“Any more than you already are?” Isabelle asked. “The only thing that has changed between giving that drop of blood and now is that you’ve learned a little bit of your own story, and how Major Bitterlich was there at the beginning. In a way you’re lucky. You already know him, and you’ve seen what he’s like. I’m sure he’d be delighted to be your father, but ultimately your relationship will be up to the two of you to decide, and yes, that means you get a choice.”

“Capitaine, Rebecca,” Bitterlich said, emerging from the chartroom, walking slowly like a man in a fog. He’d regained his composure and fixed his clothing up to his fastidious standard. He doffed his hat and bowed to Rebecca. “Mademoiselle, I’m sorry I frightened you.”

Rebecca’s face scrunched up in indignation. “I wasn’t scared.”

Bitterlich tilted his head. “In that case, I’m sorry for embarrassing myself in front of you. Is that better?”

“A little,” Rebecca said, suddenly sheepish.

Isabelle sensed a long series of awkward moments in the immediate future that she didn’t need to be part of. “I’ll leave you two to work things out.” To Rebecca she said, “There is no need to commit yourself to anything immediately.” To Bitterlich she said, “Take as long as you need, but when you’re done, we have other business.”

She returned to her cabin and the Rebecca/Bitterlich family tree, and brooded about its implications. She pulled out her genealogical journal, and carefully added in Rebecca and Bitterlich, and traced the branches backward. None of these were names she had ever seen before. When she had them all down, she reset the tree from its topmost level, following the branches backward in time.

She was still scribbling when Bitterlich returned.

“How was your talk?” she asked, patting the bench seat beside her.

He sat. “Awkward. We agreed just to go on as we have been and see what happens.”

Relief bubbled up in Isabelle’s soul. “Good.”

“Except how can I, knowing what I know now? She’s my daughter.”

“And your responsibility is to do what’s best for her,” Isabelle said, “especially if it’s hard for you. She’s a very smart child who’s had a very rough life. You can’t go back and change that, no matter how much you’d like to. All you can do is the hardest thing: wait and see.”

“Very hard.” He stared into some irretrievable past or unobtainable future.

“It turns out, you also have a new cousin,” Isabelle said. “To be precise, an eighth cousin twice removed.”

He snapped out of his meditation and bestowed her a bewildered look. “What? Who?”

“Me,” she said, and pointed at her journal. “About two hundred years ago we share a several times great-grandfather.”