Like constellations of fading, falling stars, nations collided, governments defaulted, civility exploded, and the magma of mankind ledged above a tear-salted sea. And yet in hundreds of boroughs, towns, neighborhoods and homes across America, fidelity to God, family, and country survived. No. More than survived. It thrived. To the parade of flag wavers, fidelity was not measured by political rhetoric, legislation, conscription, or empty promises but by a reverent, heartfelt pledge of allegiance. Truly kept, it signified deep-seated commitment—forever a reminder at home and abroad that liberty is won and preserved through sacrifice and service. Patriots stood tall along a crowded Main Street and the band played on.
The O’Dwyers of rural Abilene typified many who clapped and sang as the American Legion Band marched by, playing “You’re a Grand Old Flag.” Caleb couldn’t carry a tune, not even when Gemma accompanied him on the old Ackerman and Lowe upright; but when grounded on the parade route, he crowed when the banner of freedom burst around the corner and flooded his eyes. Then he choked up. Every time. Caleb ‘s silent sermons spoke volumes to each of his children—line upon line, page after page—all bound together by example, encouragement, and correction. Indelible growth toward maturity refused to be calculated by a penciled mark on the back of a closet door.
When chores were done, the family regularly gathered around the oval, oaken table. Caleb sat at the helm and Gemma—pragmatic, unpretentious, and assuredly not bashful—provided the ballast. But this is Jinny’s story, the story of good times that ebbed, flowed, or splashed back and forth off the wallpaper of a safe harbor—the home. Now together, but soon, too soon separated, all were expected to toe the line, and none was immune to heartache, conflict, and tragedy.