Clara smiled. "That's a yes with farmers."
"It's a maybe."
Norah groaned.
Clara laughed.
In late August, Leonard Shaw returned with photographs of what he had built from the first Bell cypress. The project was a pair of long cabinet doors for the restoration of a nineteenth-century house. He set the photographs on the kitchen table.
The finished wood looked almost luminous.
Golden-brown grain flowed uninterrupted across panels wider than modern stock usually allowed. Mineral-dark streaks remained at the edges, not hidden but incorporated into the design.
Norah ran a finger over the photograph.
"That came from the black log?"
"Part of it," Leonard said.
Eli smiled. "That's the trick, isn't it?"
"What's that?" Leonard asked.
"Knowing what you're looking at before you decide it's ugly."
Leonard had another proposal. A historic hotel renovation needed wide cypress stock for replacement millwork. He wanted to buy selected boards after further drying, not whole logs. The price per board foot was substantially better than a bulk timber buyer would pay, though the sale would require time and careful processing.
Eli agreed to reserve material if quality held.
Norah asked Leonard why he paid more for old recovered cypress when newer lumber could perform the same structural job.
He thought carefully.
"Sometimes it can't. Wide clear boards are harder to source. Sometimes the density matters. Sometimes the color does. And sometimes clients pay for material whose story belongs with the building they're restoring."
"So provenance is part of the value."
"If it's honest provenance."
He pointed at her folder. "That's why your paperwork matters."
Norah felt absurdly proud of the record cards in the tack room.
Eli noticed.
"Don't get arrogant."
"I'm fifteen. You said confidence causes bad choices."
"You're learning too quickly."
The most difficult decision of the summer came not from Marcus, buyers, or lawyers but from Log 1.
By September, the ground around the giant trunk had dried enough to expose another six feet naturally as the mud cracked and settled. The newly visible section was intact. Its size suggested the buried remainder could represent more recoverable timber than any other trunk on the property.
Raymond wanted to know how far it extended.
Joseph Landry wanted to know too.
Eli did.
Norah most of all.
But digging it out would require excavation near the old channel bank. The work could cost hundreds of dollars, damage pasture, and create a hole that would need proper filling and drainage. There was also a preservation argument for leaving part of the log embedded until they had a specific reason to recover it.
They discussed it at the kitchen table.
"If it's sound, it could be the best one," Norah said.
"If it's rotten ten feet in, we spend money proving that," Eli answered.
"If we leave it, we don't know."
"Correct."
"I hate that."
"I know."
She looked at the old map. "What would you do if money didn't matter?"
Eli considered. "Leave it until I had a buyer or a research reason."
"Then money does matter."
"Always."
"But not enough to change the answer?"
"Not this time."
Norah leaned back.
Her curiosity argued.