"Call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven." —Matthew 23:9
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Trixie, having recently come to the realization that she might have feelings for Tommy, was not quite sure how to act normal when she arrived back at the Shelby house. All weekend, she had gone back and forth on it, trying to discern how much was love and how much was genuine affection, and all she ever ended up coming back to was the utter and total despair she'd felt, collapsing sideways onto her sheets and not finding his chest. She had wanted him to touch her, but she had wanted that before. What Trixie had no idea how to deal with, though, was the fact that she'd wanted him to hold her after and fall asleep by her side. If she saw him, Trixie worried that he would notice something had changed, and know what that thing was. It was fortunate, then, that she found herself in rather extraordinary circumstances when she shut the door to Polly's house.
All the Shelbys—minus Tommy and Ada—were gathered around Polly's dining room table as a stout man she didn't recognize went on about a fight he'd witnessed—or won?—across town. "It's true," he swore. "One hit, and three of his teeth popped out! Just like that."
"Hello," Trixie interrupted cautiously, shutting the door behind her and setting her coat on the rack.
"Oh, good," the man said. "Can you make me something to eat? A sandwich? I'm starved."
Trixie blinked. "What?"
"Trixie's not a cook," Polly snapped. "Sit, dear girl." To the man, she said, "John can make you food if you want it."
As she lowered herself into the dining room chair, pulling the gloves from her hands, Trixie tried to discern if he thought she'd be the cook on the account of her sex or her race—either way, she wasn't thrilled.
"Me?" John cried. "I'm a man, Poll, I don't know how to make a bloody sandwich."
"It's two pieces of bread and something in between," she retorted. "Surely you can figure it out with that big Shelby brain of yours."
John muttered something under his breath, but disappeared into the kitchen anyway. Almost immediately, Trixie heard the clatter of pots. She wanted to go help him, just to spare Polly's kitchenwares, but she was more intrigued by the man at the table and what he wanted. "You're a maid, then?" he asked, surveying the room. "Judging by the state of the place, not a very good one."
