25 June 2025, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2779: admiration
“Well, yes, I play chess too, and Robert and I will usually take days to get a game done because of all the stuff we've had going on – but I have time now to get back to the game too, so of course, Glendella.”
Mrs. Thalia Ludlow set up the beautiful chess set – a velvet board with crystal pieces – that Capt. R.E. Ludlow had bought her for her 50th birthday, and started teaching latest adoptee ten-year-old Glendella Ludlow the game.
“See, that's some Good Grandma stuff right there,” Glendella said later about it to eleven-year-old Velma Trent next door. “Bad Grandma never took time to show me anything except to make sure I did good on my homework so I wouldn't embarrass the family – but even then, the tutors did the work.”
“Well, remember, everyone can't even afford tutors,” Velma said. “That's something. You're really well educated.”
“I definitely like home school here a lot better – I finally feel like my new family cares about me learning – this side of the Ludlow family is way better, and I'm glad I'm here,” Glendella said.
“Well, God wasn't going to have you walking down a country road before dawn on some foolishness,” Velma said. “God does love to send people the hard way – you just read the Bible and you see that – but He makes sure the people He loves get where they are supposed to go.
“My family has a setup a bit like yours, Glendella – the Jubilees-of-the-mountain are all cool, but the Trents were moonshiners back in the day, and a lot of them went to drug dealing later, so it really does matter which set of Trents you come from.”
“Oh, yeah, I know about Trent moonshiners,” Glendella said. “I'm so glad I have Upgrade Papa, because my Gramps – Grumps – is still mad that back in 1932 when he wasn't even born yet, H.V. Trent was selling more moonshine in Lofton County than the Ludlow Winery was selling wine. Grumps said some not-nice-things about your family, and that people like y'all needed to be shut down – but the local KKK was too low-class to associate with, and even they were buying moonshine anyhow and wouldn't do it!”
“Your great-grandfather was overcharging for the Great Depression and my great-grand uncle outwitted him, just like your Upgrade Papa outwitted your actual grandfather with soda,” Velma said, “but the thing is, most of the Trents are just as bad as your old branch of Ludlows. My grandfather, V.T. Trent, came out from among the foolishness, and of his sons, my dad is the only one who stayed out. When you are Black, there's no safety net. I don't have a Trent uncle or great-uncle left.”
“There's no safety net for White folks like me either – it just takes longer, unless you do dumb stuff like threaten Upgrade Papa, and then you find out quick that there's no net,” Glendella said. “I've got uncles and great-uncles, but with the exception of Great Uncle Vanderbilt, they're not worth the paper their names are printed on because they are overcharging for wine again, and the winery ain't gonna make it. Uncle Vanderbilt is doing all he can as CEO, but he can't get the board to agree to lower the prices – that's been going on for months.”
“Greed – that's why my relatives switched over to drugs,” Velma said, “but, see, when you don't know what you don't know about making a quality illegal product that has high quality standards and nobody is going to rat you out, compared with folks who sell you their bad batches because you are mountain hicks to them who don't know any better, including how not to die getting high on your own supply.”
“That's the same thing my old family is doing, just in a high-class way,” Glendella said, “sitting up drinking the wine, thinking they're better than everyone else and ought to have everybody's admiration, and failing every way – it's all the same thing.”
“It's a good thing God has us well out of all that mess,” Velma said.
“Yep,” Glendella said. “God is good, and does not have us on the road to some foolishness, like you said.”
“But you do need to remember that there will be some foolishness by the side of the road, sometimes,” Velma said as her ears picked up what was going on behind her.
“Hey, George!” nine-year-old Milton Trent shouted from his porch, “you know what we need to go with this speed chess thing? If we get water guns, we can run around and shoot the pieces off the board, and if we get white paint and black paint, we can tag the pieces with the color that got 'em! I got the key to the garage so I can –.”
“So you can absolutely get mugged by Dad,” Velma said as Sgt. Vincent Trent overtook his younger son and yanked him out of midair as he stepped off the porch.
“George, don't come out here!” Glendella yelled across the yard. “Stay on the straight and narrow road – don't come out here!”