Destiny

FORTY-EIGHT

Alicia Quincy pulled into the driveway of an English Tudor-style home in Alexandra, Virginia. An indication of her father’s illness was in the yard. Leaves. The front yard was covered in autumn leaves. Her father always raked and bagged the leaves before they had time to accumulate. She parked and walked through ankle-deep foliage from the maple and oak trees. The trees surrounded the home, the place where she spent her childhood. She thought about Halloween approaching, how delighted her parents were to hand out candy. Now only Mom could do it. Alicia felt it was odd how things like that come to mind when a parent has terminal cancer.

She used her key to unlock the front door and let herself inside. The home smelled different. There was the odor of disinfectant, bleach and medicine. She entered the family room where her dad was sleeping in a large recliner. She looked at his ashen face, heard his raspy breathing. He’d lost so much weight, grey hair thinning, dark circles under eyes that were always so bright, so proud and protective of her. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

“Alicia, I didn’t know you were coming. I would have had something prepared for you to eat.” Her mother, Helen, came in from the kitchen and gave her a hug. Somehow, to Alicia, her mother looked smaller — almost as if she’d aged in the ten days since Alicia had last seen her. Helen’s hazel eyes were red and puffy, shoulders more rounded, the creases deeper in her face.

Alicia said, “That’s why I didn’t call, I didn’t want you to go to the trouble of fixing something. Besides, I already ate breakfast. How’s Dad doing?”

Helen looked down at her sleeping husband. “He’s a fighter, but the fight is draining him. I can see it in his spirit. Jane from hospice just left. They’ve been so good. Your father’s taking painkillers. He’s been sleeping for a couple of hours.”

“How are you, Mom?”

“I’m okay I suppose. I’m trying to keep on keeping on, and it isn’t easy when your father is so sick. We’ve been married almost forty years now.” She blinked back the tears. “With what’s happened to Brandi, and with your father’s cancer…I guess a person can reach her breaking point. I tried to be strong for your sister, but Dianne and I broke down yesterday, hugged and cried for an hour. Have you heard any news about Brandi and Adam?”

“I hear they’re being treated well. We’re working hard to get them out. They’ll be home soon, Mom.”

Her mother nodded and tried to smile. “Let me put on some tea.”

Alicia nodded. “That’d be good, thanks.”

Helen left the room. Alicia pulled a chair up next to her father’s recliner and adjusted the blanket across his chest. His eyelids fluttered and opened. Sam Quincy smiled when he saw his daughter. “Alicia, are you really here?”

“Yes, I’m here Dad. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had some better days…and now that you’re here, today will make it one of those better days.”

Alicia smiled and held her father’s hand. “Dad, we’ll get Brandi out of Iran soon, okay? I want you to know that.”

“I believe you will, I do.” He managed to smile.

“I’ve been doing some research at work, and the subject is something you know well.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?” He coughed.

“World War II, specifically General Patton.”

Her father’s eyes opened wider, a sense of vigor now blooming in his face. “What about Patton?”

“I remember that poem you read to me and Dianne when we were kids, the one that Patton wrote.”

“You mean, Through a Glass, Darkly?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“What about it?”

“Patton makes reference to a spear, maybe the same one that pierced the side of Jesus. Patton supposedly recovered some religious artifacts from Hitler, including what’s been referred to as the Spear of Destiny. I wonder what ever happened to it.”

“Well, General Patton was in a minor car accident right before he was scheduled to fly home from Germany. He died in an Army hospital a week or so later in Mannheim. There are those who think he kept that spear for a good long time. But who really knows.”

“Dad, do you think Patton died from injuries sustained in the accident, or did someone kill him?”

Her father raised his eyebrows. “That’s a good question. There are numerous conflicting reports. What we know is he was the only one hurt in the accident. No one else had a scratch. An autopsy wasn’t done on the body. It’s no secret that Patton and Eisenhower came to despise each other. When Patton accused Eisenhower of caring more about a career in politics than conducting his military job, Ike relieved Patton of his duties and ordered him to come back to the States. The speculation part of all this is who’d want George Patton dead? Ike may have thought Patton was capable of dragging the nation into a war with Russia down the road. Stalin hated his guts, and the feeling was mutual. The Germans were too whipped to retaliate against Patton.”

“Did you know Patton removed the original set of the Nuremberg Laws out of Germany right before the tribunals were to begin?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t known by many until that library in California, where the papers were stored in a vault for fifty-five years, decided to give ‘em to the National Archives in Washington. The document was just four pages, but long enough to set the ground work to create Nazi, Germany, and they were signed by Hitler.”

“Do you know anything about the others in the car with Patton at the time of the accident, or the men in the truck that hit Patton’s car?”

Sam grinned. “My daughter suddenly sounds like an attorney. I remember reading that the fella who actually hit Patton’s car — what the hell was his name?”

“I can find it.”

“Okay, anyway, I read that he was flown out of there pretty damn quickly. On whose orders, I don’t know. I’m trying to recall something a war veteran told me long ago. These drugs have my mind scattered…but it was something about Stalin and Patton. I just can’t remember.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Dad. Was there anyone else in the truck with the driver?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, and I do remember his name. James Tower. He was a British officer, one of the Allies who stayed around to help with the clean-up.”

“Dad, do you believe Patton wrote that poem, Through a Glass, Darkly, because he’d found and kept the spear?”

Sam inhaled and coughed, causing a touch of pink flowering in his cheeks for a second. “Who the hell knows? Ike ordered Patton to return it and all the other religious artifacts the Germans had stolen from the Hofburg Palace and Museum in Vienna. The rumor was that Patton hung on to this spear, and some say he kept it with him at all times…maybe up to his death. Alicia, why this sudden interest?”

She smiled and squeezed his hand again.

Sam said, “I know, you can’t tell me. It’s all part of your job, right?”

“Right.”

Sam coughed.

“Can I get you some water?”

“No, I only use that stuff to bathe in. I could handle a shot of scotch, though.”

“I’ll ask Mom to make sure it won’t be an adverse mix with your medication.”

Sam looked toward the pictures of his family on the wall and said, “A mixture like that might kill me.”

Alicia smiled at his joke and touched his shoulder. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

She stood and kissed her father on the forehead.

“I just remembered something else about the British officer, James Tower.”

“What’s that, Dad?”

“I read that he spoke fluent German, Russian and Italian.”