After Gabe's dramatic entrance, Henry braces himself for a hostile 'What are you doing here?', but it never comes. Sometime between ushering a short figure (bundled up in a big coat and an even bigger shawl) into the house and closing the door to keep the chilly wind out, Gabe acknowledges Henry's presence in the house with a curt nod— and that's it. The next moment Gabe is rushing to his mother's side, gently drawing the bundle of clothes after him. If Henry squinted, he would see a tip of a nose and a pair of nutbrown eyes, shadowed by the big red shawl, but he is too busy tiptoeing towards the exit. He feels out of place and awkward; he knows he doesn't fit the picture. It doesn't matter that he didn't want to intrude, that he just happens to be here, in the middle of this intimate family moment, because his presence is simply not right.

Henry is about to open the door and slip out unnoticed, when Gabe says, "Mum, this is my Lucy, my wife. Lucy, meet my wonderful mother."

So the bundle hides the famous Lucy, who is quick to divest herself of her coat, only to reveal a very young and quite timid woman, a little slip of a thing, really. With her fragile form and the heavy coat in her arms, hesitating where to put it, she looks nothing like proud newlywed Mrs. Montgomery, but more like a lost little girl. After all, how could she know yet that she has no reason to fear Cat? Gabe is too excited to notice his wife's distress, so, giving up his state of functional invisibility, Henry steps to her, then takes the coat from her and arranges it on the coat rack, earning a shy smile from Lucy.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you, Lucy." Cat's smile is wide and bright, and there is a twinkle in her eyes when she adds cheerfully, "And this is Henry Gowen, our neighbour."

"Nice to meet you."

They are shaking hands, and then, before he could catch himself, Henry is extending a hand towards Gabe.

"It's good to see you, Gabriel."

For a second he is sure that the awaited rejection will come now, that his gesture will be ignored or what's more, he will be called to account for playing the friendly neighbour in the Montgomery household of all places. Gabe does hesitate a bit, but in the end, he accepts the offered hand. It is a grown man's handshake, firm and proud.

"Thank you for looking after my mother. I was— I felt relieved when she mentioned in her letters that she can rely on your help."

Now Henry fully understands the distant civility that defines Gabe's attitude towards him. To learn that of all people Henry Gowen looks after Cat must irritate Gabriel's sense of filial duty—but maybe it can also help to soothe his worries.

"It's the least I can do." And he means it. This is a first step—one that he wanted to take and chance didn't let him put it off. "I should go. Sorry for intruding! If you need anything, I'm next door."

But that's just the thing. Now that Gabriel is home, with his wife no less, Henry won't be needed anymore.

-:-:-:-

The day Jack and Jesse leave the town everyone gathers together to see them off. Not everyone everyone, of course, but it appears that half of Hope Valley's entire population is rolling up all around the two. Henry stays in the back, waiting for his turn, watching from a distance. For some time now he's been trying to lead a quiet life by keeping a carefully measured distance from everybody—and failing again and again. Now, as he's looking at Jack (young, healthy, popular Jack Thornton), Henry realises that at some point he started to think of him as a friend. Considering that Jack shared his fears and doubts with him, the feeling might be mutual. Henry presumes that signing up for the war wasn't an easy decision to make—and not because Jack or Jesse is afraid of fighting. They're brave but leaving their loved ones behind requires a different kind of willpower. As far as Henry knows, leaving a beloved place might be just as difficult as returning to a wronged town. And who can tell if Jack won't come back as a changed man from the war? If he comes back.

Well, it might not hold much weight, but Henry will pray for all the men of Hope Valley fighting the good fight far from home.

"Come back in one piece."

Henry says farewell with a firm handshake. Soon enough the final goodbyes are said, the final kisses are kissed, and Jack's and Jesse's figures disappear from sight. The people of Hope Valley brace themselves against the bite of the cold, unforgiving wind as they head towards their warm houses. Henry catches disconnected scraps of talk as they walk past him.

"I'm not so sure the war will be over by Christmas."

You bet, Henry thinks. Christmas is not a month away—it would be a miracle if the war ended over the next few weeks.

"Them young fools are just going for adventure."

"I'm scared my Nathan will enlist—and I'm scared he won't."

Two girls are arguing about if the military uniform looks better than the Red Serge or not—just a few steps away from Elizabeth and Clara, who are surrounded by the sympathetic mothers of Hope Valley. Abigail is there, of course, with Cody walking after them several paces back. He is wearing a long, scarlet scarf—almost as red as his cheeks—and occasionally his body shakes with sudden fits of coughs, but that isn't what catches Henry's eyes. Since last summer, Cody has grown even taller and now his face, that used to be soft and childlike, has sharper, more angular features. He isn't a young boy anymore but a lanky teenager, and Henry wonders if Abigail should be worried that Cody will choose the war instead of college.

Life has sped up since Henry was a child, and he used to be more than eager to experience at first hand the technological progress and innovation. Now he observes with some surprise that he yearns for a slower, quieter pace and the world doesn't want to wait for him. He doesn't consider himself particularly old but when he thinks of taking up arms, he feels tired to the bones. Maybe his duty lies elsewhere— not in the middle of the fights in Europe but here. It's his responsibility to make sure that the peace in Hope Valley remains as undisturbed as possible given the circumstances. Lost in his thoughts, Henry's gaze wanders back to the group of women, eventually resting on Abigail. The beacon of his life, he muses, then frowns at the idea. Although she played a huge role in his search for the right path, she isn't the only one and she is certainly not his personal guiding light.

Even if Abigail does light up his life like the Sun.

-:-:-:-

The very evening Cody takes to bed with a high fever and a persistent cough. All around Hope Valley many prayers go up, asking the Lord to watch over Jack, Jesse—and Cody. At the silent sanctuary of his home, Henry bends his knees and lets himself get lost in his thoughts. For the first night in a long time, the ugly, guilty feelings stay away; his mind is focused solely on the ones he cares about.

The next morning he goes to Abigail to ask about Cody—and runs into Bill.

"Don't bother. Elizabeth turned me back at the door, saying that Abigail had finally fallen asleep. It was a long night but Cody's a bit better this morning. Anyhow, you should ask the good doctor or Faith, they can give you the details."

"Okay. Thanks." Henry shrugs. "Guess I'll just come back later."

He turns to leave but Bill calls after him and in three long steps, catches up with him. "Henry."

"Yeah?"

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"It's a free country."

He wonders if they are going to have that private conversation that got interrupted by a punch now, but Bill surprises him, saying, "I've asked it before but— Why do you care so much about Abigail?"

"The same reason you do, I guess."

"Don't think so."

"And why is that?"

"You tell me."

"Do you really want me to spell it out?" Although he isn't in the mood to discuss feelings, with Bill of all people, Henry gives in. "Fine. I'm responsible for the death of her family, I'm trying to right my wrong. You came into the picture like a knight in shining armour, promised to right the wrong for her, but lied to her in the process. You're still trying to make it up to her. See? Same reason, more or less."

"I think you're wrong."

"Story of my life." Infuriatingly enough, Henry finds himself curious to hear what Bill has got to say. "Your turn. Why do you think I'm wrong about you?"

"I think you're wrong about yourself."

Henry frowns. That's it? That's Billy Avery's great wisdom?

"Look, you don't need to worry. You have a stable, working friendship with Abigail, there's nothing fragile about it. So, trust her— and trust yourself. You can't ruin this friendship so easily, not anymore."

Henry stops in his tracks. "Can we not talk about it? Actually, we should only talk when it's strictly necessary? I can already sense a punch coming my way."

"Very funny, Henry." Bill pats his elbow in an almost friendly way and Henry can feel his eyebrows rising, rising, never wanting to stop rising in surprise. "Catch you later."

That was unexpected. Henry planned to see Abigail and ended up chatting with Bill. So, they are friends now? No, not there yet. But with Abigail? Yes, they are there, unquestionably. Now that's a thought.

It is unquestionable that Abigail's presence, even though it makes his heart race, also makes Henry calmer (paradoxically enough). Meeker, even. Just the mere thought of her makes him want to smile. When he thinks of her, there is a flutter in his heart—it feels like happiness. It's almost annoying how good she can make him feel without even being present. And when she is there… When he can see her and breathe the same air she breathes, everything feels lighter, warmer. Also, he doesn't seem to be able to stop putting his feet in his mouth whenever he is around her, which is kind of ridiculous at his age.

Given all that, if he didn't know better, he would say that he… Henry calls a halt to that thought.

How long would their friendship stay stable if he came to dangerous realisations?