The Great Gilly Hopkins

“Not my best, I’m afraid. This sweet little girl had to keep me from falling right down on my face.”

“Did she now?”

See there, Trotter? I managed.

“I guess this old house is going to be a bit more lively now, eh, Mrs. Trotter?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” answered Trotter in a flat voice that Gilly couldn’t read the meaning of.

The meal proceeded without incident. Gilly was hungry but thought it better not to seem to enjoy her supper too much. William Ernest ate silently and steadily with only an occasional glance at Gilly. She could tell that the child was scared silly of her. It was about the only thing in the last two hours that had given her any real satisfaction. Power over the boy was sure to be power over Trotter in the long run.

“I declare, Mrs. Trotter,” said Mr. Randolph, “every day I think to myself, tonight’s supper couldn’t be as delicious as last night’s. But I tell you, this is the most delicious meal I have ever had the privilege of eating.”

“Mr. Randolph, you could flatter the stripe off a polecat.”

Mr. Randolph let out a giggling laugh. “It isn’t flattery, I assure you, Mrs. Trotter. William Ernest and Miss Gilly will bear me out in this. I may be old, but I haven’t lost my sense of taste, even if some folks maintain I’ve lost the other four.”

They went on and on like that. Mr. Randolph flattering the fat woman, and the fat woman eating it up like hot-fudge sundae with all the nuts.

What I should do, thought Gilly, as she lay that night in the narrow bed with her arms folded under her head, What I should do is write my mother. Courtney Rutherford Hopkins would probably sue county welfare if she knew what kind of place they’d forced her daughter to come to.

Miss Ellis (whose eyebrows always twitched when Gilly asked questions about Courtney) had once told her that Courtney was from Virginia. Everybody knew, didn’t they, that families like Courtney’s did not eat with colored people? Courtney Rutherford Hopkins was sure to go into a rage, wasn’t she, when she heard that news? Perhaps the self-righteous Trotter would be put into jail for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Miss Ellis would, of course, be fired. Yum!

She’ll come to get me then, for sure, thought Gilly. Her mother wouldn’t stand for her beautiful Galadriel to be in a dump like this for one single minute, once she knew. But how was she to know? Miss Ellis would never admit it. What kind of lies was the social worker telling Courtney to keep her from coming to fetch Gilly?

As she dropped off to sleep, Gilly promised herself for the millionth time that she would find out where Courtney Rutherford Hopkins was, write to her, and tell her to come and take her beautiful Galadriel home.

MORE UNPLEASANT SURPRISES

In the tiny mirror over the bureau Gilly noted with no little satisfaction that her hair was a wreck. Yesterday before the bubble gum got into it, it had looked as though it simply needed combing. Today it looked like a lot that had been partially bulldozed—an uprooted tree here, a half wall with a crumbling chimney there. It was magnificent. It would run Trotter wild. Gilly bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She held her head very straight as she sat at the kitchen table and waited for the fireworks.

“I’ll take you down to the school a little after nine, hear?” Trotter said.

Of course Gilly heard. She tilted her head a little in case Trotter couldn’t see.

“If I take you down earlier,” Trotter went on, “we’ll just have to sit and wait till they can take care of us. I’d as leave sit here at my own table with a cup of coffee, wouldn’t you?” She put a bowl of steaming hot cereal down in front of Gilly.

Gilly nodded her head vigorously Yes.

William Ernest was staring at her, his glasses steamed up from the oatmeal. Gilly bared her teeth and shook her head violently No at him. The boy snuffled loudly and ducked his head.

“Need a tissue, William Ernest?” Trotter pulled one from her apron pocket and gently wiped his nose. “And here’s a clean one for school, honey.” Trotter leaned over and tucked a tissue into his pants pocket.

Gilly craned her neck over the table as though she were trying to see the contents of W.E.’s pocket. Her head was within a couple of feet of Trotter’s eyes. The woman was sure to notice.

“William Ernest got promoted to the Orange reading group yesterday. Didn’t you, William Ernest, honey?”

The little boy nodded his head but kept his eyes on his bowl.

“You’re gonna have to do some reading out loud and show Gilly how great you’re coming along with your reading these days.”

W.E. looked up for one split second with terror in his eyes. Trotter missed the look, but not Gilly, who smiled widely and shook her half-bulldozed head emphatically.

“In Orange they use hardback books,” Trotter was explaining. “It’s a real big step to be Orange.” She leaned over Gilly to put some toast on the table. “We really worked for this.”

“So old W.E.’s getting a head, is he?”