2 Tuesday, June 1, 1897 Rochester, New York “Fiddlesticks. Where are they?” The heels of Frances Jane Broadmoor’s shoes tapped a rhythmic click on the Italian marble tile as she paced the length of the entrance hall. Thus far, the technique had failed to control her impatience. At seventeen Fanny was usually not given to such displays, but this occasion merited her frustration. “Amanda is never late. Sophie would be late to her own funeral, but not Amanda.” She went to the window and pulled back