Disclaimer: I do not own Encanto. This story is not for profit.


Chapter 22

November 1st

All Saints' Day

Mirabel had hoped that the hurricane would continue, but by the time she woke up, it had passed and was even sunny outside. The good thing about that was that the Orozco family had caught breakfast and coffee as quickly as possible and run out the door to assess the ultimate damage to their house.

Everyone else sat around the breakfast table, eating slowly. Mirabel nibbled on the edge of an arepa instead of biting through to the cheese inside. Her head ached from sleeping on her neck wrong. She'd woken up with the horrible realization that this was the worst All Saints Day ever because she had destroyed Abuela's wedding candle, her most important namesake from Abuelo Pedro. Sure, the magic died, but the God could have at least left Abuela the damn candle! Why does one more thing have to be my fault?

Luckily, no one else mentioned it.

After breakfast, everyone congregated at church for a special Mass. The homily was the same every year: Abuelo Pedro's redemptive suffering saved everyone, his sacrifice of love created a pact with God, God always fulfils his pacts. Mirabel was dreading what Padre Agudelo would have to say this year, what with the candle melting and the house falling and the entire Encanto cracking open.

Hilariously, frustratingly, Padre Agudelo gave the same homily word for word, and ended with an announcement that as a special gift from God everyone could go down to the river this year where the miracle happened and pay their respects on that holy ground to the souls lost there. Then he finished by giving brief eulogies of everyone who had ever passed away in the town.

As they left the church, townspeople streaming around them, Pepa noticed Camilo was missing. "Camilo? she called.

"He was right behind me," Antonio said. "I saw him in the changing room when we took off our choir clothes…"

Pepa huffed. "Where is that boy? Why would he wander off?" She turned to her daughter. "Dolores, do you know where Camilo is?"

Dolores just looked at her mother.

Pepa threw up her hands. "Fine! Don't tell me. I'll find him myself."

Félix laid a hand on her arm. "Pepi, let the boy have some room."

Mirabel thought she knew why Camilo had slipped away. Today is the day his Gift was needed the most.

Every year since Camilo was 10 years old, he'd spent All Saints Day in Abuelo Pedro's likeness, except for a finale in which he transformed into everyone's lost loved ones in succession before turning back into Abuelo Pedro again. It was the one day a year when the town gave Camilo adulation at the level that they showered Julieta with.

"What kind of example is he setting Antonio?" Pepa demanded.

"I'm fine," Antonio said.

"Mamá," Dolores said in a warning tone. She stepped close and whispered in her mother's ear.

"He better be back in time to go down to the river," Pepa said.

Dolores pulled away and nodded, then looked away with a stoic expression, the matter closed.

Mirabel was dying to know where Dolores thought Camilo was, and if she could snatch Dolores away for a moment, she was going to pump her cousin for information.

Félix hugged her. "I'm sure he wouldn't miss it."

"He better not. What will Mamá think if he does?" Pepa's expression became harried and sullen, her shoulders hunched. This was usually when she rained on herself, and it was still strange to see so much emotion without even a wisp of a cloud.

Lunch was held outdoors in the sunny weather, and everyone pitched in to have a buffet party in the plaza. The party was somewhat subdued because of what day it was, but people gathered around tables and told stories of those who had passed away.

At the two pushed-together tables of Madrigals, Abuela talked about her parents, Abuelo Pedro's parents, and Pedro himself. This was somewhat unusual, but Isabela was prevailing upon her, using knowledge she'd gotten from Señora Guzmán to get Abuela talking. As a result, Abuela didn't seem nearly as morose as she usually was on All Saints Day.

As soon as the table was dismissed, Mirabel stuck to Dolores' side, not caring that she was being obvious in making sure that she was assigned the same clean-up chore as her cousin. They folded tablecloths together. When the assignments for helping make the special foods for All Saints Day supper were being handed out, Mirabel again made sure that she and Dolores were on the same team. It was their job, and the job of half a dozen other women, to fill the fresh buñuelos Julieta and Luisa's team made with custard, chocolate, or jam. According to tradition, every buñuelo eaten on All Saints Day would release a soul from Purgatory into Heaven.

Traditionally, Isabela would be on flower duty, but since she didn't have her Gift, she was assigned to a cooking station. If she regretted not having her Gift, she didn't show it. She helped other women make huesos de santo, marzipan treats that were baked in the oven and then covered in syrup.

"So, where did Camilo go?" Mirabel asked as casually as she could.

Dolores squeaked. "None of your business."

"Yeah, maybe, except that I'm worried about him," Mirabel said. "What if he needs someone to talk to?"

Dolores hesitated. She filled the buñuelo in her hand with custard and set it on the tray next to her. After three more buñuelos, she finally spoke. "He is in the Library."

The Library was a building housing all of the books that people had salvaged when they'd fled their village, and any public works printed on the town's small press, including memoirs, family histories, and poetry. The books were considered a valuable public resource, and it was frowned upon to hold any back from public use. The exception to the rule was family Bibles.

Mirabel beamed. "Thanks, Dolores! You'll cover for me, right?" She ran off toward the Library before Dolores could possibly refuse.

xxx

The Library was deserted. Mirabel walked through the first story, looking everywhere, then the second story stacks, where they stored mostly farming records and knowledge of farming practices. She heard a little noise from above and used the ladder to climb into the loft. The loft was where the children's stories were stored, along with blankets and pillows. Little children were often taken here as a sort of babysitting or communal watching-over.

Camilo was in the corner by the window, by the bench seat. He looked like Mirabel had right after the house fell and she'd fled to the riverbank to cry. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his arms were folded on his knees, making a small, dark cave for his face. "Me and Isabela are supposed to really shine today. She makes the flowers and I imitate the dead."

Mirabel sat down on the floor, not crowding him. She was tempted to tell him he didn't have anything to prove, but stopped herself, considering how being told the same thing had really made her feel. Every time her parents had tried to reassure her, she'd felt worse somehow. "It's hard to not be able to shine."

Camilo raised his head and looked at her warily. "Something you know a lot about."

"Yep." Mirabel left it at that and waited for him to make the next conversational move.

"I can't face those people." Camilo put his head down again, hiding his face from her.

"You're missing the buñuelos," she murmured.

Camilo's shoulders twitched.

"You hold the record for most souls lifted out of Purgatory in a single day," she teased lightly. "Are you going to let someone else take that title this year?"

"Everyone who sees me will look at me with disappointment. I can't face that."

"I won't look at you that way. Antonio won't. Dolores won't. Isabela won't. Your Papá won't. Tio Bruno won't. I don't think your Mamá will. My parents will be worried – especially Mamá – if you don't eat any buñuelos."

"No one wants me for me."

Mirabel scooted over to him and gauged his reaction. When he glanced at her but didn't move, she draped an arm over his shoulders. "No one has a right to bully you. We're not the town's victims. Okay? If anyone tries to say something, I'll stand up for you. And so would Tio Bruno."

Camilo lifted his head again. "Tio Bruno? Why would he care? And why would he dare? They bullied him, too. He won't stand up for himself. You saw him."

Mirabel squeezed his arm gently. "He may not stand up for himself, but he'll stand up for us. He stood up for me against Abuela."

"He did? When?"

"Right after Casita…" She had a lump in her throat suddenly, and she couldn't say it. "When I needed – when I went down to the river. Tio Bruno came after me, too, knowing Abuela was ahead of him, and he thought I needed saving from her, and he charged right in and told her – well, he didn't get done, but he started to say something like, 'I don't care what you think of me, but if you hurt Mirabel –' And that's when Abuela interrupted by hugging him."

"All that happened?"

"Yup."

Mirabel squeezed him in a one-armed hug. "So if you need it, Tio Bruno and I will stand up for you. And I don't think Antonio would stay out of it, either. He adores you."

Camilo lifted his head all the way with a cocky grin. "Well, I am his brother." He hopped up. "Buñuelos, you say? I bet I could eat a dozen of those. Maybe two dozen. After all, I missed lunch."

Mirabel got to her feet with a wry smile. "Right? You've got souls to save." She noticed that hearing Antonio adored him seemed to have been the tipping point. I'll have to remember that.

She and Camilo went back to the plaza. Camilo assigned himself to the buñuelo filling station, and he did fill them – right before eating them himself. Dolores didn't even slap his hand away until he'd had six.

Mirabel laughed, relieved that things were back to normal for now.

xxx

That evening, led by the Madrigals, everyone made a pilgrimage down to the river. They started right after dinner and they reached the river an hour after nightfall. The darkness was no problem. Everyone lit their candles.

The elders showed the children how to fold paper boats and seal them with paraffin, little vessels for the candles so they could float the candles down the river. Mirabel found herself standing next to Abuela; she didn't know when Abuela had come to her side.

"Why are you holding two candles?" Abuela asked.

"One is for Abuelo Pedro," Mirabel said.

"Mm-hmm," Abuela said encouragingly, her tone softer, more like it had been before Mirabel hadn't gotten her Gift.

Mirabel took a deep breath. "And the other is for Casita." Tears filled her eyes, just like she'd known would happen if someone forced her to say it out loud. "I'm so sorry, Casita," she said to the candle. "I wanted to save you. I promise." Her voice broke, and she fought down an embarrassing hiccup. She set the candles in their little boats and set them free onto the river.

Abuela gave her a gentle, one-armed hug, holding aloft the candle for Pedro with the other hand. "You didn't kill Casita. Now, help me with this."

Together, they placed Abuela's candle for Pedro in the little boat and together, they set it in the river and watched it float away.

The moment of connection, of being the one to help Abuela with Pedro's candle, broke through Mirabel's hesitance. In this moment, Abuela was the grandma she loved, whose attention she had always wanted. In this moment, she finally seemed like the Abuela from her earliest memories.

"Thank you, Pedro," Abuela murmured. She hesitated, and lines of pain appeared on her face. "Pedro…I miss you. I wish – I wish with all my soul that you weren't the one to make the sacrifice." Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away. "That's the truth I've been holding onto."

"If you'd gotten that life…" Mirabel whispered. "The one with Abuelo Pedro in it…there would be no Encanto. And maybe we would be in America right now, and maybe we would have no magic…but that would still be a better life, because it would be a life with him. I'm sorry that you didn't get that life."

Abuela hugged Mirabel tightly. "And I am so sorry that you didn't get a life you should have gotten, because of me. I turned my back on you. And now Casita is gone. Because of me. Because of my mistakes. And you are hurt because of that. You did not deserve that."

"I miss her so much." Mirabel wept against Abuela's shoulder. "She was my friend. She was the only real friend I ever had. And she was our home. The only home I've ever known. And she's gone now. We're building her replacement, but it's not the same. The one I loved is dead. And you said you'd give anything not to lose our home. And that's exactly what happened. Because I messed up. Because I always mess up. Somehow."

"Is that truly what you think?" Abuela whispered. "That you always mess up?"

The pain ripped Mirabel wide open. "I'm only one who didn't get a Gift. That's not Casita's fault. I know it's not. Casita loved me. And it's not God's fault. And it's not even your fault – and I wanted it to be! And I realized – it's not! You couldn't control the miracle. Miracles can't be controlled. They're miracles. And I think God wanted it to work, but I'm bad, so it didn't." Bruno had told her to confront her fears and try to figure out why she hadn't gotten a Gift, and now she was telling her worst fears to the person who had always made her feel the worst about her worst fears.

Abuela trembled. "Mi vida…you are not bad."

Mirabel could only cry.

"All these years, I never thought it was because you were bad." Abuela held her and stroked her hair. "I never thought that. I was frustrated, and I was angry, but I was never truly frustrated or angry with you. You feeling my anger was not fair."

"As hard as I try, I never contribute anything," Mirabel sobbed. "And the one time I tried, I killed Casita!"

"It was my yelling at you," Abuela said. "Don't deny it, please. If I had not yelled at you, if I had not started it, with my ugly words, and my ugly feelings, then you would not have reacted as you did. You were so excited. You had discovered how to save our miracle. And I interrupted you in order to cut you down because I was angry that you had spoiled Isabela's image."

Mirabel fell silent for a moment. "Yes. You did."

"I pushed you to say what you said. You had to tell me what you did, and I did not make it easy for you. Mi vida, I am so sorry." Abuela stroked her damp cheek. "I had hardened myself against the truth. I never allowed myself to see what I was doing to you. And what I did to you was wrong."

Bruno came up to them hesitantly. "Is…Is everything okay?"

Mirabel straightened and wiped her eyes, giving her uncle a wobbly smile. "It will be now."

Abuela went around Mirabel, closing the gap between herself and her son. "Brunito, please tell me…is that why you hid in the walls? Were you hiding…from me?"

Bruno was shamefaced.

Abuela hugged him. "I am so, so sorry." Her voice cracked.

"It's okay, Mamá." Bruno wrapped his arms around her slowly.

"No, it isn't. I need to make this right. And it starts with never treating you that way ever again."

"Then listen to me about why the house fell down."

"Yes, Brunito." Abuela touched his cheek. "You can tell me."

"Every time you chose Padre's memory over us, it made a crack in Casita's walls. The miracle came from your love for your family and your desire to protect us. As your motive changed from protection to control, the house got sicker and sicker. When you got angry at Mirabel and thought of how you needed to regain control of the family, Casita broke in half and fell apart."

Abuela kissed his cheek. "You are absolutely right."

Bruno's eyes widened in shock.

"We've been talking," Mirabel said. Her head felt stuffy from all the crying, but otherwise, she felt better than she had in a long time. It wasn't the temporary high of believing she could save the miracle. She felt like the ground had solidified under her feet and she was no longer sliding around.

"I know the truth," Abuela said gently. She hugged Bruno tightly. "And I know that you did nothing to harm Casita. Neither did Mirabel. Pedro gave the Miracle to me. Somehow…I was meant to maintain it. Always. Casita responded to me. Casita was born…for me. The Encanto…I know you are right, Mirabel. It was born from my wishes. Pedro gave me the power to protect myself, and the first thing I did was to trap people in it. Some were grateful, and others cursed my name."

Bruno looked nervous. "Mamá…"

Abuela shook her head and patted his back. "No, let me speak. It is true. I have held it in for far too long. When you were just a baby, mi hijo, there was talk of me being a witch, of hurting the others, of stranding them in a wilderness so that they might never be free, or safe, or see their families again. At the time, Padre Acosta helped me shut them down and bring them under control. And that is how our family became bonded to the church. Without Padre Acosta's aid, we would have been struck down, and our home destroyed by angry neighbors."

Deep lines of pain appeared around Bruno's eyes. He looked haunted. "I had no idea defending us was so difficult."

Abuela leaned against him. "That is why I begged you so hard not to make waves with the villagers, not to tell the bad fortunes anymore. But all I did was hurt you. I'm sorry. I should have asked Padre Agudelo for help. I should have asked Padre Acosta before he passed. We should have dealt with this a long time ago."

Bruno clenched his jaw, anger and pain playing over his face.

Mirabel backed up, suddenly feeling awkward that she'd been standing and watching and listening. I should go.

"I forgot who our Miracle was for," Abuela whispered. She caressed his cheek. "Brunito…I know that I have been a difficult mother to have. And you so often wished your father were here for you. I wished that, too. Pedro did a wonderful thing…and a terrible thing, too. I am so sorry. What we must do now…is grieve." She wrapped her arms around him, cupping the back of his neck gently.

Bruno bawled against his mother's shoulder.

Mirabel's eyes widened, and she scrambled away along the riverbank toward the crowd of townspeople and family members somewhere in there. Yep, definitely time to go. Why did I stay and stare at them? That was private! I'm such a snoop. Maybe I'm more like Dolores than I thought.

The first family member Mirabel met when she reached the crowd was Isabela. Her sister stared out at the river with an unreadable expression.

"What's up?" Mirabel murmured.

"I was thinking about Abuelo Pedro. About us. The family." Isabela sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. She glanced at Mirabel and then back out at the river, in the direction of where they had all come from. "I was wondering about why God asks so much of us."

Mirabel felt unexpectedly stabbed through the heart.

"We lost our Abuelo. Abuela was changed forever. We were given powers – responsibilities – no one else was. Why? Why were we selected to protect a whole village? Extra blessings, extra debt to God to pay back. Those who don't handle their blessings are struck down. Isn't that what happened? We couldn't handle it."

"What a horrible way to think about it," Mirabel whispered. "You failed God, and that's why this happened? Isa…"

"Vanity is a sin. I was so prideful." Isabela clenched one hand against her chest. "And pride severs the soul from grace." She bowed her head. "Without God to shed his grace on me, I was without help, unable to see how far I was falling by being held up as the most beautiful of the Madrigals, the most graceful of the Madrigals, the most perfect of the Madrigals. The only perfect being is God." She gave Mirabel a tortured look. "And I gave it up, I tried to give it up, but it was too late. I brought God's wrath down on the family."

"Is that what you think?" Mirabel was afraid that if she tried to embrace Isabela, her sister would run away. "Isa, no, it's not like that. Talk to Abuela. Please. Abuela and I figured it out. It wasn't any one person who made the cracks. We all contributed cracks. It's just that – that Casita was linked to Abuela. So when Abuela yelled at me, when Abuela felt like splitting me off from the family, Casita split. And Tio Bruno thinks that Abuela's grief over Abuelo Pedro injured Casita." She took her sister's hands impulsively, just as Isabela moved to flee. "Isa, you didn't do this by yourself. You're not the sole person to blame. And no one is looking for a scapegoat."

Isa squeezed her hands and then pulled her into a hug. "But I've been so terrible. It's only hitting me now. I've been so cold and arrogant and obsessed with my looks. If I died today, Padre would only be able to say, 'She was the prettiest of the Madrigals'. Is it too late to be someone real?"

Mirabel hugged her sister tightly. "No. I can't believe that. I refuse to believe that it's too late."