Across the room Andrew watched in relief. Like Nathan, he had been subjected to the numerous “talks” on family traditions, duty to one’s nation, etc, etc, etc. He fancied, as he sat there listening and watching, that he knew it all by heart and imagined Nathan did, too. Yet there was a difference between his view of that sword that did much to define the difference between the brothers. Whereas the stories behind the sword’s history fascinated Nathan and, in no small way, served to drive him toward his chosen career, Andrew had always viewed the sword and the occasional lecture that went with it as little more than part of being a member of this particular family. “Some families,” he once told Jan in confidence, “have legendary characters held up to them to be revered. Others brag about notable figures. The Dixons, well, we have Dad’s rusty old sword, a worthless heirloom that couldn’t even open a can of tuna.”

While Jan had laughed at the remark, she had understood its meaning. Though he loved his father, Andrew wanted nothing to do with the Army. Whenever the subject came up he was fond of saying that he had devoted enough of his life following the flag, just as Jan had since her marriage to Scott. Andrew had no intention of continuing the practice. So it was with great sense of relief that his older brother, Nathan, was being anointed by their father, as a true believer worthy enough to receive the McPherson sword. Equally pleasing to Andrew was that his brother accepted both the weapon and the role as the defender of the faith and the keeper of the family’s traditions.

Only after great reflection did Nathan take the sword from his father’s hand. When it had passed from father to son, the son held it at arm’s length, looking at it as if he were viewing it for the first time. In truth he was seeing this symbol with new eyes as he felt the power and the weight of the lineage that this sword carried as he never had before. When Nathan finally looked up at Scott, the son smiled. “I really don’t know what to say,” he stammered.

Scott said nothing as he looked into his son’s eyes and prayed, deep in his soul, that the day would not come when this child would ever have to pay the ultimate price that his choice of vocation might demand. He prayed that some day, years from now when he was gone, Nathan would have the opportunity to pass the sword on to a son of his own.

POCATELLO, IDAHO • JULY 7

While the Dixon clan was reflecting upon their duties, others were preparing to fulfill theirs.