Those first few weeks of school always seemed a golden- and rose-colored blur to Meggie when she looked back on them in later years. She had come to school expecting to hate it—instead, with a few minor exceptions, she was surprised to find it delightful.

Much of that delight was due to Rose. She looked at life as one huge diversion arranged especially for her amusement. She laughed at everything, even the things others found dull or dreary, and she infected her friends with that same zest.

Merrill, too, was a darling. She was terribly, painfully shy, but Rose made it her goal to make the western girl laugh at least once a day. Underneath her timid exterior, Merrill was extremely driven. She wanted to be the best at everything she did. She wasn't noticeably competitive, though; the only person she really competed against was herself.

Samantha … well, Samantha was one of the exceptions to Meggie's enjoyment of school. Meggie never managed to overcome her initial dislike of the sophisticated city girl, whose only interests appeared to be boys and fashion. Her chatter and mannerisms grated on Meggie a hundred times a day, and it took all of Merrill's calmness and Rose's vivaciousness to balance her out.

The classes were another revelation. Taught at home or by her Auntie Di for much of grammar school, Meggie was surprised to discover that she rather enjoyed the challenge of regular classes. Her favorite class (aside from voice, which was so wonderful), was mathematics. Not that Meggie enjoyed mathematics particularly well, but she had discovered a special connection to her professor the first week of classes, one that thrilled her down to her toes.

"Blythe, Joanna," Professor Ashton ha read from the roll.

Meggie raised her hand, and the distinguished teacher hesitated.

"Miss Blythe, were you by any chance related to a Walter Blythe?"

One of Meggie's cousins was Walter, but she guessed from Prof. Ashton's use of the past tense that he meant Walt's namesake.

"My Uncle Walter was killed in the war," she answered.

The professor nodded. "I knew your uncle, Miss Blythe. He was a remarkable man."

That was all he said—then—but Meggie was quite tickled to meet someone who had known Uncle Walter. He was the family legend: not talked of much, but held up and venerated almost as a saint. Uncle Jem said he had been a genius, and the goal of Walt's (young Walt, Meggie's cousin) life was to be as great a poet someday.

Prof. Ashton had a way of making even algebra and geometry almost interesting. He was also by far the handsomest teacher in the school, and Samantha was not alone in her declared adoration for him.

Ms. Trent taught voice, Meggie's other favorite class. She was a small, nondescript woman, but she explained music in such a way that made it come alive. Meggie improved so much in the first few weeks that she positively blushed to think of how rough her voice had been before.

Ms. Trent was a passionate devotee of Italian operas, and was constantly challenging her pupils to learn the language and songs. Meggie dutifully tried, but when she was done with her prescribed practice time, she would spend an extra half hour singing the old beloved folk songs she had learned from Uncle Patrick back in Avonlea.

The most difficult thing about school was her separation from Matty. The twins spent their weekends at Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken's, but two and a half days was never quite enough time.

He was doing well at his school, although he didn't like it anywhere near as much as Meggie liked the Conservatory. His old leg injury, though not hindering him at all in everyday use, prevented him from getting involved in most sports. At Upper Canada College, if you didn't play sports, you were a nobody.

That didn't bother Matty, as he had never cared about being popular. Meggie felt some indignation on his behalf, but he just shrugged philosophically and reminded her that after this year he'd never see any of these boys again, and who cared what they thought?

Meggie wished she could be that indifferent toward people's opinions. She wanted everyone to like her, whether she was going to know them for years, or just a few days.

Dear Peter,

Here I am at the Conservatory! Can you imagine, me training to become a concert performer? I still think it's a waste of Grandmamma's money and my time, but as Matty keeps reminding me, it's only for one year.

I like two of my roommates very much. Rose Greye, known as "Wild Rose," is unlike anyone I've ever known. She's so fun and lovable, and even the teachers let her get away with breaking all kinds of rules. With anyone else, they would reprimand them severely, but Rose just gets an indulgent smile and a "Really, Miss Greye."

Merrill Preston is sweet and shy. She's worried about the threat of war—two of her older brothers are old enough to join the army, and she's afraid for them. I tried to reassure her, but I'm afraid I wasn't very good at it. I worry about you and Bran too much to be much comfort to anyone else in the same position.

Samantha Kerr is the third roommate. She is not of the race that knows Joseph, and that's all there is to say about her!

It's been interesting spending the weekends at Aunt Rilla's. Gil goes to UCC with Matty, and he's dreadfully superior and condescending. Anna just ignores him, but Ally teases him constantly, and then they get into the most terrible fights. Aunt Rilla just rolls her eyes.

She's worried about the war, too. Uncle Ken says it is because she suffered so much during the last war, and she can't bear to think that all their sacrifices and pain were for nothing. He says he eats, sleeps, and breathes war because of the newspaper, but Aunt Rilla forbids anyone to even mention it around the house. Even Gil obeys her—Aunt Rilla can really be quite forbidding when she's stern.

I miss you. Write soon, when you get the chance.

Love always,

Meggie.

Meggie put the pen down with a sigh. Next to Matty, Peter was her dearest friend. Even his time in England hadn't strained their relationship. Letters flew back and forth between them with regularity, and she always relied on him for good advice to help her see her life more clearly. She was so afraid something would happen to him if England did go to war against Germany, but at the same time, she was so proud of him for joining up. He hadn't wanted to—all he wanted to do was continue his studies at Cambridge—but he had felt it his duty, and so he had put his dreams aside to serve his land.

And then Bran had gone over—supposedly to visit Peter—and had joined as well without telling anyone. Auntie Di had been furious ("I knew I shouldn't have let the boys keep their citizenship!"), but Bran just said that if Peter could do it, so could he. No arguments or tearful pleas had the slightest effect on him.

"He always was stubborn," Uncle Patrick had said.

Rose bounced into the room, scattering Meggie's increasingly gloomy thoughts with her bright smile.

"My dear, please tell me you aren't studying," she said dramatically. "It's too unnatural to see a girl studying on Sunday afternoon."

Meggie laughed. "No, I'm not. Since we had to come home early from Aunt Rilla's, I decided to write to my cousin in England. This way I still feel somewhat connected to family."

Rose picked up Peter's picture. "He looks so serious," she said. "And old! How old is he?"

"Twenty-two," Meggie said. "Eight years older than I."

"Yet you're still good friends?"

Meggie smiled. "The best."

Rose set the photograph back down. "You've an awfully nice family. I think it's a real shame that your little cousin got sick so you had to come back early."

Meggie tried unsuccessfully to hide a sigh. It had been hard leaving Matty directly after church, instead of late that night, but she supposed Teddy couldn't help getting sick.

"That's all right," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. "I'll see them again next weekend."

"In the meantime," Rose was beginning, when Merrill came through the open door, her ivory face even whiter than usual. Rose leapt up in a heartbeat and put her arms around the taller girl.

"My dear, whatever is the matter?" she cried.

"England—and France—have declared war—on Germany," Merrill said jerkily. "Canada is—expected—to follow suit."

Rose gasped, and Meggie blanched. She put one slim brown hand to her forehead. "War?" she whispered. "It's really come, then?"

Merrill nodded woodenly.

Meggie stood up and walked out of the room, hardly knowing what she was doing. She passed knots of students, gathered together in the halls, whispering. Some of the older boys were laughing boisterously, hoping the war would last long enough for them to join the army. Meggie felt she might be sick.

Her steps quickened until she was almost running. She made it past the students and teachers into one of the small practice rooms, where she collapsed into a huddle and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She wanted Matty—Papa—Peter—anyone. She wanted to be home, where Papa could put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be all right. She wanted to hear her twin's practical reassurances, to see Peter and make him promise to be safe. She wanted … she wanted …

She bit her lip so hard it almost bled. What she wanted didn't matter. She could not be selfish now. She needed to be strong and brave. She couldn't go home, and wishing to do so would only make things worse.

As for Peter—Meggie knew there was only one thing she could do for him now.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Keep him safe. Peter, and Bran, and all the other soldiers over there. Keep them all safe."

Dear Peter,

I know I just wrote—you'll get this letter only a few days after my first—but I had to send it. Oh Peter, you were right about the war. I wish you hadn't been—but you were. Peter, I'm trying to be brave for you and Bran. It's not easy, but I'm trying. I'm praying for you, all the time.

I thought coming to the Conservatory was going to be the biggest change that ever happened to me. Now I think nothing is ever going to be the same. The world's changing around us, isn't it?

I am proud of you—and scared for you—and I love you. Be safe (or as safe as you can be). Know that no matter what happens, I'll always be your little,

Meggie.

Dear Meggie,

Thank you for your letter, little chum. Knowing that you're home praying and supporting me is the biggest encouragement I could ever have. Things are pretty grim right now, and the false cheerfulness I get from Mum and Polly just makes it worse.

I'm a lieutenant now, Meggie. Doesn't that sound old? Flight Lieutenant Peter Richard Campion Samuels. Takes up half the page just to write my name. With all the new recruits flooding in, those of us who have been here for a year or more are being promoted. I'd already worked my way up to Flying Officer, so now I'm a lieutenant. It'd be nice if I was receiving my promotion for merit, but I'll take the extra pay and privileges under any circumstance.

I had a note from Freddie the other day. He's finally made up his mind to join the Navy. Leah is worried sick about it, but I get the feeling Jack approves. You know how lazy and careless Freddie was. Even though Jack's worried about him, I think he's also glad he's doing something for his country, instead of just looking out for himself. He said he's going to try to keep his rank a secret—if his fellow Seamen find out he's an Earl, he'll be in for it. They don't have much opinion of the aristocracy in the lower ranks of any branch of the service. Of course, he could buy a commission, like many of his fellow noblemen, but he said that if he's going to do this, he's going to start from the bottom and work his way up like any Englishman.

I think Jocelyn must be at least partially responsible for his decision. We don't write, of course—that wouldn't be appropriate, with her being promised to Freddie and all—but from what Freddie said, it sounds as though she encouraged him. He even said something about her offering to marry him before he shipped out, but he didn't want to. I still don't think he takes their marriage seriously. It's something that's been arranged for them since they were little—he accepts it, but doesn't really care.

Sometimes I want to shake him. Can't he see what a marvelous girl Jocelyn is? She deserves someone who really loves her and values her.

Enough about me, about Freddie, and about the war. What do you think of the Conservatory? Do you have a good history teacher? Do you think you might stay longer than the promised one year? A word of advice, fawn. Don't throw away the opportunity to learn. There might come a day when you wish you had a more complete education, and your chance at one has passed. Look at me—I came over here to work my way through Cambridge, and now I'm embroiled in this war and I don't know if I'll ever have a chance to finish my education. I'd give anything to be fourteen again and just starting out.

No, I wouldn't. I wouldn't trade the life lessons I've experienced in the last eight years for anything—even Cambridge.

So make up your own mind, chum. School or Avonlea or something else entirely—it's your life to live. Grand advice I'm giving, isn't it? In all seriousness—don't let other people decide for you what you are going to do. But don't just choose the easy path, either. Do what you really think is best.

Last Post—that means lights out. Good night, chum. Write soon—and often. Your letters keep me going.

Love always,

Peter.

P.S. One of my bunkmates just asked who it was I was writing to for such a long time—was it my girl back home? I just smiled and said, yes, my girl. My best girl, always.