It is snowing when the train leaves the station.

Christine doesn't like trains, never has — they smell awful and she feels sick most of the time, and the polite conversation with fellow passengers is a bore. The one saving grace about this train ride is that her brother Ronald, her favourite person in the world, is her seat-mate for the journey. It takes eight hours for the train to reach Kingsport from Bridgewater, and he knows her well enough to sit in comfortable silence for most of it, occasionally giving her a little smile over the top of his book. Her book — Tennyson's Ulysses — lies mostly forgotten on the her lap, as she stares blankly out into the snowfall over the Nova Scotia fields.

Their mother hadn't come to the train station to see them off. She'd had one of her headaches this morning and couldn't be persuaded to leave the house.

Andrew hadn't been there either. To be fair to him, though, the man wasn't even in town, having gone to Halifax on business two days previously. That was the thing with having a fiancé that many years older than her — he was already thriving in business, whilst she was only just starting her first year at Redmond. A little late, granted, given her age, but it was as soon as her parents could be persuaded (by Ronald, no less) that she should study music at college to be able to use her talent to her full potential. Kingsport was no Paris, certainly, but it was something at least.

Ronald chuckles at her pensive expression. "Homesick, already?"

"No, not really," she exhales, not looking away from the window. She's still picturing the small crowd of faces at the station platform, every last one of whom had been accompanying other people to the train. Other travellers that she knew by face — it was a small town, after all — but none she was particularly inclined to converse with. Christine had never been attached to her hometown. She thought about it with placid indifference, really. It was just that she was wishing someone had cared enough, just this once. Cared about her the way that the nameless faces did about their loved ones.

Ronald closes his book, looking her in the eyes.. "You won't be lonely at Redmond, Chrissy, I promise you that." he says, seemingly reading her mind. He did that often, she's noticed. He's consistently shrewd in his judgement of her. "Tell you what, I'm going to call on an old chum of mine while I'm in town. He's a Junior, very well liked, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking you under his wing."

She studies him for a while. "You're sure he won't mind?"

"Absolutely. I've mentioned you're coming to Redmond in my letters, too, so he knows of you already. You can come with me when I visit him, and I'll introduce you."

Christine smiles, despite the nausea. "Alright," she agrees. Any friend of her brother's is bound to be agreeable, at the very least.

Mrs. Murphy's boardinghouse isn't too far from the train station, and Christine finds herself quite comfortably settled by the time the sky turns dark. The wallpaper in her room is nondescript without being too drab, she notes absentmindedly. She had an eye for that sort of thing. In fact, Ronald had almost convinced her to take Interior Design as her major — and she would have agreed, too, if it hadn't been for her love of music.

Besides, Andrew wouldn't hear of letting her work after they got married, so there wouldn't be much point in learning Interior Design anyway.

There is one other boarder, she soon discovers — Miss Doris Fletcher, a round-faced, jolly brunette. She's a Sophomore at Redmond, and offers to show Christine around before her classes start properly. Christine readily assents, grateful for Doris's cheeriness and steady stream of chatter, and soon feels so at home that she forgets to be nervous at all.

She had thought, on the way, that she would be nervous at the prospect of making new friends again. Her old school friends from Bridgewater had slowly dispersed over the last few years — some marrying and moving out West, some teaching in other towns. Not too far away, but far enough that she often went weeks without seeing a familiar face her age. She didn't miss them too terribly, anyway; the distance had allowed dust to settle over her memories of them, obscuring them from view.

Christine is not thinking of them now, though, as she giggles with Doris, who is seated on the end of her bed telling some funny story about her English professor.

"He's an absolute duck, I tell you, Christine. I do hope you have him for your class too, and then we can poke fun at him together!" Doris is animated as she talks, her hands gesturing wildly, her brown eyes constantly crinkled at the corners. "Say, do you have a beau to come call on you? I don't."

Christine hesitates. It's not that she's ashamed of Andrew, exactly — it's just all very new. The words I'm engaged don't feel like they belong in her mouth; they're too slippery, too big, too real.

"You're the only friend I have in Kingsport," she says, truthfully, "unless you count my brother, of course, but he's going home soon anyway." Her answer is evasive and she knows it, but she doesn't feel like talking about her fiancé at the moment. Or any time soon, really. She hopes Doris doesn't think she's rude for dodging her question.

Thankfully, Doris doesn't notice.

When Ronald finds Christine the next morning, she is deep in conversation with a brown-and-white beagle sitting at her feet. Her eyes sparkle as she nods at the dog, who is staring intently at her face like he understands every word. Ronald can't help but smile. She's always been a quiet child, except with a few of her closest friends. He can't help but feel a sense of pride at seeing her come out of her shell. Even if it's with a dog.

She turns to him, presently. "And this is my brother Ronald," she says, still talking to the dog. "Ronald, I don't believe you've met my newest friend, Jasper."

Jasper pays no attention to him, still nuzzling at her hands.

Ronald chuckles. "It's very lovely to make your acquaintance, Jasper," he says, crouching down to give him a scratch behind the ears. "Ready to go?" he adds, looking over at Christine.

She hums, getting to her feet. "Let's go meet this friend of yours."

The friend has a name — Gilbert Blythe, it turns out. He isn't anywhere near as lively as Doris is, but he grins widely as he shakes Ronald's hand, and gives her a small bow. "Sit down, sit down. I trust you've had a good journey?"

"It was rather uneventful for the most part," Ronald laughs, "Christine here slept most of the way."

She smiles sheepishly. "I'm not the biggest fan of trains. The smell doesn't agree with me."

"I can't say I particularly like them either. Trains would be unbearable without some good company," Gilbert replies, nodding at Ronald. "I believe your brother is an excellent escort."

"He is," Christine agrees wholeheartedly. "Do you have to travel much?" She is unsure if it's too personal a question to ask to a man she's just met, but he seems friendly enough not to mind.

"Not very often, no. Just every now and then between home and Redmond. I hear you are to take music?" He doesn't seem offended or taken aback, and Christine finds herself conversing with him easily — he knows all the right things to say, and it comes off as sincere rather than pompous. She instantly sees why he is so well-liked among his peers — he is very agreeable.

Warm, too, she thinks. It's the best way she can describe the twinkle in his hazel eyes.

"Is Charlie in?" her brother enquires.

"No, I'm afraid he's out for a walk with some friends." A tired look flits across Gilbert's face for the briefest fraction of a second. Christine doesn't miss it — but the expression is gone as fast as it appeared, and she doesn't say anything. "He should be back soon, though, if you'd like to wait a while?"

Ronald shakes his head. "No, that's alright, we'd best be going anyway," he says, putting his hat back on, "but give him my regards."

Gilbert is on his feet too. "Are you going to the train station? I'll walk you there. I've been cooped up inside all weekend." He goes to get their coats, still talking over his shoulder. "You must come visit for longer next time, Ronald."

Ronald hums. "I can't get away for long. You know how it is at the store," he says. Christine nods silently at no one in particular. Ronald had been running the family store mostly by himself since he graduated. Their mother had been able to help less and less over the last few months, as her headaches increased in both frequency and severity. "Can I ask you a favour, Gilbert? If it's not too much trouble."

"Certainly."

"Look after Christine for me, will you?" His voice is earnest, almost pleading.

Gilbert turns to him, coat slung over his arms, a reassuring smile on his face. "Of course. It wouldn't be any trouble at all."

Christine doesn't doubt that he means it.

Gilbert walks Christine back home after they see her brother's train off. He is captain of the Juniors' football team, she discovers, and promises to come to their next game.

When she opens the door to the living room, Doris is by the window with questioning eyes. "Who was that walking you home?"

"Gilbert Blythe. He's an old chum of Ronald's."

Doris nods. "I thought he looked familiar. He's one of the smartest in his year, you know."

Christine didn't know this, but she's not altogether surprised — he had that way with words that was characteristic of a man with intelligence. "He was very polite and attentive," she says.

"Of course he was," Doris smiles teasingly. "Perhaps you might have a beau to come call on you in the evenings after all."

A short, sharp laugh escapes Christine's lips. "Don't be ridiculous," she huffs. But alone in her room later, she feels a faint blush creep in at the edge of her cheeks. She couldn't explain it — nor could she explain why she left Gilbert out of her letter to Andrew. Instead, she tells him about Jasper. He's a dear little thing, she writes. I think he'll be my best friend here in Kingsport.

It occurs to her after she seals the letter that Andrew wasn't especially fond of dogs. She sends it anyway. There wasn't much else she wanted to say.