Although Capt. R.E. Ludlow had the deepest and most penetrating voice on the cul-de-sac, he did have an analog in soprano: next-door neighbor Mrs. Melissa Trent next door was a high soprano with a penetrating tone. She was soft-spoken and quiet, though, and rarely did that voice rang out in its power unless she was doing things with her son Melvin in the studio.
“And see, that's the way we want it,” nine-year-old Milton Trent explained to his best friend nine-year-old George Ludlow. “See, I just realized today that my dad is actually sparing us, because if Mom and your grandfather and forever dad ever start yelling at us together, the whole world is gonna end.”
“So, your dad – and his baritone is as big as Papa's – is actually the easier one to deal with?”
“See, this is what most boys and men do not understand, George, and it just came to me today: we are only surviving because the girls and women actually love us. Remember how your grandmother and forever mom talked to that guy who was messing up on the Covid stuff?”
“Oh, yeah, that was not cool – she wasn't even talking to us and we had to hide behind Papa. That man's ears must have been bleeding. I don't understand all that she was talking about, but I told Papa later that he has to stay a good husband and Andrew [George's ten-year-old brother] was helping to get plates down because, no way can we deal with all that.”
“The other day," said Milton, "one of Mom's old associates called while she was on her way to the studio with Melvin to put some real high notes on a couple of his beats. I don't know what that person said, or if they are still alive, but by the time Mom went up four octaves telling that person not to ever call her again, the sound-proofing was helping you because you're next door, but it wasn't helping us.”
George shook his head.
“And then your dad got involved, I'm sure.”
“Yep. He was out working in the yard and came running in and took that phone and said, “Look, man, it ain't 2019. This is Master Sergeant Vincent Trent, the once and forever husband of Melissa Trent, and you better get off this phone and block the number yourself, because I'm gonna kill you myself for upsetting Melissa if I can track you down. You get 15 seconds because you ain't nothing but a silly civilian.”
“That sounds like what Papa would say, too,” George said.
“But see, the thing is,” Milton said, “that was just extra. Mom hit that high C and got up on the guy to the high F; he was already pretty much dead. Dad just had to go bury him.”
“But how high is that?” George said.
“Okay, so, you know – hey, Mom, can you help us with something?”
“Yes, son,” Mrs. Trent said as she came sailing onto the porch with a huge smile and a tousle on the head for both boys.
“How high is the high F above high C?”
Mrs. Trent produced the note, and George's eyes got wide.
“Your voice is as high as my grandfather's is deep!” he said.
“Never thought about it that way, but I suppose so,” Mrs. Trent said.
“It is,” Capt. R.E. Ludlow said, and then hit his low F for comparison.
“Let me get in the middle!” five-year-old Lil' Robert Ludlow said, and just casually hit the F above middle C – normal for a child his age – and then the F below middle C, showing off the depth of his voice that eventually would ripen into another Ludlow basso profundo.
Seven-year-old Amanda Ludlow came out and hit regular soprano F powerfully – higher than normal for a girl her age, and eight-year-old Edwina matched Lil' Robert's low F and then bounced up to where Amanda was – she would be a contralto of great range when Lil' Robert was a basso profundo, while Amanda would be an equally powerful mezzo-soprano.
Eleven-year-old Eleanor Ludlow came out, thought about it, hit the regular soprano F, and then, after a moment's concentration, matched Mrs. Trent's high F. She would be a high soprano like her neighbor.
Gracie, Velma, and Vanna Trent – Milton's eight-, eleven-, and seventeen-year-old sister came out, and made a widely spread F major chord, with Gracie taking the F above middle C, Velma hitting the next C up, and Vanna just casually throwing out high A so her mother could put the high F back on.
Capt. Ludlow smiled, and then counted off as Sgt. Trent came out to cover low baritone A to fill out the chord.
“One. Two. Three.”
The widest and deepest and highest F chord in Lofton County joyously rang out over six octaves.
George and Milton looked at each other, and then sat down on Milton's porch until everyone else went back inside.
“See,” George said, “we forgot that there are a lot of people like this around us.”
“Look,” Milton said, “we have to promise each other that we are going to get our lives together, because either we are going to be super-rich among all these singers, or we are going to mess up and have all these people yell us into heaven, real quick. Imagine if they were not just having fun a minute ago.”
“I can't,” George said. “I just don't need that in my life. If that were an F minor chord, we'd be gone. All we needed was for your dad and your sister to flat that A on us, and we'd be gone.”
“I wanna live to see ten years old!” Milton said.
“So do I!” George said. “We gotta get it together, Milton, we just gotta get it together! There is an A flat in a chord like that with our name on it if we don't!”