The Inquisitor's Wife by Jeanne Kalogridis

dining chamber, still gripping each other’s hand.
    My father sat at the head of the table, with my mother on his left and me on his right, facing her; the serving girl was obliged to run to the kitchen to fetch an extra place setting for my mother. When all was settled and the first course—spinach sautéed with chickpeas—was brought, my father dismissed the servants as usual. The room grew very silent. Normally, my father would direct the conversation at this point, but that night, he seemed at a loss for words.
    My mother was first to speak. “Marisol,” she said, with poorly feigned casualness as she moved her spoon through the chickpeas, “has don Diego told you that I am under investigation by the Inquisition?”
    Dropping my own spoon, I gasped aloud and looked to my father for verification.
    My father too let go a gasp. He stared at my mother with blazing indignation, as if she had just slapped him.
    “Lena!” he hissed. “What are you thinking, speaking of such things in front of—”
    My mother’s sudden rage outmatched his; her eyes held a storm of unspeakable emotion.
    “Marisol is a woman, not a child!” she interrupted him, and abruptly lowered her voice, realizing the servants might overhear. “I won’t let you keep secrets from her anymore.”
    My father stood. “You aren’t yourself, Lena. I won’t let you speak so to me.”
    Magdalena ignored him and turned to me. “We must leave Seville. It’s not safe for us anymore.”
    “Papá,” I asked, “is she telling the truth?” The thought of abruptly leaving Seville, the only place we had ever known, seemed insane.
    Diego’s lips trembled with suppressed fury; he stared down at my mother as if she had utterly betrayed him. “Her imagination is running wild, Marisol, nothing more. Nothing will happen to us, and your mother will be questioned, not arrested. The mayor is a converso, most of my fellow councillors are conversos, half the lawyers and priests and even the archbishop are conversos ! And if they attack us, the queen has sworn to protect us. More than half of her courtiers are conversos, and the Duke of Medina will protect us, too.…”
    “The Duke of Medina will do whatever Isabel tells him,” my mother countered forcefully. “And Isabel wants an Inquisition.”
    “Only to get rid of Judaizers—which we are not!” My father stamped his foot. “How dare you frighten Marisol like this?!”
    My mother jumped to her feet. “Her innocence won’t protect her! I’m proof of that, Diego!” She looked to me. “It’s only a matter of time now, my daughter.”
    I raised my voice to drown out hers. “Papá,” I demanded, “what will happen to us?”
    “Nothing , ” he answered hoarsely. “Magdalena, hold your tongue! Enough of this madness!”
    “They’ll take me away to prison,” my mother said sorrowfully. “They’ll interrogate me, torture me. And then they’ll come for your father … and you.”
    “Lena!” Diego hissed her name as if it were a curse. “You’ll stop speaking of this now ! We’ve done nothing wrong! We have nothing to fear.”
    My mother’s lovely features twisted into a grimace. “ None of us did anything wrong! None of us … And yet that wasn’t enough!” She looked to me. “Marisol, just because you’ve never seen such horrible things, you believe it can’t happen to us. But you must know: The most unthinkable things in the world can and do happen, to innocent, well-meaning people. In an instant, no matter how good you are, or kind, no matter how much you pray to God to protect you and your loved ones…”
    She choked and began to sob into her hands.
    My father rose and caught my mother’s wrists. “Lena,” he pleaded, “please be quiet.”
    He looked up at me and gestured sharply with his chin for me to leave the room. I rose and headed for the door, but as I passed my parents, my mother pulled away from Diego’s grip and reached for me.
    “No child of mine will endure