C ecilia was the youngest. Like all the Lisbon sisters, she had long, vanilla-colored California-girl hair. She wore a tattered, lace wedding dress when she shimmied up the crooked tree in the front yard (the “diseased” elm that the city had condemned to death). The pages of her sticker-ridden diary described her daily events: what she ate for dinner (creamed corn), the “noise” of the boys next door, designed to keep her curious.