Henry is walking down the street, enjoying the soft morning breeze, when he spots a familiar figure stepping of the stagecoach. At first he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him but alas, no. It is neither the bright morning light nor he needs to ask Doctor Shepherd for glasses because the man gathering his luggage is really Reverend Anderson in the flesh.

Henry can't help but cross the road to exchange a few words with him because… Because right now he is more curious than a herd of gossiping old women. Because Helen Black is not a particularly chatty person and Samuel is the exact opposite of talkative. Because if he does not meet Faith or Abigail or Carson, Henry can spend a whole day without uttering a single word.

He is hungry for words. He suspects that the source of this feeling lies with his career change. Back then, before his downfall, he used to spend his days with negotiating contracts and striking deals. He made business with words. Now his colleagues rarely talk and the glasses in his care do not speak at all. He does not need no jolly company to entertain him, he just wants to gain a better understanding of people in general - without getting involved too much, preferably. Maybe if he understood the ones surrounding him, he could understand himself, too. A lifetime ago he flattered himself with believing that he had understood how the world works but now he is not sure in anything, not anymore. He used to eat life, now he wishes to taste it. Take the world apart, bite by bite. Henry needs to know why he feels both significant and insignificant at the same time. How can He let so fragile and yet tough creatures walk these grounds? Going in circles, as it seems.

'Reverend Anderson,' he addresses the man who is completely absorbed by the strange new look of the town.

'Mister Gowen.' The reverend has not forgotten him, Henry can see that by the way Anderson knits his brows when looking at him.

'I assume you are here to take up the position of town pastor once again. Or are you just visiting?' He did not plan to sound so interrogative but it is good to know that he has not lost his touch.

'Yes, I am to be the shepherd of this flock… once again.'

It is a truth universally acknowledged that, since misery loves company, a man hoping for redemption feels an almost wicked joy upon finding someone with a very similar intention. Reverend Anderson might not be a criminal but he let these people down, too. Henry senses that this is the reason behind the pastor's unexpected appearance but he needs to hear it so he presses:

'Why did you come back?'

The need to understand is eating at him. Why would anyone return to the community he once failed after so many years? Henry does not count. He practically never left his home. But does Reverend Anderson think of Hope Valley as his home, too? Hardly. Many years passed since he last came near to this town. When he left, this place was called Coal Valley, the mine was still open, and there was no church, no school, just the dusty saloon. It is not the same town, is it? Definitely not.

'Sweet, old songs are the best.' In contrast with his half-smile, the reverend sounds melancholy. His answer might be cryptic but there is something in his eye, a strange light that seems strangely familiar to Henry.

It might not be the exact same town but the people are the same, he realises. Non muri sed mentes, right? That must be it. The reverend failed his people, so he left but he couldn't stay away, evidently. He is back because he needs redemption, too, and when someone hopes for a second chance so badly, time does not matter. Forgiveness and a place called home are what both of them are looking for, and when you are seeking something, you never stop looking just because a year ended and another has come.

-:-:-:-

'And that is how you fix a sprained finger. There. Now you try it.'

Now and then, when they have the time, Faith teaches Henry basic medical skills. He does not want to look overconfident but he thinks he is getting better and better at treating sprained limbs. If he ever found himself in a similar situation with Abigail, for example, like that undignified rescue attempt during his community service, he could be of more help.

Except that as he could not step twice into the same river, he could never find himself in a similar situation. Not that he wishes for Abigail to get hurt again, never that, but he remembers the peace of that evening in the forest with a strange fondness in his heart and longs to experience that tranquility again. Since his return to Hope Valley he has been feeling mostly comfortable in his skin - as comfortable as he can get with his disgrace weighing him down, but still, he has been doing alright. He just can't forget the faint but sweet taste of happiness he had savoured that night. He does not want to forget it. Maybe, if he earns it, one day he will get another taste.

'How is the Cantrell boy?' he asks because he knows Faith likes to talk about the Cantrells. Her face lights up when someone mentions them and her voice has a special sweet, gentle tone whenever she speaks about Shane or Philip.

'He is very excited about Elizabeth's wedding,' she answers and there it is. That tone, that smile, that fond look. 'At first he was a bit anxious about it; he was worried Miss Thatcher would leave them after the wedding for good.'

'The children are very fond of their teacher.'

'Well, no surprise there, Elizabeth is an amazing teacher.'

Henry nods. Everyone in Hope Valley praises Miss Thatcher's teaching skills, even though at first they did not believe that the spoilt big city princess would be capable of carrying out the hard task she was facing. They do not believe in Henry either but one day he will change their minds about him. He just needs to be patient - like Faith. When she is teaching him how to apply a bandage. When she listens to some old woman complaining about a headache like she was on her deathbed. When some old man was rude to her because he was hurting and she gently soothed him while easing his pain. Faith is a good teacher, too. She is teaching patience by practising it.

'The whole class has taken to the wedding shouldn't be less than perfect. Philip is really proud that he is going to be the ring bearer,' Faith goes on, and Henry wonders if she is thinking about her own wedding, too, when Elizabeth's comes up in a conversation. Her courtship with Shane Cantrell is official but there has not been an engagement, not yet. Faith was once betrothed to some pompous big city guy, Henry knows that much, and Mr Shantrell is a widow with a little boy, so who knows what the future will bring for them…? Both of them must be a little afraid; they might not feel ready to commit to each other. Very logical, Henry thinks, nobody wants to risk getting hurt again.

He also thinks that Faith is one of the kindest, most patient person he has ever met, and that when he finally made up his mind, Shane Cantrell will be very lucky to have her.

Later that day Henry is sweeping the front porch of the infirmary when another immensely kind and patient person approaches him.

'Abigail.' His greeting might not sound warm but his face softens and his posture relaxes every time he sees her. 'Is something wrong? You are not sick, are you?'

'Oh, no, I am fine, everything is fine. I just thought I would come and ask you how are you…' she trails off, uncertain. Henry wishes he could read between the lines because something is amiss, no matter what she says… but he can't so he has to play along.

'Alright, I am alright.' Although he feels a bit foolish standing there with a broom in his hand. Should he go back to sweeping? 'I am, uh, I am almost done here.'

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Abigail immediately starts to retreat.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to hold you up.'

'No, no, I will just return this to its place and then…' But he never finishes his sentence because what could he say? And then you could walk me to work? He really, really wishes Abigail would just simply tell him what is eating away at her. 'So, Miss Thatcher must be very excited about her upcoming wedding,' he tries to change the topic. Very smoothly.

'Yes, she is. Of course. There is still so much to be done and school isn't over yet, so Elizabeth has a lot on her plate right now. At least a new pastor arrived just this morning, so she doesn't have to worry about that anymore.'

'Yeah, I met the good reverend.'

Suddenly everything falls into place. Abigail is not worried about anything in particular, she is just distressed because Anderson's arrival reminds her of Frank's absence. Now that the reverend is here, it seems so final that Pastor Hogan won't ever return. It is sad but Henry can't really help her, he is no man to offer words of wisdom.

But of course, he can try, just this once.

'I think he has come a long way, and not just because we live in the middle of nowhere.' His remark earns a small smile from Abigail, which is something. 'It must have been a hard decision to make but this is the path he has chosen. The path he was meant to chose.'

Henry thinks of Reverend Anderson - and he thinks of Pastor Hogan, too. Abigail understands his meaning, he can see that in her eyes. Good because it is the best he could come up with.

Before the situation could turn awkward, Jack Thornton shows up. He does not look sick either, which makes Henry wonder what does the good sheriff want from them. His best guess is that Jack wants to discuss town business with Abigail. That or it is something about the wedding.

'What brings you here, Jack?' Abigail asks, looking all friendly and much less worried than barely a minute ago. It makes Henry feel content, knowing that in some way he helped her in casting away her clouds.

'Actually, I wanted to talk to Henry… if you are amenable.'

'Sure.'

Abigail smiles and bids them good-bye: 'Well then, I should be going. Good day to you two.'

Henry looks after her with a sore tightness in his chest. It feels like a cheap change; he'd rather listen to Abigail than to Thornton. He can't imagine the man has anything nice to say to him. Truly, Henry loves to have uncomfortable conversations with the town's sheriff on a porch with a broom in his hand. A day without having one is considered wasted.

But patience is a virtue, so he stops whining internally and braces himself for whatever Thornton has to say.

'I would like to invite you to my wedding.'

Henry is baffled. He certainly did not expect Jack Thornton to invite him to his special day out of… pity? No, that does not make any sense. You invite somebody for a drink out of pity, maybe, but you surely do not invite somebody you have never liked to your special day.

'Bill told me everything that happened while I was… away.' A shadow crosses Jack's face; it is gone in a blink of an eye but for the first time it makes Henry think that the good sheriff might be bearing his own burdens, too. 'I know that if it weren't for you, he might not have been able to make it to be my best man on my wedding. You saved his life and I am immensely grateful for that.'

There it is. Gratitude. The honest and open expression on Jack's face makes Henry's heart swell with shame. He should have done more for this town than getting accidentally shot. He should have done better.

Jack goes on, his voice steady and firm: 'I understand we have never gotten on well…' Understatement of the year, Henry thinks. '...but I would like to change that.' And with that he offers his hand.

Henry takes it. Shakes it. A firm and steady grip. Another promise made.

He can do this. He can keep his increasing promises and he can do better.

Author's note: So, what do you think?