Stupid, stupid, stupid! Mirabel thought. She just had to go and open her mouth—of course Pepa wouldn't want to talk about the Encanto! That's where she lost everything!
She heaved open the heavy church doors, her heart pounding—
Only to run straight into Abuela, nearly knocking the older woman over and crushing her armful of flowers.
"Mirabel!" Abuela cried, pulling back in a spray of petals. "What—where are you going in such a hurry?"
Mirabel bit her lip. "I, uh—"
Thunder rumbled behind her. Abuela looked up and her eyes narrowed.
"Ay, Pepita," she murmured before looking back at Mirabel. "What happened? Did you say something to her?"
"I, uh, well…" Mirabel began, wincing. "I may have asked her about the Encanto—"
"The Encanto?" Abuela repeated, her eyebrows raising. She glanced around and lowered her voice. "Why…why would you do that?"
"Well, the bus goes right by it?" Mirabel offered sheepishly. "And we don't really, you know, talk about it, ever, and I didn't think—"
"Ay, Mirabel." Abuela sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "I don't have time for this today. I'll go speak to Pepa; here, take these to your sister."
She transferred the flowers to Mirabel and adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. Holding her head high, she stepped into the church as another clap of thunder echoed through the sanctuary.
The door closed behind her with a solid thump, leaving Mirabel with an armful of blood red roses and a growing sense of dread.
Mirabel found Isabela outside the farmhouse, watching Félix and a farmhand she didn't recognize struggling to put up several wooden pillars in between the coffee trees a few yards away from the house.
Isabela raised an eyebrow as Mirabel approached her carrying the wilted flowers. "What'd you do?"
"Ran into Abuela."
"Ouch."
Mirabel held the bouquet out to her. "She asked me to bring these to you."
Isabela took them and instantly the roses perked up and regained their lost petals. Mirabel eyed the farmhand, but he didn't seem to notice anything, huffing and straining under the weight of the wooden beam and Félix's swearing.
"What are they doing?"
"They're gonna put the dance floor here," Isabela said with a shrug. "The posts are for stringing up lanterns. Luisa offered to help but Tío Félix said they had it handled." She snorted. "She had to go inside, it was stressing her out too much."
Mirabel laughed.
"Anyway, I'm waiting for them to finish so I can decorate once the labriego leaves. Camilo and Luisa took their lunch to the barn," she said, giving Mirabel a pointed look.
"Oh. Good. That's good." Mirabel swallowed. At least Bruno got food.
"Dolores thought we should set up a sort of schedule," Isabela continued, "but I told her she might be overthinking it."
Mirabel frowned, confused. "A…schedule? For what?"
"Well, we've got two reasons, but mainly to make sure Tío gets fed regularly. I'm sure you've noticed he's skin and bones under that ruana." Isabela hesitated. "What, uh. What was he eating out there, do you think?"
Mirabel winced. "I didn't ask. There was…a lot going on." But she thought back to the way he ate the food she'd given him—quickly, like he wasn't sure when he'd be able to eat again—and swallowed down yet another crashing wave of guilt.
Isabela nodded sympathetically. "Well, he ate all of his breakfast this morning at least—I think the plate was cleaner when he was done than when it was sitting in the cupboard. I told Antonio to ply him with snacks all day, if he could."
Mirabel laughed. "And I told him to make sure Tío took a nap. Poor niño's got his hands full."
Isabela rolled her eyes. "Please. He's finally got a captive audience—he's having the time of his life."
Mirabel smiled. "And what was the other reason for the schedule?"
"So no one person is spending too much time in the barn, basically," Isabela said. "Antonio can get away with spending all day out there, but the rest of us will have to get creative if we want to avoid any suspicion. Hence the schedule."
"I mean, I can handle bringing him food, that's not a problem…"
Isabela scoffed, "Mira, Abuela's going to be breathing down your neck for the next two days, if she isn't already—if you manage to make it out to the barn after every meal without her noticing, that will be its own miracle." She nudged Mirabel with her elbow and gave her a small smile. "So let us help, sí?"
Mirabel nodded and, to her frustration, felt tears prickle behind her eyes.
If Isabela noticed, she didn't say anything. She went back to watching Félix and the farmhand as they struggled with the last beam. "You should go eat. Dolores should be back from town any time."
Mirabel nodded again and turned to head back to the house. As she walked, she furiously scrubbed at her face, wiping her eyes behind her glasses.
She stomped into the kitchen, thankful that, for the moment, no one else was there. Jerkily, she picked up a plate and threw food on it, not bothering to look at any of it.
But when she sat down and stared at her food, she found she wasn't hungry.
"¿Mirabel, qué pasa?"
Mirabel looked up into her mamá's concerned face.
"Nothing, nothing is wrong."
Julieta raised an eyebrow. "I never asked if anything was wrong, mija."
Mirabel sighed, pushing her plate away and slumping over on the table, resting her head on her arms. "I'm just…tired, Mamá."
Julieta clucked her tongue in sympathy and pulled out the chair next to Mirabel. She rubbed her daughter's shoulders. "How about a nap?"
Mirabel relaxed into Julieta's touch but shook her head. "Pá needs my help with the dress."
"He's been altering dresses a lot longer than you, mi vida. He can handle it himself if he has to."
That didn't make Mirabel feel any better. She felt completely useless already—yesterday she had upset her entire plan to introduce Bruno to his sobrinos slowly, even if it had worked out after all, and today she had gotten Pepa in trouble with Abuela because she couldn't keep her big mouth shut, and her sisters and cousins had had to set up a schedule to feed their tío because she couldn't even be depended on to wake up properly! All of which only added on to the ever-present anxiety gnawing at the back of her mind ever since she and Bruno had left the Encanto. She was dangerously close to the edge and she knew it.
So, instead of answering, she allowed her mother to rub her back and she closed her eyes and pretended, just for a moment, that they were back home and everything was the same as it was before she'd ever had the idea to visit the Encanto and chase recklessly after monsters and ghosts.
But even that thought made guilt twist around in her stomach again. She didn't mean that. She was glad she'd gone, of course she was. If she hadn't gone, her tío would still be there, alone, wasting away in a crumbling house with those glowing tablets, unable to reach them…
A shudder passed through her at all the what ifs.
No, she was glad she went. She was glad Bruno came back with her. She was glad for the chance to break the spell. She was.
She was just…tired.
"You know you can always talk to me about anything, Mirabel," Julieta said softly. "Whatever is bothering you…you don't have to carry it alone."
For a split second, Mirabel almost told her everything. And, when she reflected back later, she wondered how different everything would have been if she had. But then Agustín bustled into the kitchen, carrying his sewing kit, and the moment was gone.
"Ah, Miraboo! Dolores is back and changing. Are you ready?"
Mirabel looked up at his earnest face, and back to her mother's concerned one. She took a deep breath and smiled.
"Por supuesto, Pá. Where are we setting up?"
Agustín led Mirabel upstairs to Dolores' bedroom and knocked on the door.
"I'm decent."
He pushed open the door and Mirabel gasped in delight.
Dolores looked absolutely lovely. Her dress was cream-colored and a tiny bit longer than tea-length, with a sweetheart neckline and long lace sleeves. Even with her hair done up in her usual red bow and still wearing her every-day shoes, the effect was magical.
Dolores blushed a little at Mirabel's reaction and did a little spin on the box she was standing on, letting the skirt flare out. "What do you think?"
"Even better than your letter said," Mirabel said immediately. "Lola, it's perfect."
Agustín beamed. "You look stunning, mija." He stepped into the room, putting his hand on his chin. Mirabel recognized the pose and expression—he was in tailor-mode now. "Though, the skirt needs to come up a few inches, and—" He reached for Dolores' hand and rolled up her sleeve so it ended at her wrist inside of the middle of her hand. "There. Simple fixes. What shoes are you wearing?"
Dolores looked toward a shoe box on the bed; Mirabel could see a pair of heels poking out.
"If you could put them on, please," Agustín said. "We'll get started."
This dance was one Mirabel knew well. Once Dolores had her shoes on, Agustín put his sewing kit on the floor next to the box and dug out a measuring tape and the silk pins. He and Mirabel puzzled between two different cream-colored threads, holding them up one at a time to Dolores' skirt before settling on one and threading their needles.
Carefully, he measured the skirt and folded the fabric up to begin pinning. Mirabel sat back and watched this part—she'd help with the actual sewing, but her father was much better at getting the hem even all the way around.
She made conversation instead. "What'd you do this morning, Dolores?"
"Señora Guzmán and I picked up the ring," Dolores said, holding out her right hand so Mirabel could see it. "It was Mariano's bisabuela's, and she was tiny, apparently, so it needed to be resized."
The ring was a simple gold band set with a small emerald that caught the light when Dolores turned her hand. Mirabel oohed and ahhed over it and Dolores smiled.
"It's perfect," Mirabel said. "Has Mariano seen it on you yet?"
Dolores shook her head. "Not yet. He's taking the cart back into town today. He must be almost there—I can't hear that far."
"And…turn for me, por favor," Agustín said around a mouthful of pins. He glanced up at Dolores as she rotated so he could start pinning the back. "That's very impressive, Lola, I didn't know you could hear that far."
"Neither does Mariano," Mirabel muttered before she could stop herself.
Dolores wilted a little. She twisted the ring around her finger.
Agustín smiled in sympathy. "I remember when Julieta sat me down to try to explain everything," he said. "There was a range of emotions: confusion, disappointment, maybe a bit of anger…but eventually I had to decide whether it changed my love for Julieta, and I decided that it didn't. Obviously." He smiled at Dolores, and patted her hand. "Mariano loves you, Lola—it's obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together. He'll love the magic too, I know it."
"But…do you think you would have wanted to know before getting married?" Dolores asked in a whisper. "Or was it better to know after?"
Agustín shrugged helplessly. "Only you can make that decision, mija. You know him best. The rest of us can only urge you in one direction or the other. Though, I will say it would have been nicer to know before your mamá struck me with lightning. Julieta never shoved food into my mouth so fast." He laughed at the memory and Mirabel gave him a bemused smile.
Dolores looked pensive. Mirabel opened her mouth to say something, but before she could her father hissed in pain, jerking his hand away from Dolores' hem.
"¡Miércoles!" Agustín muttered, clutching his hand. He stumbled to his feet.
"Ay, Papi. Pin?" Mirabel asked, wincing. She reached into his sewing kit to grab the spare bandages he kept there. She held them out to him but he shook his head.
"No, no, I'm going to go see your mother," Agustín said, grimacing. "The pin is still, well."
Mirabel and Dolores both winced.
"Mirabel, can you finish the hem, por favor? I'll be right back."
"Por supuesto, Pá."
Mirabel shook her head as her father hastily exited the room.
"Does…that happen often?" Dolores asked, staring after him.
"Meh," Mirabel said, shrugging as she scooped up the pin cushion and picked up where her father left off. "Once in a while. Usually he's a lot more careful. Is he with Mamá now?"
Dolores tilted her head. "Sí. Hm! She's scolding him."
Mirabel snorted. "Sounds about right."
Dolores smiled. "Your parents are nice to listen to," she said. "I…missed it, when you all moved away." She regarded Mirabel for a second. "I have certain people I focus in on, during the day. Safe people. Your parents, my parents, my brothers, Mariano." Her smile grew a little dreamy. "Mariano's easy to pick out of a crowd. He's so loud, but…in a good way."
"Very loud," Mirabel agreed, inserting another pin, and Dolores giggled.
"I've been listening to Toñito talk to Tío Bruno all day," she said, lowering her voice a little. She gave Mirabel a thoughtful look. "He doesn't talk much, does he?"
"Oh, um." Mirabel shifted, glancing up at her cousin. "He…talks to me?"
Dolores nodded, twisting her ring around her finger again. "Yes, he does. He trusts you."
Mirabel swallowed. She knew that, but somehow it sounded different when Dolores said it. Had more weight.
"Oh!" Dolores said, tilting her head.
"What? What do you hear?"
"Nothing bad, Mira, don't worry," Dolores said with a small smile. "It's just—he's telling Toñito a story."
Mirabel smiled. "Aw. What's it about?"
Dolores paused, listening. "He says, 'Once, there was a little murciélago…who flew so high and so far that one day…he forgot the way home…"
The little murciélago flew for many miles, searching for his home, but as the sky grew lighter, he was afraid, and he landed on a tree branch to rest. He was so tired, and hungry, and alone, that he began to cry, and his cries alerted another animal resting in the tree—un gran búho.
"Why are you crying, little murciélago?" the búho asked.
"I am lost," the little murciélago replied. "My home is far away, and I have forgotten where it is."
"Well, where is your family?" the búho asked. "Surely they will be looking for you."
The little murciélago shook his head. "They were very angry with me before I left," he said sadly. "No one is looking for me."
"Oh, that is too bad," the búho cooed. "Why don't you stay here in this tree, with me? You can forget about them entirely, and be happy."
The little murciélago thought about the búho's offer. This tree was very nice, and the búho certainly seemed friendly—but he shook his head.
"No, gracias," the little murciélago said. "I must keep searching for my home."
The búho smiled. "Now, that is too bad," she said, and spread out her mighty wings to swoop down at the little murciélago. Her talons were sharp and glinted in the early morning light.
The talons missed the little murciélago by inches. He flew away as fast as he could, until the búho gave up and returned to her tree.
The little murciélago flew and flew and flew.
One day, the little murciélago woke up and discovered he had grown up without noticing, and he was now an old murciélago. And still, he had not found his family. And what was worse—he had forgotten how to echo in the dark, so now he could not fly.
He rested in a tree, and nearly gave into despair…
Dolores trailed off and looked at Mirabel with a troubled expression.
"We need to figure out how to finish breaking that spell," she whispered. "Soon."
Mirabel nodded, furiously glaring at the pins in Dolores' hem. "We will."
Translations:
1. Qué pasa - what's up
2. Labriego - farmhand/laborer
3. Murciélago - bat
4. Un gran búho - a great owl
