Doctor's orders, Carson says, and Bill reluctantly agrees to let Henry take a short walk every day.
'I can't believe,' Bill grumbles, 'I have to play chaperon.' Nevertheless, he goes to the infirmary every single day, and escorts Henry as he walks his way to health.
Leaving the infirmary for the first time is awful. Faith offers him his walking stick but Henry refuses to look like an old invalid. However, he soon starts to question his decision as he finds walking more tiresome than he remembered. There is just too much air around him, and before long he has to fight for every step because his muscles don't want to cooperate.
'Let's head back,' he grunts eventually. He is not even fifty, yet he is shuffling like an old man, and every step sends a jab of pain to his chest.
'Are you alright?' Bill asks.
Henry imagines that he says no, I am not, give me a hand. Then he limps back to the infirmary, arm in arm with Bill Avery. Singing a sea shanty, probably. What a picture. Only if simple existence didn't hurt so much, Henry could almost find it humorous.
Instead, he just shrugs. 'I'm fine,' he says, then grits his teeth, and finds his way back to the infirmary. It is a slow, weary, yet determined walk.
They have almost made it back uneventfully when Bill trips on the steps leading up to the infirmary. He reflexively grabs Henry's left elbow to steady himself. Miraculously they manage to stay up, and together they stumble to the door. What shall we do with the drunken sailor, Henry thinks, suppressing a groan.
On the other hand, he is relieved that Bill keeps holding onto him until they reach a seat Henry can take. Even this short walk drained him completely. How pitiful when a man, who once had everything, has to be grateful for every step he can take. But of course, what does he mean by everything? Maybe breathing and walking the streets of Hope Valley is far more valuable than anything he had ever owned.
Henry never asks for his walking stick. He will go as far as he gets on his own, may it be two steps or the next corner. Not that he has too many roads to take. Every step brings him nearer to his doom. He should just walk back and forth between the infirmary and the jail. Practice the route he is meant to take. He might be on a long leash, but he is not free anymore.
The next time Bill comes for Henry, Nurse Carter accompanies them for a while. She promised to bring Mrs McCormick her medicine, she says. Henry suspects she probably wants to check up on them after their last staggering performance.
'How is the Cantrell boy?' Henry enquires, and the nurse's face lights up hearing Philip's name. Good. Divert her attention from Henry's slow, cautious steps.
'Right as rain. He had a good night's sleep,' says Faith, smiling fondly, 'and the day after Elizabeth brought him in he was eager to go back to school. Thank you for asking.'
Even though Henry does not really care for the boy, he finds that it is nice to hear that Philip is alright.
'Shane, I mean, Mr Cantrell was offered a job in Union City,' Faith goes on. 'A well-paying job, surely, but they should have left Hope Valley if he had accepted the offer. Mr Cantrell decided that they would stay here with us. Life is cheaper in Hope Valley than in some fancy city, he said, and they have all their friends here. I myself truly believe there is a reason they have come to live with us. It would have been sad had they left the people who... care about them.'
'I wonder what or who made Shane Cantrell change his mind,' Bill teases her, but Faith does not rise to the bait, just giggles. Although her cheeks turn slightly pink.
As he slowly gathers his strength, Henry perceives more and more of his surroundings. He soon realises that the infirmary, even when it was crowded with patients, has shielded him from the more unpleasant experiences. Out in the open Henry can't escape the disapproving looks and stares from the people of Hope Valley. Just in front of the mercantile he can see Florence Blakeley and Molly Sullivan having a heated conversation but abruptly stopping mid-speech when they notice him looking at them. Florence's lips are pressed very firmly together, as if trying to restrain herself from saying something. She does not have to restrain herself too long as Bill senses their mood, and addresses the two women:
'Is there a problem, ladies?'
Head held high, Florence Blakeley speaks: 'It does beg the question what is he doing out in the streets.'
'With due respect, Mrs Blakeley, it is my duty to ensure that the prisoner lives to see his trial. If Doctor Shepherd says Henry needs to walk to restore his health, I won't question his medical opinion. My personal opinion does not matter in this case.'
'I see,' Florence sniffs, slightly mollified.
She has always been quick to judge others, but her bark is actually worse than her bite. Truth to be told, Henry has such a big log in his eye that the sawmill workers could cut a ton of lumbers from it, so let's not dwell on the splinter in Florence's eye anymore. Still, the encounter leaves a bad taste in Henry's mouth. Florence and Molly are not malicious women. They surely gossip a lot, and they might hold a grudge against Henry, but they are actually good-hearted. Yet they can't bear the thought of walking the same streets as him.
Although rare, there are more pleasant encounters.
One day as they are walking in the rain (Henry is in a terrible mood and Bill does not look happy either), they notice Abigail coming out of the mercantile with an expression of radiant delight on her face. She goes almost dancing towards the two men, waving to them, like they are two friends taking a stroll in the afternoon, not the town's sheriff and a wounded criminal.
'Wonderful day, isn't it?' she smiles at them.
Bill and Henry exchange a look of disbelief. It is pouring, and the sheriff has to chaperone a criminal for medical reasons, while they don't particularly like each other. Their situation is the opposite of wonderful, to put it mildly.
'You look very happy,' Henry comments. It might not be the smartest statement of the year, but seeing Abigail so happy gives him a sense of contentment, too. He wants to know more about the source of it. What makes her smile so brightly? What helps her see the blue sky behind the dark clouds?
'Can you two keep a secret?'
'Why, of course.'
When Bill stays silent, Henry nudges him with his elbow. They might not get on well, but Bill is getting to know Henry's left elbow quite well.
'What? I mean, yes, we can.'
Abigail leans a bit closer. The two men find that they are instinctively mirroring her.
'The official adoption degree has just arrived. From now on I am the mother of Becky and Cody.'
'But that's great, Abigail!' exclaims Bill. 'Why is it such a big secret?'
'I want to surprise them with the news on Cody's birthday.'
'Our lips are sealed,' Bill promises.
'Congratulations,' Henry manages to say. He is too surprised to say anything else.
Abigail is a mother - again. She has been taking care of Cody and Becky for a while now, but this is something new. The adoption papers say that she isn't just acting like one, she is a mother. Again. From this day until… Until when? Until their last breath?
Abigail bids them a good day and leaves them, and the colours seem to fade away. She has taken her happiness with her, leaving only morsels behind. At least this is how it seems to Henry. Bill looks more content now, asking him if he wants to go on or return to the infirmary in a tone that one could call cheerful. Almost friendly, but let's not go that far.
Henry walks back to the infirmary in a pensive state.
Maybe Abigail has never stopped being a mom. Or does a woman stop being a mother when her child dies? Henry doubts that. He has never thought about it before, but Abigail has got the singular ability to knock down his carefully built ignorance from time to time. He must admit that Abigail is never acting. Hence she has never acted as a mother - she has been and will always be one. The mother of Peter Stanton. The mother of Cody and Becky. The mother of the community. Goodness, she takes her role very seriously. Once she actually told Henry that the people of Hope Valley were his family.
Family is so important for everyone but Henry.
He does not have a family. Well, he has a brother, but they haven't talked in twenty-five years. James wanted to make his fortune as a sailor. Last time Henry saw him he was about to board a boat to Singapore. They have never cared much about blood ties anyway.
Henry feels he will never get to experience such an extreme happiness as Abigail's. And it has nothing to do with parenthood. It is all about caring. You need to care about others, unselfishly, letting them close to you. Closer than it would be comfortable. So close they could hurt you. They could betray you. If you let people in, that can bring great joy, but it is also a great risk. This ambiguity is the source of Abigail's happiness, and the realisation makes Henry think that he will never smile so brightly if this is the cost. He is not even fifty, but he feels too old to open his heart for someone. One open wound in his chest was more than enough.