Sgt. Vincent Trent was instantly on alert at the sight of his neighbor, Capt. Robert Edward Ludlow Sr., turning red while his blue eyes flashed. 401 years of American history told the sergeant for himself and his whole family that it was time to be on guard when old Virginian patricians became enraged.
However, the sergeant knew the captain's fury had nothing to do with him. He too had seen the Big Loft Bulletin that morning, and how those in office responsible for so many of the county's known problems were being defiant, doubling down on their right to do whatever they want and having no intent of resigning.
One of them let himself get quoted as saying: “Better what we did than the old fogey ideas that we had to choose from.”
Almost 50 years later, and folks who had ordered basically cotton candy and asbestos to build up the county high school were still throwing shots at Edwin Ludlow and Edwin Ludlow Jr., who had spent a combined seventy years building Lofton County into the 20th century and getting it ready to face the 21st.
Edwin Jr.'s only surviving brother had put out the warning: “I am Edwin Sr.'s hardened soldier son.” But the people who did not take the father and the elder brother seriously hardly thought of “Baby Bob Ludlow,” who was only ten years old in 1972. They did not realize, just like Astor Ludlow had not figured it out in time, that “Baby Bob” was all grown up.
They did not know the wounds that they had torn open in Edwin Sr.'s baby son, both for his father and brother's pain, and for his children who had been to that high school and potentially exposed to asbestos when their own grandfather and great uncle had wanted to do for them and their whole generation what they had done for their own generations: fabulous, beautiful, solid, safe infrastructure for all aspects of civic life was Edwin and Edwin Jr's legacy.
Sgt. Trent watched in incredulity as the unthinkable happened: Capt. Ludlow wept in public, tears of rage escaping his eyes.
And then, the sergeant realized just how much trouble certain people were in when the captain shuddered and suddenly became calm, and began taking that newspaper and dividing it for Edwin Ludlow's great-grandchildren. Five-year-old Robert and nine-year-old George loved their newspaper hats, and six-year-old Grayson, heir apparent to his great-grandfather's engineering and architectural talent, loved that his grandfather saved him all the pictures of big buildings so he could model them out in Legos. Ten-year-old Andrew and eleven-year-old Eleanor liked the human interest stories their grandfather pulled out for them, and Eleanor, eight-year-old Edwina, and seven-year-old Amanda loved to watch their grandfather shredding and making papier-mache starter for them of the rest.
This ritual of feeding the minds of Edwin Ludlow's great-grandchildren on the broken-down insolence of their family's and the public's enemies was significant.
“Uh oh,” Mrs. Melissa Trent said when her husband told her what was going on. “Capt. Ludlow is about to wreck shop. There's a public meeting tonight.”
Sure enough: Capt. Ludlow got right back into his captain's uniform and drove off to Big Loft to be at that meeting. Days-from-18-year-old Vanna Trent started popping and seasoning popcorn before he even got on the road.
The captain would not disappoint. His video had made him well-known in the circles of those concerned with removing the officials still in office responsible for the high school mess and the destruction of Bayard Heights. His mere presence galvanized them. The only surviving son of Edwin Ludlow thus stepped at last into his father's mantle in Lofton County's public life in the way that he could: he was no architect, but he could help clear the way for a just rebuild in the 21st century.
“He's just sitting there on fire and it is burning some and getting others warm,” eleven-year-old Velma Trent said.
“That's power,” nine-year-old Vertran Stepforth her cousin said. “It's like Pop-Pop can go into a room and not say anything, but they know he's got the receipt, their number, and the location where all the bodies are buried, and it's just over. Capt. Ludlow also has the 'Papa don't take no mess' badges enabled!”
“Apparently, you don't need to even be a billionaire,” nine-year-old Milton Trent said.
“Ain't it the truth,” eight-year-old Gracie Trent said, “but you gotta think that maybe you gotta get the 'no mess' badges before you can handle a billion dollars and not mess everything up.”
“Yep,” 21-year-old Melvin Trent said, “because there are enough rich people that helped make all these messups.”
“But the other thing is,” Vanna said, “he's not saying anything, but he's just daring those guys to talk big now. He's exposing them as cowards, because they were talking real big to the newspaper and on social media about what they were and were not going to do, and they are sitting there looking old and sick right now. This is some Lee-and-Jubilee-of-the-mountain level strategy!”
Sure enough, the moment was caught on camera – one of the men in question got a little huffy and looked like he was going to say something dumb, but –.
“Did you see that dirty look Capt. Ludlow gave him?” Vertran said as Vanna and Melvin fell out laughing. “I'm so glad Tom [Vertran's 16-year-old brother] is there for the Free Voice because I'm going to need him to bring us all the details!
“Eleanor and Andrew are always saying how their grandfather had bad foster parents and their attorneys scared to death in court without doing anything to them,” Velma said. “I guess this is what that was like!”
“This is how Rob and Edwina are the way that they are,” Milton said, “but mainly Edwina, because when she gets mad you better go ground yourself and sit down and shut up! But I mean, grown folk!”
“Ain't it the truth,” Gracie said, “because when you are wrong, and you know you are wrong, and then somebody can just look at you and let you know they know and you better not try to lie because it is just gonna get worse for you, you might as well sit down and shut up no matter how old you are. It's like Dad when he is really done with our nonsense.”
“You know, Gracie, I find it amazing that you know,” Sgt. Trent said, “but you test me the most.”
The eight-year-old, being Gracie Jubilee Trent for real, and therefore the miniature of her Jubilee-of-the-mountain grandmother in spirit, never missed a beat.
“You gotta test to understand, Dad. The thing is, though, you actually love us. Capt. Ludlow does not love those folks and they better not test him too much.”