The Last Song

is to tell my father, too.” He pulled Master Abenatar’s sleeve.
    “What is it, my son?”
    “Papa,” he said, “there is something I must say to you.”
    He recounted the story of our friendship from the time we met on the day of my betrothal to the last time that I had seen him, the day of my birthday.
    His father’s reaction was familiar. “Have you lost your senses, boy, to put yourself and all those around you in danger?”
    Papa tried to calm him down. “Don’t judge your son harshly, Master Abenatar. Young people don’t think like we do. Our children like each other. It clouded their judgment, made them forget that the Inquisition does not tolerate such a relationship. If any of this would become known, the Inquisition would charge Isabel with heresy immediately. Yonah would be accused of encouraging her to practice the Jewish religion in secret.”
    “You are right, Don Enrique,” said the goldsmith. “We live in terrible times.”
    “Don Enrique and Isabel are anusim,” Yonah said. “They honor our traditions.”
    “Hush, boy!” his father said. He looked around the yard. “The walls have ears nowadays. Do you want your friends on the stake?”
    “I must remind you, Master Abenatar, that Isabel is betrothed to Luis, the son of Alfonso de Carrera,” Papa said. “The de Carreras are Old Christians. I am determined that this marriage take place. A marriage withthe de Carrera heir will protect my daughter and her foolhardy ways from the Inquisition.”
    “Please, Papa –” I started.
    “Hush, child! You don’t know what is best for you.”
    Yonah did not utter a single word. His silence made me furious.
    “Why aren’t you standing up for me? Don’t you want to be with me?”
    His face was pale. “I do want to be with you,” he said finally. “It breaks my heart to say it, but your father is right. We can never marry. You know that a Jew and a Christian can never be together. I deluded myself for a while, under the magic of that wretched orange tree. In the cold light of day, I see how wrong I was. We must not see each other again. You have to marry Luis. He will protect you from the Inquisition – and I can’t. I will have to leave Sefarad in a few weeks. I can never return.”
    I grabbed his arm. “I will never see you again!”
    He removed my fingers and left the courtyard.

C HAPTER 12
 
W EDNESDAY , J UNE 20, 1492 –
M ONDAY , J ULY 2, 1492
    I was dreaming of Yonah when they came again. Yonah and I floated above an orange grove, holding hands. My little lark was flying ahead of us, leading the way with its beautiful song. My parents and Master Abenatar stood below, smiling and waving. Suddenly, the bird’s song died in its throat. The flapping of its wings became frantic – louder and louder.
    There was banging in the house. I put on a robe and hurried down the stairs. The soldiers of the Inquisition were dragging my father into the night. I will never forget the gleam of moonlight on cold steel, the dreadful snarl on Santos’s face, or the agony in my father’s eyes as he tried to resist. I rushed up to Mama to console her. There was nothing to do but hold each other.
    Once again, Mama spent her days locked in her chamber, praying.
    I sat in my room, my memories my only companions. I couldn’t allow myself to think of what was happening to Papa. Instead, I thought of the garden, and of Yonah, and of how much I missed him. I thought about Brianda and her lively chatter. I hadn’t seen her for so long.
    When I couldn’t distract myself any longer, my thoughts returned to Papa. I prayed to the good Lord to keep him safe and to send him home to us. We waited and waited, but this time God did not listen. Seven long days and nights passed and there was still no news of my father. I had to do something. Not knowing was worse than the worst news could possibly be.
    Mama was sitting in the rose garden, her needlework lying untouched in her lap. She was so still that a bee buzzing around her mistook her for a flower and landed on her shoulder. I swatted it away.
    She looked up, startled. Her voice was flat when she spoke. “We will never see your Papa again,” she said. “They’ll burn him alive.” Each quiet word was a dagger in my heart.
    I knelt beside her and lay my hand on hers. “You mustn’t say that. We must do something to save him!”
    She brushed away my hand. “What can we do?What can we do? Everybody is afraid of the Inquisition. I am, too. Nobody