As it turns out, tomorrow has a broad concept.

Days pass and Henry doesn't seek out the reverend; he always finds a good excuse to postpone the visit. With the weather turning colder, more and more people show up at the infirmary, suffering from a fever or a cough, and Henry is quick to convince himself that he is too busy for social calls. (It doesn't matter that Faith and Carson do not actually need him in the infirmary.)

However, he should remember that if the mountain won't come to pay a call, then those social calls must go and knock on Henry's door. Or, linger in his backyard like a lost boy.

"Good morning, Mr. Gowen."

"Miles." Henry looks at the kid, surprised. "What is it?"

"I heard you were chopping wood. Thought I could help."

"Why?"

Miles shrugs. "We're neighbours. You always help us."

"I know for a fact that I'm not the only one. Besides, soon Gabe will return and he'll do all the wood-chopping and— and hinge-oiling for you."

"I wonder if he'll come," the boy says in an unusually small voice, shifting from one leg to the other. "He promised to come and Mrs. Thornton sent him a letter ages ago but what if— What if he can't get away from work or—?"

"Listen, Miles." Henry puts a tentative hand on the kid's shoulder to stop his ramblings. He has never been good with children and to play father is the last thing Miles needs from him—especially since Henry Gowen himself is the main reason why the kid is a half-orphan now. "Your brother promised, you said, and we both know that Gabriel keeps his word. Maybe he's already on his way! It's a long journey, but I'm sure he's eager to see his family, so we need to believe that he'll come home just in time."

He winces at his own choice of words. Just in time—for what exactly?

"Okay."

Miles doesn't look completely convinced but a new sparkle of hope is twinkling in his eyes.

"Actually, I'm almost finished with wood-chopping, but do you think you're able to help me with stacking the logs?"

"Sure."

"Only if you have the time. I don't want you to be late for school."

"No, I won't be late. Promise."

-:-:-:-

After he has sent Miles off to school, Henry finally makes up his mind and soon he is knocking on Anderson's door. Part of him still hopes that the good reverend isn't home.

"May I help you?"

Alas, the good reverend is home and addressing him through gritted teeth.

"Actually, yes. Can I come in?"

This is not a conversation he wants to have standing on the threshold.

"Come in, please." The reverend motions him inside. "Although I can't imagine how I could help you."

Ah, yes. Might go to hell for it but Henry feels better when the glaze of forced good manners starts cracking. He didn't come to fight but pretending won't take them anywhere.

"We need to talk about Cat."

"I doubt you have anything to tell me about Mrs. Montgomery I'd care to hear about."

"Oh, I believe you care. A lot, in fact." Henry's words make the reverend flinch. "Maybe more than you'd dare to admit—"

Anderson looks ready to physically attack him, barely keeping himself together, "I won't tolerate you—", and Henry quickly backpedals.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to provoke you." Or he didn't mean to provoke him into becoming a trembling, upset man at least. "Unlike you, Reverend, I'm not good with words. All I'm trying to say is that you need to form a bond with your flock. Again. And that Cat Montgomery needs a kind of emotional support nobody else can provide for her but you. So, what do you plan to do about it?"

Wringing his hands, Anderson huffs. "Cat is the strongest person I've ever known. I don't think I'm the one to support her."

"That's where you're wrong. I mean, you're the pastor of this community, aren't you?"

"Yes," the reverend stammers.

"Then pray tell me who else's job it is to give comfort and guidance...?" Henry takes a deep breath. Here comes the hardest part. "She's dying and she knows that. Don't you think that even though she looks like she isn't scared, maybe she is? Not for her soul but—" By this point Henry is sure that the reverend is deliberately torturing him because it's impossible that such an educated and intelligent man could be so dense. "No man is an island and what not. She is a mother."

"The mothers of Hope Valley will take care of Emily and Miles, I'm sure about that."

After all, he might be just this dense.

"Then can you go and tell her that, please? Maybe less plainly and throw in a few quotes from the Bible, if it's not too much to ask."

"But why? I'm sure she knows it, too."

"Maybe she needs to be reminded that she isn't left alone in her pain and suffering."

"I see your point," Anderson nods, "but I still find it hard to believe I'm having this conversation with you of all people."

"Probably just as much as I find it hard to believe I have to remind you of your duties as a pastor." It's a low blow, even though the whole conversation has been a mental mud wrestling so far. "Unless you have a reason to avoid Cat— But I think you already have enough to beat yourself up about, there is absolutely no need to shut yourself away and sit here miserably only to feel remorse when she dies."

"Your opinion is noted." The reverend's tone is flat, neutral. "Is there anything else?"

"Just a question. I'm curious, at the end of the day, do you count your flaws or your blessings?" Henry doesn't get an answer. "Thought so."

His work is done here. Maybe he didn't achieve anything, apart from upsetting the good reverend, but maybe his words could make an impact. He didn't come here for himself nor for Anderson— and if the reverend can't see past their differences… Well, then he might never become a piece of the continent, part of the main.

-:-:-:-

"You look good today, Henry."

"Do I?"

He did nothing but had another argument with the reverend, nevertheless, he feels like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Trust Faith to notice the change in his mood.

"You know what? I do feel good."

After days of working in an infirmary practically bursting with patients, finally they have their first slow morning. Carson is making house-calls, while Henry is helping Faith with cataloguing the equipment. She is making notes about supplies needed to be ordered before the first snow falls and the roads become impassable.

"All right. We're almost done. Only the top shelf boxes are left."

"Wait, let me—"

But Faith is already reaching upwards and for a second it looks like she can take them down without tipping over the whole stack— then the moment is gone and it all comes tumbling down on her.

"Watch out!"

Henry takes a step forward and grabs her elbow to pull her back, just as Faith jumps back and effectively headbutts him in the face. She quickly lifts her free arm, trying to shield them from the cardboard boxes full of bandages raining down on them; nevertheless one box still lands on Henry's head, ricocheting off his ear and landing on the floor with a thud. Then silence.

Henry carefully touches his fingers to his mouth, where Faith bumped into him, but from a faint tingling he can't feel anything. No blood, no broken skin. Good. It's one thing to explain a bruise with a fight at the saloon but to mortify himself by admitting that he was attacked by a piece of cardboard? His pride has survived many things so far but that would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

He gets this far in his thoughts when he realises that Faith is shaking.

"What is it? Are you hurt?"

Faith lifts her head and now he can see that she is shaking with silent laughter. "Look at this mess," she gasps, trying to calm her breathing.

Henry can't help but grin. "Yeah, look at us. We try to straighten up the place and end up with a small armageddon, introducing the four cardboxes of the apocalypse."

This sends Faith into another giggling fit— and Abigail chooses the very moment to walk into the infirmary.

"Oh." She stops abruptly at the door. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Did you know that cleaning could be so much fun?" Henry asks gaily.

"I can't say I did." Abigail's voice sounds somehow faint, making Henry feel a pang of worry.

"How may we help you, Abigail?" Faith asks with the ghost of her giggles still lingering around in her tone.

"I was hoping Carson would prescribe more of that cough syrup for Cody. He's feeling better but he still coughs a lot. The nights are the worst."

"Could you bring him around in the afternoon? Carson will be back from his rounds by then; I'd like him to have a look at Cody. Maybe a different medication is needed."

"Thank you."

"I'm sure it's just a passing cough." Henry is quick to reassure Abigail, only to feel like a complete fool a second later. Since when is he qualified for offering medical opinion? Even if it is just for the sake of making her smile.

"Thank you, Henry."

Abigail doesn't smile.

-:-:-:-

Henry carefully balances the pan in one hand as he knocks on the Montgomerys' door with the other. After some shuffling from inside, the door opens and, much to his surprise, Cat is standing on the threshold.

"Come in!"

Even though she is leaning on a cane, Cat sounds and looks much stronger and more cheerful than in the last few days. Still, Henry is quick to chide her.

"Should you be out of bed?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Reverend Anderson visited me; he spent more than an hour here, he was most kind. We talked and prayed together. I feel much invigorated."

"I still don't think you should be roaming about."

"Roaming? Who is roaming?"

"Look, Cat," Henry gently grasps her elbow and steers her towards the sofa, "why don't you sit down for a minute? Mrs. Black sent you and the kids a pan of chicken fricassee. Are you hungry? I could reheat it for you; I'm not as hopeless in the kitchen anymore as I used to be."

"Don't mollycoddle me, Henry." Cat plants herself in the middle of the room with a determined look on her face. "And yes, thank you, a bit of chicken would be nice. But I'd prefer to eat at the table."

However, after three or four spoonfuls, she pushes the plate away.

"Sorry. I'm afraid my eyes were bigger than my stomach."

"It's okay, you're doing great." Henry clears the table, then offers a helping hand to escort her back to the sofa. "Would you like to lie down a bit?"

"Oh, a lie-down sounds great, now that I think of it."

It's a slow walk to the sofa but Cat's steps are sure, and Henry sends a silent thank-you to the good reverend for coming round.

"Where is your quilt?"

"Joe used to do that all the time."

"What?"

"Ask first, look second. Whenever he couldn't find anything, he was searching for it with his mouth, so to speak, instead of his eyes."

There is a small smile on Cat's face as she reclines against the arm of the sofa—a smile without pain or sorrow in it, yet it makes Henry's heart ache with guilt. Did really so much time pass that Cat learnt to talk about Joe without grief? It's probably still there, but her grief isn't a raging fire anymore but glowing coal.

"It's in the armchair, by the way."

Henry fetches the quilt for her and while she is adjusting it around her body, he looks for an extra pillow. His search is cut short when there is a hurried knock, then the door is thrown open and the cold wind practically hurls Gabe into the house.

"Mum! I'm home!"