She employed six women and four men.
Some were widows.
Some had been abandoned.
Others simply needed honest work.
One young woman had arrived from a neighboring settlement after her husband died in a mining accident.
She had two small children and almost nothing to her name.
Lara hired her immediately.
Not out of pity.
Because the woman knew how to bake, work hard, and organize a kitchen.
Within six months, she became supervisor of the bread room.
Another employee was a middle-aged woman whose hands had been badly scarred by years of laundry work.
Lara discovered she was excellent at preserving vegetables.
She eventually managed all the food storage operations.
A third was a quiet young man who had struggled to find work because an injury left him unable to perform heavy ranch labor.
He proved exceptionally good at bookkeeping.
Lara taught him the company's accounting system.
He later became her assistant.
She was careful about one thing.
No employee would ever be made to feel grateful simply for being permitted to work.
They received fair wages.
Reasonable meals.
Clear responsibilities.
And the dignity of being treated as adults.
Elias once asked why she insisted on reviewing every complaint personally.
Lara answered without hesitation.
“Because I know what it feels like when nobody listens.”
He kissed her cheek.
“Fair enough.”
Not everyone admired her success.
There were still whispers.
Still jokes.
Still people who could not look at a three-hundred-pound woman without assuming they understood her life.
Some said Elias had married her for her cooking.
Others claimed she controlled him through money.
A few suggested their marriage could not possibly be romantic.
Lara heard those stories occasionally.
At first they hurt.
Then, gradually, their power diminished.
She no longer measured her worth against the imagination of strangers.
She knew who she was.
She knew what she had built.
And every evening, when Elias came home and wrapped his arms around her from behind while she stood beside the stove, she knew what existed between them.
One evening in May, she was preparing supper when he entered carrying a small wooden box.
She turned.
“What's that?”
He smiled.
“Something for you.”
Lara laughed.
“Elias, my birthday isn't until August.”
“I know.”
“Our anniversary is next month.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what's the occasion?”
He set the box on the table.
“Open it.”
She wiped her hands and lifted the lid.
Inside was a beautifully carved wooden sign.
It read: