Lara had feared people would watch her body more than her face.
Some did.
She noticed.
Then stopped caring.
Elias looked only at her.
His vows were short.
“I will not ask you to become smaller so my life feels larger.”
Lara almost lost composure.
“I will tell you the truth even when it costs me comfort.”
“I will ask before I assume.”
“I will choose you freely for as long as I am given the chance.”
Lara’s vows:
“I will not make you pay for wounds you did not cause.”
“I will tell you when fear is speaking.”
“I will leave room for the man you were before me.”
“And I will ask you to leave room for the woman I was before you.”
“I choose you.”
No mention of obedience.
No ownership.
No children required.
Then they kissed.
Ben cried harder than anyone.
Denied it forever.
Marriage did not cure loneliness instantly.
Or insecurity.
Or knees.
Or Elias’s temper.
Or Lara’s habit of assuming every silence concealed judgment.
They fought.
The first major argument happened six weeks after the wedding.
Elias bought cattle without consulting her.
Joint operating money.
Lara discovered in ledger.
She confronted him.
He said:
“My ranch.”
She went silent.
Elias knew immediately he had made a terrible mistake.
Lara said:
“Your ranch?”
He tried:
“I mean cattle—”
“No.”
She stood.
“You said joint operating account.”
“It is.”
“You spent twelve hundred dollars.”
“I've bought cattle twenty years.”
“And I've managed capital longer than you’ve been willing to admit.”
“Lara—”
“You want a wife or an employee?”
“That isn't fair.”
“No.”
She grabbed her shawl.
“It isn't.”
She went outside.
Elias followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To be angry somewhere you cannot explain me to myself.”
He stopped.
Good.
An hour later he found her beside the river.
He did not sit until she nodded.
Then:
“I was wrong.”
She looked at water.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes.”
He waited.
She sighed.
“I hate how quickly you apologize now.”
“Why?”
“Makes it difficult to maintain dramatic anger.”
He smiled.
She glared.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
She continued:
“I don't need approval over every ranch decision.”
“But money we call joint needs joint decision.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“What?”
“That you understand.”
Elias looked at her.
“I understand.”
She softened.
“Good.”
He added:
“And the cattle were excellent.”
She shoved his shoulder.
He laughed.
Their second argument was Lara’s fault.
A chair broke during a town meeting.
No injury.
Loud.
Humiliating.
People stared.
One man snickered.
Lara returned home furious.
Elias had ordered a stronger meeting chair from a carpenter months earlier.
It had not arrived.
Lara blamed him.
“You knew.”
“I ordered it.”
“You should have made sure.”
“I can't control freight.”
“You could have—”
“What?”
Elias’s voice sharpened.
“Made Deadwood redesign every room before you enter?”
The words struck.
Wrong.
He knew instantly.
Lara’s face closed.
“Go away.”
“Lara.”
“Now.”
He left.
An hour.
Two.