From across the table, Scott took note of the distant look in Jan’s eyes. Though it was both fleeting and totally missed by his sons, Scott could tell she was up to something. That it involved her work was certain. Once presented with an opportunity, Jan was transformed into a zealot of the worst kind. She would not be able to let go of the issue at hand until she had dealt with it in the thorough, professional manner for which she was noted. Until that time Scott knew it was best just to leave her alone.

Instead, he turned his attention back to his meal. He never did much like the military wives who pined at home while their husbands were away or made busywork for themselves by intruding into the lives of other military families or their community. Whatever this new crusade of hers was, Scott knew it would be good for her.

Besides, Scott saw a chance to benefit from Jan’s new crusade. With a commander’s conference coming up in a few months he needed to decide on a topic that was both relevant and thought provoking. The issue of domestic violence, so long a concern for traditional law enforcement agencies, had been almost totally ignored by the Army. It was time, Scott thought as he toyed with the pile of pasta shells on his plate, to do what he could to change that. For Scott, like Jan, relished the challenge of taking on issues that conventional wisdom endeavored to avoid.

When dinner was finished, Scott rose from the table. Without a word, he gave Jan a nod that Nathan took to be a prearranged signal. Jan smiled. Turning to Nathan and Andrew, he invited his two sons to join him in the den. Both boys looked at each other. When their father was out of earshot Andrew leaned over and whispered to his brother, “Looks like another Dad lecture.” Knowing that he would be the subject of whatever topic his father was about to launch into, Nathan said nothing as he stood to follow Scott.

Once the three Dixon men were seated in the den, Scott looked down at his oldest son and smiled. “Nathan,” he stated in a friendly, conversational tone, “you can relax. There’ll be no Dad lectures tonight.” Both boys let out a short, nervous laugh. “Nor will I burden you with any more pearls of wisdom. God knows you’ll soon have more than enough of those heaped upon you at wonderful Fort Benning.” This time, only Nathan chuckled.

Then Scott’s expression changed. Turning, he walked over to the mantel of the room’s brick fireplace. Reaching up, he grasped the ancient Scottish broadsword that had been in the Dixon family for generations. Bringing the sword up almost against his chest, Scott slowly came back around, faced his sons, and took two steps until he was in front of Nathan. In a solemn tone, Scott recounted the history of that weapon, and its significance to them. “It’s hard to say with certainty,” Scott started slowly as he looked at the sword he held, “how long this sword has been in our family. When Ian McPherson, the first of our line to come to this country in the late 1740s, wrote of this sword, he referred to it as ancient. His grandfather, who had used it in the Scottish rebellions of 1715 and 1719, gave it to Ian at age fourteen when he left home to fight for the Stewarts in 1745. He used it to good effect, he claimed, at Culloden. Ian brought the sword to America where he carried it during both the French and Indian War and the Revolution. Upon his passing the sword was claimed by his oldest son, who carried it through the balance of the Revolution and wore it, if his account is to be believed, at Yorktown in 1781.”