3 Saturday, June 12, 1897 The upstairs maid carried Fanny’s silk taffeta gown into the bedroom and waited for Fanny’s approval. “Thank you, Hazel. The dress looks wonderful.” Fanny beamed with pleasure. The color was perfect, the precise shade of the lilac blooms from the first bush she had planted many years ago with Mr. Pritchard’s help—exactly two weeks after her father’s death. At Grandfather’s insistence, the dress had been fashioned by a local dressmaker for the Summer’s Eve Ball. Outsized