Four to a room was in itself a luxury, as most of the rooms held six. But even so, there was hardly any space to walk around the two double beds, the two tiny nightstands, and the various trunks and bandboxes of the inhabitants. There was no place to sit except on the beds, but then, on a regular workday there was no leisure time except the less than three hours between supper and curfew. Most of the girls spent their short measure of free time down in the parlor/dining room or out in town where there were shops and lectures and even dances, all run by honest citizens bent on parting the working girls from their wages.

“Now,” said Amelia, who was far more conscientious about her duties as caretaker than Lyddie would have wished, “where will you be going to church on the Sabbath?”

Lyddie looked up in alarm. Living as far as they had from the village, the Worthens had never even bothered to pay pew rent in the village congregational church. “I—I hadn’t thought to go.”

Amelia sighed, reminding Lyddie that she was proving a harder case than the older girl had bargained for. “Oh, but you must,” she said.

“What Amelia means,” Betsy said, looking up from her novel, “is that regardless of the state of your immortal soul, the corporation requires regular attendance of all its girls. It makes us look respectable, even those of us who waste our precious minds on novels.”

“Oh, do behave yourself, Betsy.”

“Sorry, Amelia, but if I let you carry on about her moral duties when the girl plainly has no notion of them herself, this conversation will last all night.” She put down her book and looked Lyddie straight in the face. “They’ll probably make you put in an appearance from time to time somewhere. The Methodists don’t press girls for pew rent, so if you’re short on money, best go there. You have to pay for it in longer sermons, but nonetheless I always recommend the Methodists to new girls with no particular desire to go anywhere.”

“Betsy!”

“Betsy likes to sound shocking,” Prudence explained patiently. “Don’t take it to heart.” She was brushing out her long blonde hair and looked like a princess in a fairy tale, though her voice was far too matter-of-fact for a story book.

“But—” How should Lyddie explain it? “But, ain’t Massachusetts a free country?”

“Of course, my dear,” Amelia said. “But there are rules and regulations here as in any civilized establishment. They are meant for our own good, my dear. You’ll see.”

Betsy rolled her eyes and went back to her novel.