When I walked up the creaky wooden stairs to Jill’s childhood bedroom, I entered her youth. All was still as Raggedy Anne stared up at me with large unblinking eyes while dried roses from prom crowned the headboard. Youth was still breathing here. A small curious girl with a wedding gown in hand appeared in the mirror in front of me. I turned to see her handmade veil hanging in the window she had peered out so many times in her youth and Andrew Wyeth himself sent a little breeze of memory.