperance

Disclaimer

This is a work of historical fiction. Although its form is that of an autobiography, it is not one. Space and time have been rearranged to suit the convenience of the book, and with the exception of the historical figures, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

MY FATAL FLAW. Copyright©2019 by Daniel James L’Esperance. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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MY FATAL FLAW can be purchased for personal or educational purposes, business, or promotional use from amazon.com and Kindle. Contact the author directly at: [e-mail]..

Outside front and back covers designed by Karri Klawiter

Author photograph by Raymond Holt

Dedication

    This book is dedicated in memory of the original brave Irene, my mother, Irene Joyce Davies L’Esperance. May I never forget her face.

My Fatal Flaw

Written and Illustrated by

Daniel J. L’Esperance

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Table of Contents

STRANGER IN THE MIRROR

SWEET JENNY

TWINS

WELCOME TO THE DRUMMER BOY’S TRAVELING SHOW

MRS. BRIDGES

A FACE IN THE DARKNESS

IN PURSUIT OF FEAR

IN THE DYING FIRE

HIDE! SAMMY! HIDE!

IN THE BACK

THE WRETCHED STINK OF ONIONS

HOW I MET IRENE

ASHES TO ASHES

SMOKE AND FLAMES

BLOOD IN THE SNOW

THE FACE OF A STRANGER

IF LOOKS COULD KILL

THE ENEMY WITHOUT A FACE

ALONE IN A CROWD

A SICK JOKE

EMPTY FACES WITH EMPTY EYES

THE WOMAN DOCTOR

THE ARMY AWAKENS

NO SECRETS

SPIES WITHOUT FACES

UNCLE MORDER’S LUCKY DAY

UNSTOPPABLE

DEADLY DAYDREAMS

LIKE A SACK OF POTATOES

WHAT WE DO WITH SPIES

LIVING WITH THE DEAD

WAKE UP!

LEFT ALONE TO REMEMBER

HIS NAME IS JACOB

A CHANGE IS GONNA COME

DEAR SISTER

HORSEHAIR BLANKETS ON FIRE

HANDSOME

THEY ALL HAVE MOTHERS

STEALING MEMORIES FROM THE DEAD

A GHOST IN THE ROOM

FIGHTING BACK

OUR LITTLE SECRET

THE FEEL OF MONEY

IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT

SINGING OVER THE WAVES

HELP ME!

A MATTER OF LIFE OR DEATH

GOOD TRAINING

IN THE WRONG PLACE

TRUST ME

LAST MORNING ON EARTH

YOU DISAPPOINTMENT ME

INTO THE RIVER

MELTING AWAY

VOICES IN THE WATER

FACE BLIND

THE MAN WITH THE GRAY BEARD

CONFESSIONS AND A SILVER KEY

FIRMLY IN THE PAST

ONE LAST GIFT

EPILOGUE

BIOGRAPHIES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chapter 1

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STRANGER IN THE MIRROR

Friday, December 12, 1862

-Irene-

This had to be some sort of cruel joke. Staring in the mirror before me was a face to be sure, but it was not my face. It was the face of a stranger. All I wanted to do was to turn away from this ugly girl and forget I’d ever seen her face. She was wearing a worn black dress like mine with a torn sleeve. What was worse, she had the silver key my father had given me around her neck. Who was this miserable girl with the twisted face looking through those swollen red eyes?

In the mirror, I glanced up to see a bandage made of pieces of torn white sheets wrapped and tied off to the side of her head. Recent dark red blood had seeped and was beginning to harden through the center of the white gauze. As I reached up, she also touched the wound with her dirty hand.

At that moment, I thought I could actually feel the searing pain pulsing from her wound. I tilted my head to the left. The girl in the mirror did the same. I tipped my head down. She must have been making fun of me because she did the same. My throat swelled as her tears began to fall down my face. I was shocked how I could taste each of her tears.

I then realized my terrible truth—this stranger in the mirror had to be me.

Chapter 2

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SWEET JENNY

Forty-Three Years Later

Sunday, May 7, 1905

- Jenny-

I thought I could hear Mama crying behind her bedroom door. She was probably reading her journal again. I’ve known about her journal since last winter. When I asked her about it, her smiling face instantly turned to stone. Since then, I guess she had hidden it somewhere in our house. When I once had the courage to ask my father about it, all he would tell me was that it was a book of letters Mama had once written during the Civil War when she was a teenager—when she was my age. I have noticed Mama was pulling her journal out more often when she was alone. She must have been reliving her past again. Mama never talked about her past.

Last month, Mama had carelessly left her old journal open on her bed. I couldn’t help myself. I opened it up somewhere in the middle. All I could read before Mama came back to her bedroom was something to do with a man named Sergeant Morder, some woman called Clara Barton, the War Between the States, and—I’m not sure, something about a murder.

I hated it when Mama would cry. She was crying harder than usual these days. It scared me. Her health wasn’t perfect. I am always afraid that she may be leaving Daddy and me. Then came the silence from behind the door, then her footsteps toward her bedroom. I ran out through the other door leading out into the parlor.

Once in the parlor, I picked up my little guitar, and started strumming Dixie. Before I had time to finish the first verse, Mama stood in front of me, wiping her damp eyes with a lace handkerchief.

I stopped playing and looked up, trying hard not to notice that she had been crying. She was using my handkerchief. I must have dropped it on the floor of her bedroom.

Good morning, Sunshine. Is this yours? she asked, handing me my hankie. It’s time.

It’s time for what? I asked innocently.

It’s time you know about everything hidden in my journal you were just reading. I’ll pack a little picnic for us. Go find our blanket.

Are you sure, Mama?

She just smiled. Give me a few minutes. I will go put my old blue dress on. We’re going out to the garden. I need to hear the birds sing today. Their songs will give me courage.

Today, Mama didn’t have to ask me twice. I tried not to smile as I quickly put down my guitar. I headed quickly out to the back pantry where we kept our picnic supplies.

Today had finally arrived.

We soon sat alone in our flower garden with Mama’s old quilt over our laps. There was a chill in the late spring air. Mama had carried out a pot of hot chamomile tea, and two chipped tea cups. I brought out a big plate of fresh ginger snap cookies, and even a little lemon cake Mama had originally made for dinner that night. Without a word, Mama set a ratty red bag next to the tea set.

Before she began to speak, I noticed a robin’s nest on branch which was hanging dangerously close to the noisy stream running through our back yard. The mother bird was dangling a fresh worm above one of her hidden chirping nestlings. I couldn’t help but wonder how a mother could choose which baby to feed and which would have to go hungry and perhaps die of starvation. These were dark thoughts on such a beautiful morning.

Mama sat silently, collecting her thoughts. I will always remember her beautiful hair. It had never turned smoky grey. Last year, almost overnight, her hair transformed from a fiery red, to blond, to brilliant silver—like our good spoons and knives all polished up. Her friends envied how her silver hair would always glow in the sunshine.

Is there something wrong? I finally asked.

Mama forced a smile, not knowing quite where to start. She poured both us some tea. Like I had said, I have a story to tell. It’s a story I hope you are finally old enough to hear.

This story, is it true? I asked.

I’m afraid so. She offered me a slice of lemon cake. How would you like to go on an adventure with me while Daddy is working in New York today?

She looked directly into my eyes. It will take awhile I’m afraid. The Civil War had been going on for two years already. Nobody up north thought the South would win so many battles. Under General Robert E. Lee’s leadership, the South was winning battle after battle.

Jenny Sue, Mama said, changing her story. you are as tall as a willow and beautiful like a warm and sunny spring morning. I would always smile hearing that. The truth was, I wasn’t what you’d call pretty. In fact, I never thought of myself as anything special at all until that day in the garden. My mother was going to take me on an adventure, just the two of us.

Where are we going, Mama? I eyed the red bag, wondering what was in it.

Well, Mama paused. "I am going to take you back to an important moment in my life. It was 1862. It would be my thirteenth birthday.

Like me, I said happily.

Exactly. Now Jenny Sue, you must promise me one thing…

Yes?

This story… this story is just between you and me for now.

I felt as if we were about to step onto a dangerous train heading straight back into Mama’s hidden past.

You’ve told Daddy what happened to you. Right?

Mama looked over her tea cup and smiled. Well, some of it, honey. He knows most of it in fact. Your daddy was even there for part of it. Now sit back and relax because today I am going to tell you everything—well—everything I want to remember. I feel you need to understand how my past made me the woman I am today. One thing, Jenny, I hope you won’t judge me too harshly for what you are about to hear—what I had to do… so long ago.

I wondered what kind of trouble my sainted mother could possibly have gotten into. I wasn’t so sure I was ready to hear what Mama had to say.

She finally touched the red bag and pulled out an old photograph of a girl my age looking blankly into the camera. The old photograph was trimmed in a gold and black metal frame. She was standing next to a palm tree, looking very seriously back at me.

Is that you, Mama? I asked.

Yes, that’s me, my mother confessed.

Why aren’t you smiling, Mama? I laughed, looking up at her.

Honestly speaking, I had absolutely nothing to be happy about, Honey. The war was going on. Brave soldiers, both from the North and the South were dying painful deaths all around me. I had lost everything—everything but that silver key I’m wearing in the photograph there.

Jenny looked closely at the bright object hanging around the Mama’s neck in the picture. There it was, hanging on a silver chain, Mama’s silver key, with the top of it shaped like a three-leafed clover.

Look at the picture! I gasped. Is that this key?

Mama placed her left hand over her heart and nodded.

I already know you came from a poor family in Virginia, I said. And the Civil War between the states was raging all around you when you were young. You and Daddy were both alive during the Civil War. I already know all that, Mama. You must be plenty old!

She nodded and grinned.

I always tried to make Mama laugh just to see her smile. But that day, I saw past her smile and found actual tears floating around her silvery blue eyes and falling onto her apron. Did I make her cry? I felt embarrassed and scared to death, but I didn’t dare show it.

Mama, you don’t really have to tell me your secrets, I told her. I didn’t mean to make you sad.

Hush, Jenny. I’m all right. Just sip your hot tea and listen to my story. Let me begin by telling you about my old friend, Handsome.

"Handsome?" I asked, truly surprised.

Yes, ‘Handsome.’ Just listen and don’t interrupt. You and your daddy don’t know this, but last year, I heard him speak about his part in the Battle of Fredericksburg at our church.

I remember. You didn’t take Daddy and me with you. I objected.

No, I didn’t. Are you going let me tell my story?

Yes, Ma’am.

Robert Henry—that is his real name—was able to fill in so much I didn’t know about what was happening around me before and after I my… accident. I think you are now old enough for me to tell you some truth you never knew about your sweet, and sometimes, not-so-innocent mother. Can you take it?

"Please, I said, thinking back about what I had overhead when I had spied on my father and grandpa as they shared stories about the Civil War. Sometimes, I’m not so innocent either."

You don’t even know, Mama whispered. She looked past the garden at something I couldn’t see. She wiped her eyes and began her story.

Chapter 3

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TWINS

Saturday, October 11, 1862

-Irene-

It started on a warm but cloudy Saturday afternoon at the Union Church in Falmouth, Virginia, about two months before my thirteenth birthday. Our church hosted a dance for the men in our village who were about to join General Lee’s army. Most of the men from our village had signed up to battle the Yankees. We were being told the Americans up north wanted to end our way of life. That was what we were told anyway.

Since all of the men of fighting age were soon leaving, most all of the village turned out for the dance. The ladies and families of our church had baked cakes, served tea, and cleared the front yard of the church for the party. I sat alone under a fiery red maple tree watching the celebration.

My daddy was leaving us.

My little brother, Sammy, Mama, and I loved and needed Daddy. We wanted him to stay. But here he was, leaving us to fight Northerners, other Americans, who were at that moment, marching ever closer to Fredericksburg with guns and cannons.

I was angry at the thought he would actually leave us to face the Yankees alone. He had chosen General Lee over his own family. I couldn’t forgive him that day.

Everyone else at the church picnic was laughing, smiling, and slapping each other on their backs. Sammy, and all his silly four-year-old friends, chased each other and Uncle James around the church. Uncle James, Daddy’s big brother, acted more like one of the little kids than the adult he was. All of the children loved him for it, and they might never see him again.

Even old Mr. Brown, the schoolmaster who wore a green feather in his cap, stood under the yellow chestnut tree, talking with my father. All of the mamas and daddies seemed so happy. You’d have thought it was the 4th of July.

Was I the only one worried that our daddies might not ever come home alive? Everyone at the dance laughed and as if nothing was wrong. The older people at the dance were actually laughing at the idea of fighting, the thought of war. At some point, Mr. Brown started playing his fiddle. I closed my eyes to listen to the music. That’s when—out of nowhere—Daddy tapped me on top of my head.

Reenie, he whispered softly. Why are you sitting here all by yourself?

I was glad he noticed. You’re leaving us alone.

Don’t be selfish, he said quietly so no one else could hear. Our very lives are at risk, and you’re worrying about yourself. He knelt in front of me and held my chin in his hand. He locked his eyes onto mine.

"I’m worried about you, Daddy, I said. I’m worried about Mama and Sammy." I looked down at my feet to break his stare.

He wiped the tears from my face with his handkerchief. I’m sorry I called you selfish, Reenie. He put his big hand on my shoulder and smiled. May I have this dance?

I had never danced with anyone in my life before, much less my own father. Still, I stood up and said, You’ll have to show me how.

We held out our left hands and smiled into each other’s eyes. Twins! We said in unison.

Nobody else in the family—not Sammy, not Uncle James, not even Mama—was left-handed like we were. It was our oddity and ours alone. It’s what made us the same. We laughed so loudly that Mama stopped playing with Sammy and looked up to see what was going on.

As the music played, Daddy took my hands in his. At first, we moved in jerky steps. Then, like magic, we began to move in perfect circles as the melody of Mr. Brown’s fiddle led us round and round. I didn’t want this dance to ever end.

As we moved to the melody, I studied the lines on his face, the blue of his eyes, his funny smile. I never wanted to forget his handsome face, not ever, just in case he never came home again.

You’re all grown up, Reenie. Daddy smiled, pretending he didn’t see my tears. At least he didn’t see me as a little girl anymore.

I know, was all I could choke out.

As Daddy and I were dancing that day, I saw Mama watching us. I think she was sad too. She was twisting her handkerchief in her hands. She never spoke about it. Not ever. Maybe she forgot all about that dance. I never would.

Before I went to bed that night, while Daddy and Mama were alone outside talking, I secretly wrote a poem for him. I folded it three times and shoved it deep in his pack so he wouldn’t find it until he was long gone.

Why Can’t You Cry?

Daddy, I woke up from a terrible dream. Please stay.

Hold me close. Please, don’t leave me today.

I'm afraid you will forget me when you go away.

So Daddy if you love us, show us that you will miss us.

Daddy, don’t say goodbye.

Mama says you are a brave brave man.

So why can’t you cry?

Tell me I’m selfish. Tell me I just don’t care.

You’ve got to go. It’s just not fair.

I’m sorry I can’t hide my tears. Oh Daddy, I need you here.

Will you write to us every night, before you go sleep?

I will always pray for you. Our thoughts will keep you safe.

-Your Rennie

The next mornin’, the whole family stood in the middle of the road in front of our house. Mama and I cried out eyes out while Sammy played in the dirt. He couldn’t understand that Daddy was leaving us. I remember how Daddy wouldn’t cry—or he couldn’t. He was so brave.

After kissing us all goodbye, Daddy and Uncle James walked away. They never looked back. I memorized that moment as a flash in time, wondering if it would be the last time my family would be together in one place at one time ever again.

They were talking up a storm like kids, as if they were goin’ fishin’. Instead of fishing poles on their shoulders, they held their best huntin’ rifles. They were all dressed up in their best trousers, shirts, and Sunday coats. I prayed Daddy wouldn’t forget my face.

Mama and I just stood there holding each other.

The last thing I heard was my Uncle James laughing. Hey, Jeremy, ready to shoot some Yanks? They laughed and slapped each other’s backs. In a moment, they walked around the bend and out of our lives.

Chapter 4

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WELCOME TO THE DRUMMER BOY’S TRAVELING SHOW

June 1904

-Irene-

Like I told you, Jenny, last year I walked down to our church to see an old friend of mine.

‘Handsome’ you called him.

"Ah, yes, Handsome. I never told him but I did think he was kinda cute. His real name is Robert Henry. All his life, he has been traveling up and down the coast gathering audiences in great numbers to recount his eye witness account of the Civil War. Already,