Henry's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall—it almost feels like he's back in prison.

Well, he is not. If anything, he's freer than he's ever been, as Henry Gowen is a rich man now.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed when Mr. Mason, occupying the only chair in the room, opened his bag and took out some documents. In the end, Henry had invited him to his room, even though that crossing through the saloon many curious gazes followed them. Fine, let them stare and speculate.

"About ten years ago your brother visited me in my office in Toronto," started Mason. "He wanted to make a will and turned to me for advice, then left the document in my care. I hadn't heard about him until last July when I was notified of his death—"

"How did he die?" Henry interrupted him.

"Your brother contracted malaria when his ship docked at Port-au-Prince." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Gowen."

But Henry shook off his sympathy with a wave of his hand.

"So, about the will." Mr. Mason searched among his papers. "It's a clear case as you're the only beneficiary. Your brother didn't own a land or other property but he had some savings."

Henry was about to thank him for making such a long and tiresome journey to talk about a surely insignificant amount of money, when Mr. Mason told him the exact sum. It was much more than he had ever earned, even as a mine owner or as mayor. He didn't just inherit some money; suddenly he became a rich man.

Henry is shaken from his thoughts by a gentle knock on the door. He doesn't want to open the door but his best guess says his visitor is—

"Henry? It's me, Abigail."

Getting up from his bed, Henry secretly wishes it'd be someone else at the door, so he could whole-heartedly ignore them. But of course, it has to be Abigail—after all, nobody else would ever think of visiting him—and he can't be rude to her.

He makes an effort to wipe the sour expression off his face, and opens the door.

"How can I help you, Abigail?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask if I can help you somehow."

"Thank you, but I'm fine."

This is the moment when they should close the door and leave each other alone.

"All right. Here, I brought some scones." She presents him her basket. "I'm sorry for your loss." Henry nods, acknowledging her sympathy. "You might not feel ready for it, but I think you should talk to someone. If not now, then later."

"I appreciate your concern but you shouldn't see too much into— into this situation."

The last thing he needs is to talk with someone about his emotions—or more precisely, about the lack of his emotions.

"Grief is a harsh thing—"

"I'm not grieving, Abigail," he cuts her off. "If James hadn't left me his money, I'd have never known about his death. There was no close bond between me and my brother, and I clearly don't deserve your pity."

It's true. The early death of their mother broke their father and he seeked oblivion in drinking, abandoning his children when James was only thirteen and Henry barely reached ten. They were alone against the world, so drew their conclusions: you couldn't trust anyone, not even your family, because everyone would leave you in the end. Unlike the Bailey boys, their childhood experiences didn't strengthen their relationship but pushed the brothers apart.

Henry sighed. "Look, Abigail, I don't want to argue with you. If you really want to help— Well, I'd prefer if you didn't tell anyone about my brother's death."

"Then I won't."

-:-:-:-

A whole week has passed since Mr. Mason's arrival—they spent it with arranging the necessary formalities, so the lawyer could leave Hope Valley next Wednesday. Everything is settled yet Henry still can't seem to find his place. His room feels too small, the kitchen is too quiet, the saloon is too empty, and it's all so frustrating he can't bear it anymore. Henry asks Black if he could be spared for the afternoon and as there is nobody around waiting to be served, he's dismissed with a nod.

Henry lets his feet take him anywhere they want to go and, most surprisingly, ends up at the church. Suddenly he realises that he hasn't even prayed for his brother's soul—he can't even tell why not. Maybe it's time to try at least; hopefully his thoughts will fly up with his words.

However, he's still outside the church, eyeing the steps, when Reverend Anderson opens the door—then, spotting Henry, practically freezes to the threshold.

"Good day, Mr. Gowen."

"Good day to you, too."

The good reverend is looking at him like Henry was a criminal, and he's not far from the truth.

"Can I have a word with you?"

The reverend hesitates with his answer. "I was on my way to— Well, I have an appointment."

"I could accompany you on your way," Henry offers. "Please."

"All right." They start walking at a slow pace. "So, how can I help you?"

Henry doesn't need help, he just needs less enemies. It's hard to be good when so many people hate you, right?

"It's not help what I seek but— but—" He can't say redemption, especially since he senses that the good reverend wouldn't believe him. Once they were allies in wronging the people of this town, so it's highly doubtful they could ever be friends in making amends. "See, I've recently got, er, bad news about my brother and I find myself… disturbed. Which is surprising, since we never had a good relationship, and that just seems to be the story of my life. I find it difficult to connect to people." The reverend merely raises an eyebrow. "I'm not complaining because I never thought it'd be easy; I just imagined I'd take it easier. The majority of the town looks at me like I'm a bad man, and yes, maybe I am, maybe I'm not capable of changing, but— But somehow I'm not so fine with it anymore."

"Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind," recites the reverend. "From time to time we all need to renew our minds. If you want people change their minds about you— Well, you have to change your mind, too."

"Easier said than done," Henry grunts. If misery loves company, they're truly a match. Not that he expected consolation from the good reverend—actually, he got exactly what he had asked for: an attentive but not sympathetic ear.

"If that's all—"

They stop in front of a house—the reverend's destination—and Henry realises that it's the Montgomerys' home.

"How is Cat Montgomery?" he asks, and the reverend probably senses his genuine concern because he gives a real answer.

"She's suffering from great pain but her illness can't weaken her soul."

"Has she and her family got enough help?"

"It was easier when the Bailey boys were their neighbours, but they manage."

"Sam and Jake were their neighbours?"

"Yes, but they quit the place entirely when they left, and the house has been empty ever since."

As a new idea starts to formulate in his mind, Henry thinks that Abigail might have been right after all—talking to someone can put everything in a different light.

Author's note: When Calls The Heart is back for season 6, yay! I enjoyed the first episode very much. How did you like it?