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Gilly backed away. “I never touched one of those people in my life.”
“Well, then, it’s about time, ain’t it?” Trotter snapped. “Of course, if you can’t manage, I can always send William Ernest.”
“I can manage. Don’t you worry about me.”
“You probably got Mr. Randolph all confused and upset by now.”
“Well, you shoulda warned me.”
“Warned you?” Trotter banged a spoon on the table. “I shoulda warned poor Mr. Randolph. You want me to send William Ernest?”
“I said I could manage. Good god!” At this, Trotter’s spoon went up in the air like a fly-swatter. “All right! I didn’t say it. Hell, a person can’t even talk around here.”
“A smart person like you oughta be able to think of a few regular words to stick in amongst the cusses.” The spoon went into the salad and stirred. “Well, hurry up, if you’re going.”
The little black man was still standing in the open doorway. “William Ernest?” he called gently as Gilly started up the steps.
“No,” she said sharply. “Me.”
“Oh.” He smiled widely although his eyes did not seem to move. “You must be the new little girl.” He stretched out his right hand. “Welcome to you, welcome.”
Gilly carefully took the elbow instead of the hand. “Trotter said for me to get you for supper.”
“Well, thank you, thank you.” He reached behind, fumbling until he found the knob, and pulled the door shut. “Kind of chilly tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
All she could think of was Miss Ellis. OK, so she hadn’t been so great at the Nevinses’, but she hadn’t done anything to deserve this. A house run by a fat, fluff-brained religious fanatic with a mentally retarded seven-year-old—well, maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t actually retarded, but chances were good the kid was running around with less than his full share of brains or why would Trotter make such a big deal of it? But she could’ve handled the two of them. It wasn’t fair to throw in a blind black man who came to eat.
Or maybe Miss Ellis didn’t know. Maybe Trotter kept this a secret.
The sidewalk was uneven. Mr. Randolph’s toe hit a high corner, and he lurched forward.
“Watch it!” Without thinking, Gilly threw her arms around the thin shoulders and caught him before he fell.
“Thank you, thank you.” Gilly dropped her arms. She thought for a horrible moment that he was going to try to grab her hand, but he didn’t.
Boy, Miss Ellis, are you ever going to be sorry you did this to me.
“Now Mrs. Trotter did tell me your name, but I’m ashamed to say I don’t seem to recall it.” He tapped his head with its short, curly gray hair. “I can keep all the luxuries up here, but none of the necessities.”
“Gilly,” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gilly Hopkins.”
“Oh, yes.” He was shuffling painfully up Trotter’s front steps. Jeez. Why didn’t he get a white cane or something? “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Gilly. I feel mighty close to all Mrs. Trotter’s children. Little William Ernest is like a grandson to me. So I feel sure…”
“Watch the door!”
“Yes, yes, I thank you.”
“Is that you Mr. Randolph?” came Trotter’s voice from inside.
“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Trotter, with the sweetest little escort you’d ever hope to see.”
Trotter appeared in the hallway with her hands on her hips. “How you doing in this cold weather?”
