In Falmouth, driving up Duke Street one afternoon, we found ourselves at the old stone wall of the Jewish Cemetery. A small wooden door served as the entrance, like a portal to a secret garden. We all got out to take a look, trampling overgrown vines between knee-high tombs, many of them cracked or too weathered to read. Jade hunted for unusual insects, the rest of us, for Crookses. But most of the names we could make out were Spanish — Carvalho, De Casseres, Morales, Delgado, DeSouza. Most of them the family names of those driven to Jamaica after the Spanish inquisition left them little choice.
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