Henry arrives to Hope Valley on a cold, but sunny Wednesday afternoon. He did not anticipate a warm welcome anyway, yet he can't help but huff a bit over how even the weather seems discontent with his return. Now is the winter of the town's discontent made suspicious spring by the sun of Henry's return. Fine. He does not really care about anyone's opinion apart from Abigail's, so he can tolerate all the cold shoulders and gloomy glances he gets. He has more pressing matters at hand than getting anxious about the people of Hope Valley.

He needs a job. He needs a place to live - a room will do for now, one where he can sleep, preferably without nightmares. He needs to eat, too, he can't live solely on air. He needs money, but he is not the mayor anymore, nor a company manager, so he needs to find a new job. A small frontier town might not be exploding with possibilities but Hope Valley is prospering, as Abigail said at the trial, and Henry expects that he won't have to be without work for too long. Even though there is no hope for a desk job (who would trust a convicted felon?), and he is not fit for hard work just yet, he has learnt that help and opportunities come from the most unexpected places. Or people, as a matter of fact.

Soon enough it is proven to him once again that he might have degraded in the opinion of the people of Hope Valley, he might be the lowest of the low in their eyes, but they have a good heart hidden under all that anger and mistrust.

Since he has no chance for a decent job with a good salary, Henry can't afford to go back to his old place. He settles for a room at the saloon as he does not have to pay for it before the end of the month. Hopefully, he will have found a job by that time, or else he might need to bend his knee, crawl under the threshold of the jail, and beg Bill to let him sleep in his old cell.

No, that is never going to happen. He will sell everything he has left, including his clothes, if he can't find no other way to get some money, but he will never ask Bill for help. Not on this ground, not under this sky.

'I might not be able to pay for my accommodation before the end of the month,' Henry tells Jeremy Black, the owner of the saloon, as the key to his room is handed to him, 'but I will pay.'

Black looks at him with knitted brows, his gaze is pensive. He must be contemplating if he should trust my words or not, Henry thinks, and the thought could almost hurt him should he care. But he does not care.

'I have a proposition, Henry Gowen,' Jeremy Black says, finally. 'You work for me. I can't pay you much, but I give you a room and you can eat here. This town is growing bigger with every day, and people will always want to eat and drink, yet it is still only me and Ellie running this place. Well, we have got Sam, too, but I could do with an extra pair of hands in the kitchen.'

Not the job Henry has dreamed of, but beggars can't be choosers.

'I can't cook,' he warns Black because it would be most unlucky if a clumsy scullion was sent to help his wife. He would probably drive Mrs Black up the wall with the lack of his cooking skills in no time.

'I trust you can chop vegetables, and wash and rinse glasses.'

'Sure.'

Sounds like pure joy. Henry will love to sulk in the saloon's kitchen, cleaning other people's mess.

But of course, after his arrestment there was quite a mess to clean up, so working at the saloon might just be another slice of humble pie, as Bill put it once. He has to swallow it, along with Jeremy's pity.

'This is no charity,' Black says as if he was reading Henry's mind. 'I need help, you need to work. It's a win-win situation.' He extends his hand.

Henry takes it. 'Yes, it is.'

'You start tomorrow.'

With that handshake Henry's life becomes simple. Easy even, in a way. He lives in the saloon. He works at the saloon. He spends all his time at the saloon. Mostly, he mostly in the kitchen, helping Mrs Black (Helen, she insists as Henry can't bring himself to call her Ellie like everyone else does), but sometimes he is instructed to go to the mercantile and pick up supplies. There is another guy working at the saloon, a much younger one, called Samuel. He has no friends who would call him Sam. He is a newcomer, he has recently moved to the town, when his brother got a job at the railway. He does not talk much but Henry does not particularly want to chat with anyone, so it sits well with him.

Although he wishes he had the will to go and talk with Abigail, he can't bring himself to it. The memory of the trial is still fresh on his mind; just thinking of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He does not want to form words out of this bitterness. He is a practical man, he can't be bothered by the matters of the soul, so to speak. He won't discuss feelings or doubts or mistakes with anyone.

Now Henry's life is like his room: simple and small. Does not have much in it. Nobody ever visits. Even if they did, he would not let anybody in. It is not a friendly environment but it is only fair since he has no friends. There are no decorations, no ornaments, just the plain, simple truth. No need for a facade when there is nothing to hide. Maybe if he had a single secret left, people would care and pry and try - but he does not care about people.

The prodigal son is back in town and he is sulking in his room.

Was he gifted with a second chance for this?

Hardly.

So one morning, after a row of sleepless nights and monotone days in the kitchen, Henry walks up to the infirmary and knocks.

'Good morning, Henry.'

Faith smiles at him, her own warm, full-of-heart smile, and Carson's greeting nod could almost be called amiable. The two of them look so normal, so peaceful. Ready for a day full of purposeful and challenging tasks.

'How can we help you?'

'Actually, I would like to help you.'

It all sounded better when he first thought of it but he can't go back now, only forward.

'I mean that I am volunteering to… to help out.'

What else should he say to them? They are making sheep's eyes at him like he had suddenly grown two heads. Henry would have never thought that help needed an explanation.

'I can place orders and pick them up. I can paint and repair things; I had time to practice while working on my community service.' It seems like he did that ages ago, in another life. A pre-trial life. 'Helen Black taught me how to clean a kitchen, so I guess I could keep this place clean, too. Helen is a strict woman, you could treat a wound any day in her kitchen.'

Now he is babbling, talking nonsense, and silently scolding himself for coming here at all. They do not need his help. Henry has got nothing to offer but himself and who would need him…?

Faith is the first to break the silence. 'We would like that, wouldn't we, Carson?'

'Yes. Sure. Thank you for the offer.'

They are smiling, both of them. Henry did not ask for that but still, his chest feels a little less tight and he can breathe a bit easier. There is a chance that an hour later he will already regret his decision but he can't help that, it is too late. Alea iacta est. He has reached out and his offer has been accepted, everything else is just a matter of details. Simple as that.

Henry is not an optimist nor an idealist, but the more he thinks about the less he doubts that perhaps he will learn to like his room at the saloon. He might not have friends, but maybe, just maybe, he has allies, and, as far as he cares, that is not a bad start.

Author's note: I can't remember if the saloon's owner had ever been mentioned in the series, so I decided it was time for Jeremy Black to step into this story. Sorry it took so long, but I hope you are still with me.