Chapter 3
3:20am
Isabela
Although Isabela acted as though she were excited to see her room, she was putting on a brave face for the family. What if it's still all pink and flowers everywhere and those awful shrubs of myself? My Gift didn't change, so why should my room? Ugh…I don't think I can stand to sleep in that dumb hanging flower bed.
Isabela was incredibly relieved to open her door and find a room that was just a room. Everything wasn't flowers and flowering shrubs and beauty. She had a normal floor, with a normal – although large and luxurious-looking – bed, with normal furniture. Once she was inside with the door shut, she let out a sigh of relief and took off her shoes. She hadn't wanted to let on how much her feet hurt from dancing. She still had some pride in front of the family. Wriggling out of her dress, she tossed it in the waiting laundry basket for dirty laundry and followed that up with all of her underthings. Unselfconsciously, she padded around in search of her bathroom and found it. Once again, it was a remarkably pared-down, normal bathroom, with a soaking tub. There were no fancy perfumes or soaps, either, just good, unscented castile soap.
Groaning with relief, she ran a bath and sank herself in to her neck. "Yes. Finally." I'm going to ask Mirabel to make me some men's work clothes, she thought rebelliously, and smiled at the idea of others' horror at her marching around like a rustic farmer. It's my life, and I want to get my hands dirty working with the land. She closed her eyes and fantasized about the smell of rich soil, about planting seedlings with her bare hands, and the heat of the sun on the back of her neck.
After Isabela toweled off and dragged herself back to her bed, not even bothering to put on a nightgown, her last thought as she pulled the covers up over her head to make a warm cocoon was, No more pink.
xxx
10:21am
Isabela woke slowly, like layers of clouds parting, and rolled onto her back. She was warm and comfortable and had no intention of getting out of bed just yet. A strange dream about Tía Pepa, planting improbable things in fields, and being made out of vines gradually cleared out of Isabela's head. She rolled over onto her side and saw the clock on her nightstand. It was after ten o'clock. "All right," she sighed.
She rolled out of bed and tucked her feet into her slippers. Her bedroom was large, and there was an extra door she hadn't noticed last night in her exhaustion. She opened it to find it apparently led to the outdoors, or a magical space imitating the outdoors. A clear sky was overhead, the sun was out, and there was a vast expanse of a freshly plowed field. A place for me to plant things? Whatever I want? Although she didn't feel like it at the moment, given how her stomach tightened with hunger, she was excited to come back and play around.
"Thanks, Casita." She couldn't communicate with the house like Mirabel could, but she knew Casita understood her. She shut the door and went over to her wardrobe, opening it. While she could make herself dresses out of flower petals and leaves, and even imitate cloth, those garments weren't durable. She planned on saving that trick for parties.
Her wardrobe was full of yellow dresses, yellow shirts like the ones Tío Felix wore, and earth-toned work pants. While she itched to put on a pair of pants and a shirt, she was terrified of what Abuela would say, so she did the wise move and put on one of the dresses. It reminded her of Tía Pepa's clothing, and she wondered why her clothes had been changed over. However, even if she asked Casita, she wouldn't understand the house's tapping and squeaking. Once she got the dress on, she discovered that she thought she looked good in yellow.
In the privacy of her own mind, in her own room, and with no family members that she knew of who could actually read minds, Isabela admitted to herself that she had always had a special connection with Tía Pepa, and that she had fantasized about being Tía Pepa's daughter instead of Dolores. And now Dolores even has Mamá's old Gift. Why can't we just switch places? Would that be so terrible? Mamá is always coaching me to be quiet and soft, like Dolores. What if I don't want to be quiet and soft? What if I want to be loud and bold? Tío Bruno used to joke that he thought Isabela and Dolores had been switched at birth.
She sighed softly as she twirled in front of the full length mirror on the wall, enjoying the way the skirt of her new dress bloomed around her legs. A little at a time, I'll break the mold Abuela made for me. I'll just have to go slow. The way Abuela had yelled at her and verbally attacked Mirabel still hurt. That was the first time I was happy, and she hated me. I knew she only cared about having control over everything, but I still never thought she would hate me for being happy.
Remembering Abuela's taste for appearances and not wanting to get nitpicked, Isabela went into the bathroom and brushed her hair until it gleamed, then checked for any stray hairs on her forehead or chin. Finding none, she applied her makeup. Ugh. How much can I reduce my makeup without Abuela noticing? I'm sick of this.
Finally, Isabela was satisfied that she looked presentable. She left her room, emerging in the hallway to the welcoming scent of coffee.
xxx
12:15 pm
Part of Isabela was relieved that the intensity of Abuela's attention was now directed at Mirabel. At the same time, she felt horribly guilty for being relieved, and she was worried about Mirabel being crushed underneath Abuela's dominating personality. She'd warned Mirabel to the best of her ability on short notice, but she would have to sit down with her sister and be more detailed later.
As Isabela went back to her room to work on the vine bridge, she had to put the meeting of the elders out of her mind, or she would never be able to concentrate. Still, she had a fairly good idea of what the whole thing was about: the magic coming back. And Mirabel's at the center of it. Oh, why did we give her the damned doorknob? Nothing good will come out of this.
Once she reached her room, she rummaged through the new and unfamiliar furniture for something to draw on and with. Finally, she discovered that what she had assumed was a chest for more clothes or something was full of art supplies. She picked out a notebook and some colored pencils and sat down on the floor, feeling wonderfully rebellious. Sprawling out, she got to work.
She had a vision of what she wanted to do with the vine bridge, but after a few sketches in a notebook and some experiments with vines and trees in her room, she hit a wall. "Ugh. I need to talk to somebody." As soon as she took a breath and stopped feeling so much pressure to do it perfectly, she realized the obvious: She needed to visit the town's architect and tell him of Abuela's request for a new bridge, and a vine bridge to temporarily be installed to buy time for a more permanent structure.
The town's architect was an imposing 63-year-old man named Guillermo Castillo. He had been a young teenager when his family chose to follow Pedro Madrigal rather than try to wait out the conflict between the Conservatives and the Liberals. His dream to attend a big university for architecture had been dashed, but he learned everything he could from books and from the men who had experience in construction. The Spanish colonial style of the town had been his vision, as he insisted that it was the most elegant, and should anyone ever manage to discover the Encanto, he wanted their town to be thought of as refined and civilized, not some muddy outpost full of backwards people cut off from society.
When Isabela had been a little girl, she had been afraid of Señor Castillo due to what she interpreted as his aloofness and severity. Now that she was older, she had reinterpreted him as knowledgeable and a very deep thinker with high ideals. Also, he dressed a lot like her papá. Finally, she was on a mission for Abuela. That would surely smooth her entrance into his studio.
Isabela cleaned up her art mess, left her room, and discovered that Abuela was in her room getting ready for the meeting with the other elders. I would've liked to let her know what I'm doing, and maybe get a letter, but there's no reason for Señor Castillo to believe I'm lying. It will be okay. If he has any doubts, he can walk up to Abuela and ask.
She set off for town. At first, people paid her little attention, merely waving to her. A few children begged for flowers, which she obliged with a smile. The little children never bothered her. They were sweet, and didn't think about how sometimes magical Gifts and important abuelas weren't much fun.
Unfortunately, soon enough Isabela attracted the attention of the young men in town. Most of them just watched admiringly, but she had the terrible luck of Thiago Zapata being outside his parents' leatherworking shop when she passed by. She had thought about going out of her way to avoid it, but had told herself it was silly, and it was the middle of the day, when everyone ought to be hard at work.
Thiago Zapata was European Spanish, with a handsome aquiline nose and waves of dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders. While he was fit, he wasn't as tall or as broad-shouldered as Mariano. He was Isabela's age, and was the son of a tanner and bootmaker. He worked with his father making boots and belts, and his decorative leatherwork was impressive. Isabela found Thiago's attitude far less impressive than Thiago's artistry. "Isabela!"
Isabela ignored him, continuing down the street. If I can just make it to Señor Castillo's.
Thiago came up to her and held out a bouquet of flowers. "While it seemed insensitive to ask you to think of courting me while you were worried about your family's magic and your new home, your family's fortunes have taken a positive turn now."
Abuela's training died hard, and Isabela found herself reflexively smiling politely, even as she walked faster. "Yes, it's a relief that our troubles are over."
Thiago kept pace with her. "So, now is a better time. Isabela, will you court me?" He held out his bouquet of flowers again.
"I'm not ready to court anyone. Thank you, though." You make my flesh crawl. Mariano was tolerable, but you're a creep.
Still Thiago walked alongside her. "At least accept these flowers as my gift to you, a token of my heart's yearning."
Yeah, right. It's not your heart that's yearning for me. "No, I couldn't. I don't want to lead you on. I'm simply not ready."
"It can't be that Mariano broke your heart. That was a political arrangement. And, everyone knows that you called the engagement off, not him. So, who is it?"
"Who is who?" she asked with fake sweetness and innocence.
"Who already asked you to court him?"
Isabela's anger flared that he dared to press the conversation. "No one. I'm not courting anyone right now."
"But you'd like to be, and whoever he is, he isn't interested. I get it."
"No, you don't." We're up to the church. I'm almost there. He won't follow me inside Señor Castillo's office. He wouldn't dare.
"Then tell me the truth! Why won't you court me?"
His persistence had attracted attention and gathered a curious crowd of onlookers.
Isabela whirled on him. "Because I won't!" she screamed, her patience snapping. A ring of cacti sprang up around her. The surprise of it temporarily thwarted her anger. Then her fury redoubled at him for the public humiliation of showing her anger. "Are you happy now? Look what you made me do."
"I thought the magic was fixed now," Thiago protested. "How was I supposed to know you were still struggling to control your Gift?"
"I'm not!" Isabela shouted, her hands clenching at her sides. New sections popped up on the cacti, building them higher and thornier.
"Oh, sure. Because that looks like control to me," Thiago said sarcastically.
Anger, shame, and complete helplessness crashed all over Isabela like scalding water. "They're growing because I hate you!"
Thiago stared at her with wide eyes.
She stared back.
The crowd surrounding them was so silent that the subtle sound of the breeze was audible.
Isabela shot out a vine and hooked it around the steeple of the church, then retracted it, swinging away from the embarrassing scene as quickly as she could. She left herself into the belfry and huddled up in the small room with the gigantic bell, hiding. Oh my God. What have I done? I screamed at him. I let my anger get the best of me. What will Abuela think? What will Mamá think? The only person who's going to forgive me is Mirabel.
Wildly, she contemplated running away from the Encanto. Is this how Tía Pepa feels when she almost strikes someone with lightning? I feel so out of control. But I can't stay here in the belfry.
Creeping down into the church, Isabela hoped she could slip out without Padre Agudelo noticing. But how will I get home without anyone noticing? The church was quiet. She slipped down the hallways and down the stairs. The priest wasn't in the nave, either. Isabela wondered if he were in one of the priest-only sections of the church. She plopped down onto a pew and held her head in her hands. God, what do I do?
