Life seems to slow down in Hope Valley as the first men leave for Cape Fullerton to enlist. It has the biggest impact on the railroad; steel-drivers put down their hammers so their hands are free for weapons now. They change out of their work clothes into khakis and make promises to end the war in three days once they set foot in Europe. Of course, Jake Bailey is among the first volunteers, with his brother hot on his heels.

"You don't have to go, you know," Henry tells Sam on the very night he announces his decision to the saloon workers. "If you don't feel ready, you don't have to go right away."

"I can't let Jake down. I don't have anybody else but him. If he goes to fight, then I go with him and the battlefield will become our home."

"Hope Valley could be a home for both of you."

But Sam only shakes his head. He obviously fears the war yet he's determined to go, and Henry respects his decision.

"I expect you back in one piece." They shake hands on this.

Nowadays the kitchen looks much emptier without Sam, and Henry often finds himself wondering what is the kid doing in big old Europe. Has he been in a battle already? Has he faced bullets? Henry touches the scar on his chest, remembering the sharp bite of the shot. Some nights, when he can't sleep, he prays for Sam so that he'd never have to experience that pain and that feeling of utter helplessness.

-:-:-:-

Word comes from Red Cross headquarters that sheets and bandages would be required, and it shakes the people of Hope Valley up. At once every home is snowed over with drifts of white cotton as everybody starts to hem sheets, so Henry volunteers to collect the supplies—as a bachelor, he's familiar with sewing but only at a basic level. He carries everything to the infirmary then helps Faith with the sorting and packing.

One day he opens the door with gloomy news: "The British army was driven back; I heard it from Katie Yost just now."

Two pairs of eyes greet him: Faith and Abigail turn their heads towards him. Maybe they've already heard the news as they look unusually troubled.

"I'm sorry if I'm— I can come back later if that's more convenient," Henry stutters, his eyes frantically looking for a spot where he can place today's package.

Abigail shakes her head. "No, it's not— I'm sorry, Henry, I don't want to drive you away. You weren't disturbing anything, I just looked in to give this box of bandage to Faith."

"I could have collected that from you," he points out, feeling a bit hurt.

"I know but it's a short walk and I needed some fresh air—" Abigail sighs. "Well, you'll know about it soon enough so maybe I should tell you now."

"Know about what?"

"Someone sent Jesse an envelope containing a white feather."

At first Henry doesn't understand it. Then, he feels rage.

"Who did it?"

"We don't know." Abigail's lips tremble. "Clara came to me in tears to tell me about it. Jesse's self-esteem was deeply shaken by the affair, and she's afraid that soon he'll go and enlist. Clara is the only thing to keep him here; he knows she couldn't bear to lose him after she'd already lost Peter but— I understand that Jesse doesn't want to look like a coward, I do, but as selfish and antipatriotic it might sound, I don't want him to go. If he dies, it'll break Clara's heart."

"Has he decided to go?"

"Not yet."

"Then don't despair, Abigail," Faith tells her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure that Jesse will choose the path meant for him and if it leads him to the war, Clara will need you."

"We all need you." The words slip out of Henry's mouth before he could stop himself. "I mean, Hope Valley needs its mayor more than ever. It will be a long time now before the war is ended."

More men will leave the town before the war is over but how many will return? Henry remembers the months after they'd lost forty-seven men in that mining accident and still had to go on. His memories of those times are painfully clear about how the mothers kept the community together—not the company, not the mayor but the mothers. He knows these women won't fail in courage, no matter how hard the wind of change is blowing in the world.

"Thank you for your support," Abigail smiles. "I'm sorry I lost my head but that white feather—"

"It's a nasty business—" Henry shakes his head "—but I'm sure that our nosy Bill Avery'd love to play detective and find out who sent it."

It's a pitiful attempt at a joke, he knows it, but he can't do better—and truth to be told, he can't resist a joke at Bill's expense, even if it's a bad one.

"Surely he would but I don't want to give it unnecessary attention." Abigail picks up her basket, ready to leave. "I should go back."

"Henry could escort you," Faith suggests and Henry blinks in surprise. The café and the office are equally close to the infirmary, so why would Abigail need an escort? "And Henry, on your way back, could you visit Dottie and ask her if the drops worked? She and Bradley had a bad cough but we didn't have the usual drops, just those new ones, and I wanted to check on them— I'm sorry to put it on you, I'll visit them later, of course."

"I'm here to help," Henry nods gallantly, even though he's more comfortable with the "sweeping the floor" type of help. He doubts that anybody would like him to enquire after them but if Faith asks him to do so, he'll do it.

Abigail's in a pensive state and Henry can't find the words around her so they spend the short walk in silence. They stop at the stagecoach station.

"So." Henry clears his throat. He wants to tell Abigail that he knows she might find the weight of the community on her shoulder heavier in these strange, new times, but she should never feel alone. "If you need help— You know where to find me, if you need something."

What a gentleman,really, he curses himself, you should have kept your mouth shut if all you can talk is nonsense . But before he could say anything else, a stagecoach arrives with great rattling, its wheels sending dust everywhere. A man, dressed in black and holding a bag, climbs off the vehicle.

"I can't wait to see the railroad finished," Henry groans. "I'd prefer progress march on with this town, not without it."

Abigail laughs. "Now, this is the Henry Gowen I know."

"Henry Gowen?" the stranger asks, stepping closer to them.

"That's me, yes."

"Samuel Mason." They shake hands. "Could we talk somewhere private, please?"

When Henry hesitates with his answer, reluctant to invite this complete stranger to his room at the saloon, Abigail offers to find them a corner at the café.

"Thank you, madam, but I think we need a more private place than that. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Bad news?" Henry frowns, various explanations popping up in his mind. Has it got something to do with his parole? Or should he know Mr. Mason from somewhere? Does he own him money? Did he wrong him in some way? He can't remember, he can't.

Mr. Mason takes a deep breath. "Mr. Gowen, I'm sorry to inform you that your brother, James Gowen died five months ago."

Author's note: I know, I know, I know—and I'm sorry. I planned to return to this story in September, I just didn't know that life'd held other plans for me. But I'm back! Any helpful comments are welcome, especially since I still don't have a beta. #stillnotanativespeaker