Elias walked to the blacksmith's shop.
The blacksmith was a broad man named Walter Boone, with a thick neck, scarred hands, and a gray beard that seemed permanently dusted with soot. He was heating a length of iron when Elias entered.
Walter looked up.
"Can I help you?"
Elias placed the damaged stool brace on the workbench.
"Need to reinforce a seat."
Walter examined the metal.
"Whose?"
"The cookhouse."
The blacksmith raised his eyebrows.
"Loretta's?"
Elias nodded.
Walter looked at the bent iron.
Then he sighed.
"Been telling the company to replace that thing for months."
"Why haven't they?"
Walter gave a bitter laugh.
"Ask Pritchard."
Elias studied him.
The blacksmith continued.
"Every time she needs something repaired, they say the kitchen account is overdrawn."
Elias looked toward the forge.
"Can you make a stronger frame?"
Walter nodded.
"Certainly."
Then he hesitated.
"Company won't pay for it."
Elias reached into his coat and removed a small leather purse.
"I will."
Walter studied him.
For a moment, the blacksmith seemed surprised.
Then he nodded.
"We'll need good iron. And a proper wooden seat."
Elias looked toward the doorway.
"I can handle the wood."
They spent the next two hours working together.
The result was a sturdy bench with broad supports, a reinforced seat, and a stable base designed for the space beside Loretta's preparation counter. Its height allowed her to sit while working on vegetables, dough, and other tasks that didn't require standing over the griddle.
Elias didn't ask Walter to make it small enough to hide.
He asked him to make it strong enough to serve its purpose.
The distinction mattered.
When they carried it into the Copper Pot, Loretta was preparing breakfast.
She turned at the sound of the door.
Then stopped.
"What is that?"
Elias smiled faintly.
"A bench."
She stared.
"I can see that."
Walter chuckled.
Elias pointed toward the old stool.
"Thought you might like something that didn't threaten to fall apart."
Loretta looked from the new bench to him.
Then to Walter.
For several seconds, she didn't move.
Finally, she whispered, "You made that?"
Walter shrugged.
"He paid for the iron. We both worked on it."
Loretta's eyes filled.
She ran one hand along the smooth wood.
It was sturdy.
Comfortable.
And carefully made.
She sat down cautiously.
The bench didn't shift.
Its height was right.
Her legs could rest comfortably beneath the counter.