AGAINST THE MORNING DARKNESS, Jessie Ann Gaebele quietly litthe stubby candle. Its feeble light flickered at the mirror while she dressed. She pulled her stockings on, donned her chemise, debated about a corset, decided against it. She'd make too much noise getting it hooked. No one was likely to see her this morning anyway, and she'd be back before her mother even knew she'd left the house without it. She could move faster without a "Grecian Bend," as ladies magazines called the posture forced by the stays and bustle. She guessed some thought it an attractive look for a girl in 1907, emphasizing a small waist and a rounded derrière. Jessie claimed both but had little time for either that morning, and timing mattered if she was to succeed. If Jessie didn't catch the moment, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.


She spilled the dark linen skirt over her petticoat, letting it settle at her slender frame. She inhaled the lavender her sister Selma insisted be added when they made their own soap, something they did more often now since they'd moved to Winona, Minnesota. Selma was prone to sensuous scents; sensuous music too, her husky voice holding people hostage when she sang.


Jessie looked at her sleeping sisters. The candlelight cast shadows on the tousled hair of Selma, her younger sister, and on the nightcap that Lilly, her older sister, always wore. ("It will keep you from catching vapors in the night," Lilly claimed). Jessie pulled on the white shirtwaist. Even in sleep they reflected who they were when awake: Selma, dreamy and romantic; Lilly, organized and right. Always right. Jessie slept somewhere between them, literally. In life she guessed she had a bit of both of those girls' practices in her. Selma would approve of Jessie's morning goal for its dreamy adventure; Lilly wouldn't. But Jessie'd organized it as Lilly would, leaving little to chance. She'd walked the route, knew the obstacles. She anticipated what she'd find when she got there. If she could make it on time.


Luckily there were only five buttons down the back of her blouse, close to the high neck. She considered waking Selma to help her button them but decided against it. Selma would want the details and wake up Lilly, who would question her judgment. Jessie would not lie. Lilly would point out how ridiculous she was being, rising early and setting out for such foolishness when she had an important appointment in the day ahead. "That should be your emphasis," Lilly would say. She spoke as though she were Jessie's mother. Oh, she meant well; older sisters did. That's what her mother told her. But still, Jessie was tired of having every person in the family older than she considered wiser and worldlier too.


So Jessie reached back and buttoned the blouse herself, then centered a beaded-buckle belt on her tiny fifteen-year-old waist. Hat or no hat? Going out in public without her hat would be too casual. Someone just might question what she was doing or, worse, remember and tell her mother. She could get by without the corset, but she'd best wear the hat.


She tossed a shawl around her shoulders, grabbed her shoes, then dropped one by mistake. She held her breath, hoping no one would wake. She blew out the candle and waited.

"Jessie?"
"Go back to sleep, Selma."
"What are you up to?"
Jessie moved to her sister's side of the bed and whispered,
"Don't wake Lilly, all right? It's a secret. Can you keep a secret?"Her sister nodded. "I'm going on an adventure."
"Can I come too?"
"Not this time. But I'll tell you all about it after you get home from school. Just don't tell, please? If Mama asks, just say you...

"Jane Kirkpatrick has done it again. A Flickering Light is as engaging, well researched and finely written as her other best selling historical novels. Her characters are real people with real temptations and at the end of the novel, this reader wants to know what happens next."