The Last Song by Eva Wiseman Page A

You only did what you had to do.”
    She let go of my embrace and stood up. “I pray that God will listen to my voice.”
    Long after the sun had set and the clouds had hidden the moon, there was loud banging on the front gate. Our prayers had been answered. Santos brought Papa back to us – beaten and bloody, but alive.
    We rushed to my father and kissed his bruised cheeks. Santos came into the house with him. He stood beside my father silently, passing a knife from one hand to the other hand over and over again.
    The servants were jubilant. Sofia fell to her knees, loudly thanking the Lord for Papa’s safe return. Yussufhovered beside Papa, offering him his arm to lean on.
    “We must put you to bed, Enrique,” Mama said.
    “First, I need to do something,” Papa replied. “Yussuf, fetch my purse from my chamber.”
    The Moor returned with the purse and presented it to my father. I saw the glimmer of gold ducats in Papa’s palm. He whispered something into Santos’s ear and the two men went outside. When he limped back into the house, Papa was alone and his hand was empty. Mama helped him to a chair and sent the servants back to their duties.
    “They said that I was a heretic,” Papa said. “They accused me of practicing the old religion in secret. I was warned that the two of you are suspect, too. I told the Inquisitors that nothing could be farther from the truth, that there isn’t a more devout Christian family than ours. It was difficult to lie …” He wiped his brow gently. “God forgive me, I even said that I abhorred the Jews.”
    Mama handed him a cup of ale. He drank deeply before speaking again.
    “It was strange. They seemed to know the customs of our household. It made me wonder if one of the servants might have discovered our secret and betrayed us. We must be more careful even within the walls of our home. I demanded that I be allowed to confrontmy false accuser, but they refused to tell me who it was.
    “Anybody could be an informer, but I can’t believe that any of the servants would be so disloyal,” Mama said.
    “What about Luis?” I asked. “He comes here often. He knows how we live.”
    “Isabel might be right,” Mama said after a moment.
    “Nonsense,” Papa said. “Have you lost your senses? Why would Luis inform on me? He will be marrying you, Isabel. He has nothing to gain by my arrest.”
    Mama nodded her head. “You are probably right, Enrique.”
    “But Papa …”
    “Don’t upset your father.” She clasped his hand, kissed it, and held it to her heart. “They must have beaten you.”
    Papa nodded. “They did. The good Lord gave me the strength to remain silent. I would not confess. Finally, they let me go.”
    “They might return!”
    He sighed. “They often do. Santos promised to warn me before they come for me again. That’ll give me time to hide.”
    “Do you trust him?” Mama asked.
    Papa shrugged. “As long as I can pay him. The man likes his gold.”
    I was too frightened to say anything more. All I could do was hug Papa close.
    It must have been past midnight when we crept into the garden. Papa was carrying a small iron chest. It contained the letter Grand Inquisitor Torquemada’s grandmother had written to my great-grandmother. Mama led the way, holding a candle. With her hand she tried to shield the flame from prying eyes in the house. I had a shovel under my arm. Papa had told me to take it from the gardener’s shed.
    Papa stopped beside the orange tree. “This is a good spot to hide the letter,” he whispered. “I wanted both of you to see where it is in case I’m not here and you need to dig it up.”
    “It’s too close to the gate,” said Mama.
    “That’s why nobody would suspect that anything was buried here,” he replied, taking the shovel from me.
    He began to dig. After he had dug a big enough hole, he put the box inside and shoveled earth on top of it. He tamped down the earth with his shovel until it was impossible to see that