Norah pointed.
The registration date was 1886.
Bellamy & Cross Timber Co.
For several seconds neither spoke.
"Make a copy," Clara said.
Norah laughed. "That's it?"
"No. First write down the source citation. Then make a copy. Then never become one of those people who knows something but can't remember where they learned it."
Norah wrote the citation so carefully her hand cramped.
When she showed Eli that evening, he placed the copy beside the photograph of Amos Bell and the marked log from 1936.
The symbols were not perfectly preserved, but the distinctive shape matched.
Eli sat down.
"Well."
"Approximately?"
He smiled.
"Less approximate."
The chain was now stronger.
An 1891 newspaper recorded Bellamy & Cross losing cypress into the west chute.
An 1887 map showed that chute crossing what became the Bell lower pasture.
A registered company mark matched the markings on several exposed trunks.
A 1936 family photograph documented earlier recovered riverwood from the same old channel carrying a similar mark.
Wood specialists confirmed the recovered material was old-growth-style baldcypress preserved under wet sediment.
None of it proved every log belonged to the 1891 loss.
But the three marked trunks had a plausible, documented history no longer based on family memory alone.
Eli called Ben Halpern again.
Ben listened.
Then said, "Now you start being careful with adjectives."
"Meaning?" Norah asked over the kitchen extension.
"You can say the logs carry a mark registered to Bellamy & Cross. You can say a newspaper reported their cypress entering the west chute in 1891. You can say the old chute crossed your land. You cannot say 'this exact log fell into the water on Wednesday, May whatever, 1891' unless you've got evidence that specific."
"We don't."
"Good. Never be embarrassed by honest limits. They're what make the rest credible."
Ben advised Eli to keep copies of every document with any timber sold as historically recovered material. A buyer could pay more for provenance, but provenance had to be accurate rather than romantic.
Marcus Sterling made his fourth offer two days later.
This time he came in a newer truck.
He wore a pale blue shirt and brought no folder.
Eli met him on the porch rather than the pasture.
Norah sat on the top step with a glass of iced tea and did not pretend she was not listening.
"Eight thousand," Marcus said.
Eli's face revealed nothing.
"For everything?"
"All timber in the lower debris line. I clear the site."
"Why eight?"
Marcus shrugged. "I've got a buyer who likes sinker cypress."
It was the first time he used the term.
Norah looked up.
Marcus noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You know the term?"