The agent’s head went up. His body was spread and his eyes bulged like a great toad, poised to spring. “Sit down, Miss Worthen!”

She sank onto the chair.

Her outburst had given the overseer the time he needed. He smiled slightly as though to say, See? No lady, this one.

Satisfied that he had stilled her, the agent shifted his gaze from Lyddie to her accuser. “A troublemaker, Mr. Marsden?” For a quick moment Lyddie hoped—but the man went on. “In what way a troublemaker? Her work record seems satisfactory.”

“It is not”—and now Mr. Marsden turned and glared straight at Lyddie, all trace of nervousness gone—“it is not her work as such. Indeed,” and here, he gave a sad little laugh, “I at one time thought of her as one of the best on the floor. But”—he turned back to the agent, his voice solemn and quiet—“I am forced, sir, to ask for her dismissal. It is a matter of moral turpitude.”

Moral what? What was he saying? What was he accusing her of?

“I see,” said the agent, as though all had been explained when nothing, nothing had.

“I cannot,” and now the overseer’s voice was fairly dripping with the honey of regret, “for the sake of all the innocent young women in my care, I cannot have among my girls someone who sets an example of moral turpitude.”

“Certainly not, Mr. Marsden. The corporation cannot countenance moral turpitude.”

She turned unbelieving from one man to the other, but they ignored her. She fought for words to counter the drift the interview had taken, but what could she say? She did not know what turpitude was. How could she deny something she did not even know existed? She knew what moral was. But that didn’t help. Moral was Amelia’s territory of faithful attendance at Sabbath worship and prayer meeting and Bible study, and she couldn’t ask for consideration on those counts. She hardly ever went to worship, and Lord knew when she read, it wasn’t just the Bible. Still, she was no worse than many, was she? At least she was not a papist, and no one was condemning them.

She opened her mouth. They were both looking at her sadly, but sternly. In the silence, the battle had been lost.

“You may ask the clerk for whatever wages are due you, Miss Worthen,” the agent said, turning to his desk.

Mr. Marsden gave his superior’s back a nod and tight rosebud smile. Did he click his heels? At any rate, he left quickly without another glance toward Lyddie.

“You may go now,” the agent said without turning.

What could she do? She stumbled to her feet and out the door.