Under the red-and-green streetlight, The Henry Train Factory stood in solitude. Every other shop is filled with customers: chatting, laughing, and searching for the perfect gift. Culling from thousands of shiny new toys, nobody would buy an antiquated toy train, because their seven-year-old grandson would probably cry out in disappointment and glue his eyes back on Fortnite.

“Nice to see you again.” Jane smiled, smoothing the wrinkles of her light blue silk skirt.

“Same to you.” Harriet bit her lips. It was the second time she had been here. Ten miles away from any major road, it wouldn’t be pure coincidence. But the idea of this girl coming here deliberately seemed even more unreasonable. 

“Do you know all of these trains?” Jane asked, eyes peering the tiny handmade houses with pure admiration. 

“Yes, each train has a name and a story behind it.” Harriet’s hands hung awkwardly in the air seconds before they picked up the colorful toy train on the wooden table. The table shivered, reminding her of the abnormality of the scene. This girl doesn’t belong here. 

“I see,” Jane pointed her finger at a combination of maple tree and evergreen models by the toy train tracks, “Is that a forest?”

“It’s a bit of a mismatch,” Harriet paused, fingering the needle-like branches. Their youngest volunteer created them three years ago. Henry said he didn’t know how did she even find this place, living thirty miles away. It was a miracle, considering any help of labor would be much appreciated in this shop. Besides, she was Harriet’s only friend. “But if you say so.”

“Would you mind to show me around?”

“Eh, of course.” Harriet stepped forward, leading the way to the heavy metal door. She should be eager: Jane could buy something. She probably had the money to.

They walked along the damp air in the long hallway where Harriet pointed to the black-and-white framed photos and wished the light was a little brighter, or the deep blue paint on the wall a little less cracked. When they entered the main room, Jane’s eyes widened. She gazed at the ceiling, which seemed as tall as the sky, and Harriet coughed to pull her attention back from the dazzling lamp that looked like it could fall at any minute. The room was spacious and, closer to the door, cooler. Trails of trains lay on the old-fashioned display table, hauling through the forest and mountains. Harriet and Jane strolled through the pathway with lots of twists and turns and seemed like the most inconvenient route to travel across the room. Henry said it was a strategy to keep customers to look around. Harriet didn’t buy it.

“This is amazing,” Jane declared, the corners of her mouth almost curving into a grin. She again pointed at a tiny stop sign at the end of a four-way street, “Look at that. Your factory must have dedicated lots of work into this.”

Harriet let out a proud sigh, flattered by the sincerity in Jane’s eyes that she forgot to vent how formal-sounding her language was. Jane probably came from one of those private schools where you could take singing or dance class. Somewhere that she could only dream of. “I’m glad you like it.” 

Her comment was followed by an awkward silence as Jane scanned through a red train, intimated the style in eighteen century Europe. Harriet couldn’t stop pondering. Where would she come here? It had been clear that she didn’t have an outstanding enthusiasm for toy trains. It wasn’t the first time she served a curious teenage girl, though. Young girls have such an energetic curiosity which provoked her and made her envious.

The door made a noise—someone was turning the lock—and Jane shot her head up like a rabbit on guard. Harriet almost laughed, “It’s probably my dad.”

“Oh,” Jane paused, blushing.

Henry paced into the room, humming some country songs while Harriet silently mouthed “really?”. He seemed surprised by the visitor, or a potential customer, at this hour. “Hi, Harriet. And this young lady, may I ask your name?”

“Jane Winston, sir.”

Harriet peered at her dad: with greasy gloves on his hand and stains on his face, she could never picture him as a “sir”. But again, this girl—Jane Winston—probably addressed everyone “sir”. 

“Nice to meet you, Jane.” Henry took off his gloves and reached out his large, coarse hand. Harriet almost jumped. She never took a manner lesson in her life, but she knew that letting the lady reach out her hand first is the polite thing to do. Not wanting to correct her father in front of Jane, she watched tensely.

Jane reached out her hand, too. Her pale, slender fingers contrasted Henry’s sun-dried tan. Henry’s hands always reminded his daughter of obstinate roots inches deep in the earth, supporting hundred-year-old trees to provide shade for pedestrians during the unbearable heat of summer. Harriet gasped, now even more curious about the kind of family Jane was raised in. Very different from hers, evidently.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Please, just call me Henry. Maybe you would want to stay for supper?” Henry suggested, side-eyeing his daughter who has zoned out for a few minutes. “What do you think, Harriet?”

Harriet opened her mouth and left it hanging. The girl across from her was moving her lips. Not casting a spell, but the word she formed was almost as powerful as one. Ha-rri-et. Lipreading was one of the two things that Harriet was good at. Jane was voicing her name.

“I’m sorry, s—Henry. I have to go home for a piano lesson.” Jane crossed her fingers, making it obvious that she wasn’t wont to call an adult, especially a man, by his first name.

“That’s a bummer.” Henry hung up his trench coat and streamed through the tables, searching for a train that was in need of a repair or polish. Harriet and Jane stood perfectly still, eyeing him and his hands, anywhere but each other. Or at least that was how Harriet felt. She frowned at the mark of dust on Jane’s skirt, probably caused by getting too close to the edges of the table. What if Jane’s parents ask where had she been this afternoon? “Well, I need to go fix dinner. I’ll leave you two alone.”

He winked playfully at his daughter before he turned away, clearly glad that she found a companion around the same age, although the companion seemed to come from a completely different background. After the heavy footsteps rushed away, Harriet forcefully folded her arms on her chest. “So, you study piano?”

“Yes. I take lessons from my grandmother.” Jane put on her white gloves again, which made her fingers looked even more slender. “I always wear gloves when I play the piano.”

What a strange habit, Harriet thought. The answer was unexpected, too; she hunted for examples in her head, but the information about Jane’s world was so few that she gave up immediately.

“I wish I could hear you play,” Harriet said, instantly regretting it the seconds before Jane’s face lit up with joy.

This time, Jane’s lips tugged into a real, beautiful grin. It was shiny, blinding almost. “Really? I’d love to play for you.”

Harriet nodded a bit too hard, knowing she had made a fool of herself, although Jane seemed to enjoy her reaction. She did want to hear Jane play. The notes would be reborn under Jane’s fingers in the form of the most elegant harmony. She would listen intensely, or maybe she would concentrate on Jane’s delicate fingers dancing like elves on the black-and-white stage. Harriet used to stand outside the store on the corner of the neighborhood street to listen to their music. But Jane’s would be better. If only she could afford a tutor……

Tripping forward, Harriet knocked the unrealistic fantasies out of her mind. Jane had been quiet the whole time. She was the quietest girl at their age that Harriet had ever met. But Jane made it clear that she wasn’t spacing out; on the contrast, she was focusing hard. She listened to every little sound that had been echoed and magnified by the thin walls: the dipping water through pipes, the buzzing fan hanging on the ceiling, the footsteps on the other side of the building. Finally, her lips aroused. “For real, Harriet. I can invite you as my personal guest for Christmas. My grandmother would be thrilled to meet you.”

Harriet’s face fell, seeing again how strange was the fact that this girl was here. In the cold, dirty, noisy junkyard. The factory growled in front of Jane like a monster, or a beast. Harriet hated to think that. She has been proud of their little factory her whole life, even when her classmates called her a desperate pauper. What would Jane’s home be like? A giant white house with a fine succulent garden? She couldn’t even afford any suitable clothing to visit. She could feel Jane’s grandma frowning upon this girl with messy brown hair walking disgracefully.

“Harriet?” Jane knitted her eyebrows. 

“Sorry, huh,” Harriet waved her hands in the air and lied, “I have to work on Christmas day.”

This was literally the worst excuse ever. So pathetic. This train shop wouldn't even get more than a couple customers on a regular day, opening on December 25th is not going to bring them more cash. But when Harriet looked into Jane’s eyes, there was no sign of pity, only understanding.

She had never met a blonde girl with brown eyes before. They were tender, like silk or milk chocolate.

“It’s fine,” Jane said, “See you in New Year, then.”

Harriet smiled. Jane wanted to see her again. Was it a symbol of friendship? New Year had always been more special for her than Christmas. It could be a new beginning, a new chance. But her temporary happiness vanished when she realized that “see you” also meant goodbye. “Follow me.”

The words came out as a command. Jane followed Harriet into the dark hallway again with curiosity. A warm breeze wrapped around them like a blanket, leaving Harriet to condemn herself for letting Jane stay in the almost-freezing room for so long. 

Harriet opened the closet door a little too violently, almost ripping off the knob. “Cover your mouth!” She warned, blocking Jane with her body. But it was too late. Jane started chocking, her body trembled each time a dry cough came out.

Harriet turned around, stomach twisted with guilt. “I’m so sorry. This closest hasn’t been cleaned for a while.”

“It’s okay—” Jane sneezed before she could finish the sentence. Although Harriet was the one who made the mistake, she almost seemed more embarrassed.

Harriet hurried back to the closest and flipped through the cardboard boxes and old grocery bags. A steel box dropped on the stained floor, giving her a headache with its sharp tune. “I’m looking for something,” She explained in a voice no louder than a whisper. She just ruined the only chance. 

“Here!” After digging something out of an obscure corner, Harriet rushed out and held her hands to Jane. A tiny toy train unprofessionally painted forest green with red dots, resembling an unsightly gift box with a moon-shaped face. She looked down, “It’s one of the earliest trains I made, very sorry-looking.”

“Thank you,” Jane inhaled, “It’s beautiful.”

“It meant a lot to me.” Watching Jane holding the train to her chest, Harriet smiled for the first time in the afternoon.

“I have to get going,” Jane said.

“Okay.” Disappointment crawled over Harriet’s face. Friend. Is that it? She chewed on the one-syllable word. Although she wouldn’t admit, she didn’t want this girl to leave.

“See you in the New Year.” Jane took a few steps back, waving her hands.

Harriet looked at the Christmas lights mirrored on her face and wished, “Happy New Year.”