7 November 2025, @mariannewest's Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2914: fence of offence

“So, I'm just going to ask because I'm just going to ask – if I can have an idea without getting permission, why can't I work it out without getting permission?”

Nine-year-old Milton Trent was having a moment, and his billionaire grandfather fell out laughing.

“That's definitely my grandson!” Mr. Thomas Stepforth said.

Mrs. Melissa Trent smiled.

“At least you asked, Milton,” she said, “because I definitely didn't when I was your age!”

“It's actually a really good question,” Sgt. Vincent Trent said. “Anybody else around here interested?”

“Well, yeah, because I'm kinda with Mom on this, as y'all already know,” eight-year-old Gracie Trent said.

“I'm just curious, although I already think I know the answer – I bet Eleanor and Andrew would love to hear this, too,” eleven-year-old Velma Trent said.

“Yeah – definitely tell us a little bit more about that,” Milton's nine-year-old cousin Vertran Stepforth said.

So, Sgt. and Mrs. Trent found 12 children in their home – the Ludlow eight all showed up to hear what the adults that belonged to their friends had to say on this subject!

“I don't even know if we could even live somewhere with a fence now, relative to the Trents,” Mrs. Thalia Ludlow said, “and it is good that they are such fine people that we don't have to.”

Capt. R.E. Ludlow considered this.

“Yes,” he said, “and I suppose it could be no other way. I was thinking of my Uncle Raymond … .”

Mrs. Ludlow, hearing this slightly strange answer, looked at her husband and noticed his thousand-yard stare as the memory replayed in his mind.

“I was six years old,” he said, “and so it was 1968. The year before, my Slocum-Bolling uncles had shot three Black men in the street while one of them was holding me, so we were not going to spend any more holidays with them. But, Raymond Ludlow agreed with them to a high degree.

“Uncle Raymond's wife was named Abigail, and it was always said that many slave mistresses would have envied how she well she managed her household. She would always smile and accept the compliment, but the thing was, she managed so well because she looked out for her Negro servants in every way, and they loved her.

“That year, in order to get ahead of boycotts that were coming to Lofton County, many businesses had simply fired all their Black workers just before Christmas. Not that they could do without Black labor, but the owners wanted to make those workers beg to come back and thus remove any sense of agency those workers had. The result of the bluff was that many of the workers in Aunt Abigail's employ had husbands out of work, and even with her paying them fairly, it wasn't enough for them to have any kind of Christmas. Some of them were going without food so their children could keep eating … and yet they had cooked all this food for us, more than we could eat. All of us had plenty of food in our homes, too, so we didn't need to pack up.”

“Most of the family was happy with the abundance, but my brother Henry and I could see that our mother was not happy and that Aunt Abigail was not either. They knew the servants were in dire straits. I remember my mother saying to Aunt Abigail, 'Right is right. I'll back you up. My mother will back you up. God will back you up.'”

Mrs. Ludlow smiled.

“Grandee Lee and God – that means something!”

“Indeed,” Capt. Ludlow said, “and my grandmother, Hilda 'Grandee' Lee, was not even needed.”

“So, at the end of dinner, Aunt Abigail just went on and said it: 'Now, we ought to do something in the spirit of Christmas this year. We know that our staff that made us all this food is going hungry. We all have plenty of food in our homes – why don't we share some Christmas with them?”

“Uncle Raymond went from Santa's double to Satan's mouthpiece just that quick. The sum of what he said was that if we started caring about Negroes, the day would come when our children and grandchildren would love and trust them and we would never be able to get our proper place back as the unquestioned superior race again. But Aunt Abigail would not back down.

“'Are we superior to God, Who gave His Son so we could love and trust and be with Him?'

“That was your Uncle Raymond's moment of decision,” Mrs. Ludlow said.

“Indeed,” Capt. Ludlow said. “He decided he was superior. I will never forget the look on his face as he drew back his whole arm to strike Aunt Abigail – but then, the look of surprise, and then terror, and then dropped his arm and dropped back into his seat.”

“I suppose he found out, right then!” Mrs. Ludlow said.

“Indeed,” Capt. Ludlow said. “for he entered eternity while his body hit the seat. Aunt Abigail reached her hand out to check his pulse after a few moments, and then announced that he was gone. 'Does anyone else want to claim superiority to God?' she said. Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. So we all sat there, almost as rigid in shock as Uncle Raymond was in death, as she called in the servants and directed them to take all the remaining food off the table and in the kitchen home to their families.”

“When you are a prophet, but you reject the truth you proclaim,” Mrs. Ludlow said.

Capt. Ludlow sighed.

“Yes … because here I am, with my two surviving children with my first wife having been adopted by Sgt. Joe and Mrs. Melba Wainwright after she dropped them by the side of the road, and now where we could not put up anything but a fence of offense between ourselves and the Trents and break all these children's hearts. And, it all started right there at Uncle Raymond's table, where he foresaw it, and was taken away for fighting against it.”

“Because God puts together in love whom He will, and we are not superior to Him,” Mrs. Ludlow said.

“Amen and amen,” Capt. Ludlow said.

Meanwhile, in the Trent house …

“OK, I don't know if we like your answer to my question Dad, but we get it,” Milton said. “We can act on any idea, but we gotta deal with all the consequences of action, so it's better to go talk with a parent or grandparent who knows and can help us make better choices so we get more good consequences and less bad ones.”

“That's it,” Sgt. Trent said. “It's the same thing I do with God the Father, every day. Yeah, I could get mad and start going off on my younger son about 'Because I'm your father – respect my authority or else!' but since that's not how God the Father acts, I figure He might have a better idea that will help me and you.”

“Oh, my,” nine-year-old George Ludlow said. “That's why you and I are even still here, Milton – because your dad and my Papa are getting better ideas than what they could do!”

“Oh, my,” all twelve kids said.

“Yeah, it is kinda deep,” Sgt. Trent said.

“Yeah, because y'all definitely shoulda been gone by now!” eight-year-old Edwina Ludlow said.

“Look, I wasn't the one who turned Papa into a glitter ball the other day!” George said.

“You maybe should have talked to God the Father before acting on the idea of even saying that, Eddie,” eleven-year-old Eleanor Ludlow said as her little sister turned red.

“Basically, Sis. Mosette Smith covered this in the Sunday School Smallwood Baptist is now sharing on Zoom with the Good Neighbors Fellowship,” Sgt. Trent said. “It's like Proverbs 3:6 says: we all have different ways of looking at and doing things, but if we acknowledge Him – turn to Him – in all our ways, He will direct our paths. I might have 100 ideas; if I share them with Him, He'll direct me to the right one.”

“OK, I can get into this,” Milton said, “because I usually have a lot of ideas, but if He can point to the one that won't get me grounded – yep, I can get into that!”

“Yeah, I'm with that!” George said, “because I'm tired of me being the reason I gotta fear for my life!”

Edwina opened her mouth, and then stopped, looked up, and then shut it.

“You're getting it, Eddie, you're getting it!” Eleanor said, and then gave her little sister a hug.