"Why are you working for me, Henry?"
Caught unprepared, Henry flinches at the question. "Pardon?"
"I mean, you could easily afford not to have a job, yet you're still working for me," Jeremy Black points out.
Henry stops, his hands resting on the back of a chair, and frowns.
The saloon is closed and empty now. The guests headed home, only Henry and the Blacks remained to tidy up. Working in comfortable silence, they're almost finished, only need to turn the chairs upside down, putting them on the tables, while Helen is dealing with the kitchen.
"Are you firing me?"
"No."
"Good."
Much to his surprise, Henry finds that he does feel good about the fact that he won't lose the poorly paid job he used to call 'menial'— and which he doesn't need anymore. Or at least, he doesn't need the financial support anymore but he needs the activity and the company. Even though Sam is really missing from the picture, Henry enjoys working with the Blacks. Jeremy is a sturdy man of goodwill and Helen is his equal companion; their marriage rests on so solid foundations that Henry almost envies them for it.
"So?" Black is still looking at him expectantly.
"So what?"
"So why are you working for me? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that you're working here. With us. But at the same time, I don't want to make you feel obliged to stay here."
Apparently, the feeling is mutual—Henry likes it here and his work is appreciated. A night of surprises.
"Look, I prefer not to advertise it but it's true that I have enough money to start my own business or just lay back and watch the days pass by." Henry toyed with both ideas for a while as both of them were quite tempting. It would feel nice to lead a comfortable, uncaring life again— and it would probably take him back to where he began. "But I don't want to do that. It's just not what I need right now."
Jeremy rarely smiles so that half-smile that appears on his face looks almost strange on him. It also looks genuine and friendly.
"Because right now you need to work here…? At the saloon?"
"Strange as it sounds, yes. I think I need to work here."
"Well, good for us."
Maybe, just maybe, Henry can add another name to the short list of his friends.
-:-:-:-
"Hello, Cat."
The kids are already at school when Henry arrives to lure Cat out of the house. The weather is pleasant—cold but dry—and he hasn't visited her properly for days. There was a procession of patients at the infirmary—here a sprained wrist, there an inflamed throat… Henry spent all his free time helping Faith and Carson, and even though he checked in on the Montgomerys on occasion, he never stayed to chat.
"Henry?"
Judging by how faint and rasp Cat sounds, there won't be much chatting today.
"Cat!" Henry is by her side in a blink of an eye. "What's wrong?"
"'m thirsty," she slurs, the words barely comprehensible. Henry fetches a cup of water for her and realises that it won't work. He'll have to support her head because Cat looks too weak to drink on her own.
"Here," he says, very carefully sliding an arm under her neck and tries to lift her head onto his shoulder.
Cat cries out in pain.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Henry doesn't panic—but nearly. All those hours spent at the infirmary and the first time he tries to take care of a patient, he hurts her. Well done, Henry Gowen.
"It's fine."
Henry wants to laugh, or cry, or both. It's so not fine when the patient wants to calm their caretaker. That's the opposite of fine.
"It just hurts so much."
"Where does it hurt the most?"
"Back. My back and—" Cat gasps and convulses in pain. "And my neck hurts."
All right, Henry. Remember not to lose your head. You can do this. Or rather, the best thing you can do is to get professional help.
"Cat, I'm going to take my hand away, alright?" Henry tries very, very carefully pull his arm away but Cat is seizing with pain again. "There. I'm going for help now."
"Henry—"
"Yes, it's me, it's Henry. I'm coming back and I'm bringing help. Hold on, Cat, I'm coming back."
He rushes out of the house and heads to the infirmary. He isn't running, it's more like a hurried march but it's the best he can do with his bad knee. It's not enough. How he wishes Cat had a useful neighbour…!
His wish is granted in an unexpected way as he spots Reverend Anderson in the distance. A rather strange miracle but Henry couldn't care less right now.
"Reverend!" he shouts. "Reverend Anderson!"
The good reverend stops in his tracks and turns around, surprise written all over his face. He's opening his mouth but Henry beats him to it and pours everything on him at once.
"Please, quick, I need you to find Dr. Shepherd. He should be at the infirmary. Tell him that Cat's feeling severe pain in her back. She's probably dehydrated, too."
Reverend Anderson pales. "Cat? Is she…? What happened?"
Henry wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he snaps out of his shock.
"Anderson, listen to me!" His harsh tone is as good as shaking the man because the reverend seems to be back with him, eyes focused and paying attention. "You go to the infirmary now. Take Carson or Faith to the Montgomerys' house. I'll look after Cat. Hurry!"
A running reverend is an unusual sight but Henry has no time to stare after him because he's already turning back. He finds Cat in a similar state just as he left her. Much to his pain, he can do little else but sit with her and gingerly hold her hand, telling her that she's not alone, he's here and help will come soon.
And he can't help but wonder if he should go to the school and take Miles and Emily home. They would never forgive him if they couldn't say goodbye to their mother.
-:-:-:-
"She needs to rest but she'll be fine," Carson says and Henry feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. However, he notices the worry lines deepening around Carson's mouth and the graveness of his voice. "I think she'll be out for the rest of the day; I gave her very strong painkillers. I'll stay with her until Emily and Miles arrive home, then I'll send Faith over for the night."
"I can stay," Henry offers. "You must have a lot of other patients."
But Carson shakes his head. "Thank you but it has to be me. Her children should hear from a doctor that their mother won't recover."
As the words settle in, Henry feels the blood turn into ice in his veins.
"How much…?"
"I don't know. She might have months, or maybe just days. Hard to tell exactly but it's the final stage of her illness."
"Can't she even say goodbye to her kids?"
"Cat will have lucid moments, and some days will come when she'll feel much better. So, yes, she'll be able to her goodbyes. But it's only a matter of time now."
"Someone should write to Gabe," Henry says and finds himself fighting back tears. Calm down, he tells himself. This is not the end. Almost— but not yet. If Cat was awake, she'd chide him for crying over something that hasn't even happened. "Her elder son works in Cape Fullerton," he explains to Carson.
"Can't you write to him?"
"I don't think that's a good idea." Henry absent-mindedly scratches his chin, thinking. It should be someone closer to the children, someone who can give them support and kindness... Oh! He might have the perfect person in mind. "But I'll ask Elizabeth; she used to be his teacher."
It's a difficult task but Elizabeth will know how to break the news gently.
By the way, breaking the news…
"Can I tell the reverend about Cat's state?" Henry asks, nodding towards the door. While Henry remained inside in case Carson needed some help, Reverend Anderson stayed outside to play watchman. They didn't want Miles or Emily happily rushing home and find their mother trashing with pain. Not that they've shown much happiness in the last few months. The carelessness of childhood was taken from them too soon and too harshly.
"I'm sure the good reverend won't gossip."
"Fine. I'll be next door if you need something."
Henry turns to leave but Carson's voice stops him,
"Thank you for being here for Cat."
Another day Henry would argue or just shrug it off with a grunt but now he can't. Not after today. So he nods instead, then steps outside and closes the door. Reverend Anderson is walking up and down in front of the house but at the click of the doorknob he stops and looks at Henry. His eyes are full of hope, desperation and anxiety— and they are full of something that Henry can't name but seems to be running deep and looks very painful.
"She's fine for the moment." Henry can see it. He can see the relieved softening of the reverend's features, and he can see his fingers twitching with lingering expectations. The reverend is readying himself for a blow that Henry is about to bring. "However, she's unconscious, so she shouldn't be visited today. Maybe today, if she feels better."
"If?"
"Carson can't tell. He expects her to have better moments but—"
"Moments?" The reverend flinches like he has been punched. There. The blow has landed.
"No hope for recovery. This is the final stage."
Maybe Henry should have asked Faith to teach him how to break bad news because now here he stands, completely unprepared for the situation he's in. The reverend most likely despises him and yet… and yet he has to hear it from Henry.
"Is Carson sure? Shouldn't we call another doctor to examine her? Someone from Cape Fullerton or—"
"Carson is a very good doctor. He saved my life and he'd save Cat's if he could—"
"You!" Anderson points a finger at him and his sudden burst of anger takes Henry by surprise. "Of all people, he saved you! It's your fault! If Cat dies, it will be your fault."
"How could her illness be my fault?"
But the reverend has crossed a line and he doesn't seem to listen to reasons anymore.
"You're an illness! You took her husband, then you kept poisoning her life. Nothing is enough for you, nothing, until you ruin everything."
Henry has a thick skin and he can stomach many things but the good reverend's words light new flames in him. The flames of anger and the fire of hurt. He is tired of blaming himself for everything. He has done terrible things and wronged Cat Montgomery in many ways but he is not ready for blaming himself for her impending death.
"May I remind you that you poisoned her life just as well? That you tried to ruin her? It was your doing, too, so back off with your mighty morales! At least I tried to make amends."
"What amends? You dragged her outside on those stupid walks that probably took months from her life. You played the good neighbour but I can see through you and you'll never change, Henry Gowen. You're a poison to everyone."
Henry narrows his eyes. There you go, he thinks. It's partly about Cat Montgomery, yes. But mostly it's about the reverend blaming Henry for using his weakness and turning him into a worse man than he should have been.
Well, he isn't taking this medicine today.
"You know nothing about me, Anderson. You're a pitiful little man, small and weak. Your God left you long ago and you know that, you just don't want to face it. There is no hope for you in Hope Valley."
Anderson takes a step back and squares his shoulders.
"You're probably right." They didn't raise their voices and yet he sounds hoarse. "And maybe I should apologise for my tone or for my exaggerations but I'm probably right, too. Let's face it, we ruin everything we touch—deliberately or involuntarily, it doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does—" Henry tries to argue further but the reverend cuts him off with a wave of his hand.
"For someone who likes to tell others harsh home truths, you don't really like facing the truth about your own life, do you?" Anderson glances at the Montgomerys' house and for a moment the fury in his eyes is clouded by pain and longing— then his gaze returns to Henry and once again his eyes are filled with disgust. "I hope that you'll find your peace one day."
Henry snorts; a humourless sound. "You don't."
"No, I don't," the reverend admits without any sign of remorse. "We might be the worst men in the world."
"Bold of you to say that when a war is raging in Europe."
"And yet I still mean it."
Henry doesn't say it out loud but he has to admit to himself at least—the reverend has become a tougher man since he returned to Hope Valley.