"Are you my grandfather?" Isabella asked, her eyes filled with curiosity as she studied the old man who had appeared so suddenly—the same man her older brother had written about during the past year.
Kruger's heart softened. When he had seen Francisco, he had wept, for the boy carried the first living news of his daughter and wife. But Isabella was different. Her face was almost a perfect reflection of Anna's—especially in the quiet maturity that had once shone in his daughter's eyes when he returned home from war.
He drew a slow breath and glanced behind him at his soldiers. With a small motion of his hand, he ordered them to disperse. Then he looked back at the girl.
"That's right. I am your grandfather, Johann Kruger. I must admit, I am surprised a little girl like you can speak German—and as well as your brother."
Isabella's face lit with pride, but the mention of Francisco quickly changed her expression.
