A/N: Written for the Writers Anonymous 'What's in a Name?' challenge.
T.W: Please note that this story deals with the death of an infant.
For the fandom-blind: Though not central to the story, some details will make more sense if you know that most of Mirabel's family members have a magical 'gift'. It should be fairly obvious what these abilities are when they come up.
Little Bones
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¿Hola? ¿Hay alguien ahí?
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Antonio instructed his coati friends to dig up the roots of a palma de cera so they wouldn't be damaged when Luisa plucked it from the ground.
Pregnancies seemed to be springing up like orchids after a storm in the months since the new miracle blessed our town, so my sisters, Antonio and I were helping to clear the way for the planned expansion.
Isabela, who knew a good tree when she saw one, had the job of deciding which of the palmas de cera should be transplanted elsewhere, and which could be chopped up and used for their parts.
Which just leaves me. I had the job of referring to the plans for the new houses and working out which trees needed to be removed and which could remain untouched. I also considered maps of the current Encanto and consulted with Isabela about where the good trees would be relocated.
"Here ya go," said Luisa, placing the fifty-five-meter tree across two waggons as though it was nothing but a pile of twigs.
Isabela and Luisa secured the tree to the rear waggon, while I tightened the ropes on the one that the horses were pulling. "You know where you're going?" I asked the driver.
"Just south of the papaya orchard!" he replied, taking up the reins. I gave an approving nod and with a click of his tongue, the horses set off and we got straight on with identifying the next tree to be uprooted.
Antonio called to the coatis to tell them where to dig next but they ignored him and continued to dig around in the wide hole left by the tree.
"Hey, what gives?" he asked, peering in.
Something small and grey propelled from the hole, landing by his feet. He bent down and picked it up. "Uh, guys…?"
I joined my cousin at the side of the hole to see what had him so concerned. It was a tiny bone, no longer than my pinky finger, and in the hole, I could see the coatis had found several more.
"It's just animal bones," I reassured him.
No sooner had I finished speaking when two of the coatis leapt out from the hole, dropping something larger on the ground by Antonio. He looked down and winced. "Uh… I don't think these are animal bones."
Hearing this, my sisters joined us at the hole. Isabela gasped when she realised what Antonio was looking at and Luisa pulled him aside so he couldn't see.
"Well, it's too small to be human," I explained. "It's probably just a squirrel monkey."
"That's no monkey skull," Antonio insisted. He may have only been five, but my cousin knew a thing or two about animals. "The teeth are all wrong. I think… I think it's a…"
"It's a baby," Isabela said, crouching down and scooping up the skull gently with both hands. She stared at it tenderly. "A very young one at that."
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¿Dónde estoy?
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Our mom covered the bones with a blanket. "This is terribly sad," she said. "Strange too. There's never been a baby go missing from the Encanto. Something like that would be huge news," she turned to Isabela. "Isa, could you ask Silvia to come right away, please? And Señor Flores will need to know, so we can start arranging the funeral."
"No problem," my sister replied, leaping into the air and landing on a vine just as it materialised at her feet. "I'll be right back!"
She then surfed off in a blur of colour.
Luisa's eyes went wide. "Funeral?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically faint.
"Of course," I replied. "They'll need a proper burial."
"But…"
Antonio once said that animals can sense fear. They can smell it as acutely as we can smell chocolate or cheese. If that's true then I swear our mom can sense sorrow the same way.
"You okay, Luisa?" she asked.
Luisa stared mournfully at the blanket. "It's just… what do we write on their headstone? We leave it blank? Like they're nobody?" Her bottom lip started to quiver as her eyes filled with tears.
I hated seeing my sister so troubled. Isabela might be my eldest sister, but Luisa was always my 'big sis'. I wracked my brain for a way to help her, as she had done for me, so many times, but while I sympathised with her wish to know the baby's name, I couldn't see how that would be possible. Where would we start? Why would anyone have covered up the death of a newborn baby? How could anyone have covered up the fact that a little baby had just vanished? Secrets are rarer than diamonds in such a small town.
"Someone must know something," I mused aloud.
Luisa raised an eyebrow.
"We could ask around?" I suggested.
Our mom answered before Luisa. "You could try, but don't get your hopes too high, okay? I don't want you girls to be disappointed."
Luisa cracked a smile. "Okay. Let's do this!"
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We had barely reached the end of the path when Isabela came soaring towards us on one of her vines. Silvia, the mortician, clung desperately to her waist. They came to an abrupt halt when they reached us, and Silvia's skin had a definite greenish hue.
"First time travelling by vine?" I asked as Luisa lifted the lady down.
Silvia nodded.
Isabela stepped down from the vine as it vanished. "Where are you going?" she asked us.
"Luisa wants to find out the baby's name, for the headstone, so we're gonna ask around town. See if anyone knows anything," I explained.
Silvia interrupted. "I'm just… gonna…" she pointed towards the Casita before walking dazedly along the path.
Isabela got a playful glint in her eye. "You mean, like detectives?"
"I guess…"
"Count me in!" She scowled at her dress which was a mixture of bright orange and vibrant blue at that particular moment. "Oh, this will never do," she said, before creating clouds of brown and green pollen and scattering it on her dress and hair, changing their colour. It was the most muted palette I'd seen her go for since she got bored of the lilac.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"If we're going to be detectives, then we need to blend in. So we can sneak around unseen, looking for clues," she said.
"Mm-hmm," I replied, trying to hide my bewilderment.
Isabela sure had changed a lot since she learnt to drop the perfect princess act. She was odd sometimes, but while I'd always loved my sister, I hadn't always liked her. I liked this new version so much more.
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The three of us set off towards the town centre, knocking on doors as we passed. Isabela periodically pretended to smoke an invisible pipe and responded to almost everything we said with, "curious" or "elementary."
"We'll cover more ground if we split up," I said when we reached the plaza. "I'll take this side, Luisa, you do the area by the orchid, and Isabela, could you do the rest?"
"Can do!" Luisa replied.
"You mean, 'split up and look for clues'?" asked Isabela.
"Exactly!"
"Elementary!" she replied.
"Do you even know what that means?" I asked, because she certainly didn't seem to.
"It's just what you say when you're a detective," she said with a shrug. "You have to smoke a pipe and say things like 'curious' and 'elementary'."
"'Course you do."
She folded her arms. "Pfft. Tío Bruno would understand."
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The church bells rang out for two o'clock telling me it was time to head home for lunch. I spotted Luisa on the road ahead, so jogged to catch up.
"Anything?" I asked.
"Nah, nothin'."
"Me neither."
Although I hadn't managed to ask at every house in my section, the hope of anybody knowing anything was decreasing with each door that closed.
A blur of brown and green caught my attention as Isabela joined us.
"Well," she began, jumping from the vine, "everyone's suitably horrified by the news, but no one has a clue where that baby could have come from."
Luisa's shoulders slumped.
"Hey, let's not give up just yet," I said, though I had no idea what we could do next.
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The rest of our family was already waiting at the dinner table when we arrived. Isabela took up her seat next to Tío Bruno, and he eyed her curiously.
"What's with the colour scheme?" he asked.
She seemed delighted he'd asked. "I'm a detective! We're trying to find out who that little baby was," she said with an excited grin.
"Ooh, great! Are you smoking pipes and saying things like 'curious' and 'elementary'?"
Isabela's long hair whipped around as she spun her head towards me. "See!"
Tío Bruno then asked, "Found any clues yet?"
"Nothing," Luisa replied from further down the table.
"Well, have you secured the area? Have you dusted for prints?"
"What does that even mean?" I asked.
He shrugged. "No idea. Sounded good though."
I thought about challenging him further but decided to let it go. Our uncle was trying to be helpful after all, but this wasn't a game. We needed real, solid information.
"Hey, Mamá?" I called across to her. "Was Silvia able to tell us much about the bones?"
She shook her head. "Only that they didn't die recently. She couldn't give a precise time span, but said it could have been before the Encanto was even formed."
Luisa sank down in her chair. "So… it's hopeless?"
"Unless someone living in the Encanto happens to know something, then I'm afraid it might be," our mom explained.
"So that's it then? They'll have a nameless headstone forever?" Luisa asked, tears gathering in her eyes.
This had really gotten under my sister's skin.
"Hey, it's not over yet," said Isabela. She pretended to take a few puffs from a pipe. "We still haven't collected all the clues."
Tío Bruno took the invisible pipe from her mouth. "Not that the dinner table, please," he said, miming snuffing it out before handing it back to her.
"What clues?" Luisa asked. "There's only a few homes left to try."
"No!" I yelled, slamming my hand on the table as an idea hit me. "Isabela's right." I turned to Tío Bruno. "What was that you said before about dusting or something?"
"You mean, 'sealing off the area and dusting for prints'?"
"Yeah! I mean, that's mostly gibberish, but going back to the scene isn't such a bad idea."
"Why?" Luisa asked me.
"Because that baby didn't get there by themself. Maybe someone left a sign so they could return to the spot. Something we missed."
"A clue!" Isabela cried out.
Luisa slid her chair from the table. "Abuela? Could I be excused?" she asked.
The second Abuela nodded, Luisa fled from the chair and disappeared through the patio doors.
I still had a mouth full of rice when Isabela grabbed my arm and dragged me from my chair. Before I knew what was happening we were sailing after our sister.
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"Well that was a waste of time," Luisa said as she slumped on the ground with her head down and her arms draped feebly across her knees. She had opened up a pit twice as wide and deep as the initial hole left by the tree roots. "Not a single clue."
"Curious," said Isabela, peering into the hole. "I guess we keep looking then."
Luisa stood up, picked up the pile of dirt she'd removed from the hole and dumped it dismissively back in. "There's nowhere else to look," she said, stamping the earth down with just a little too much aggression. "Those bones are all that's left of that little'un's life, and they've told us nothing."
An eerie feeling came over me like a chill as I took in the scene. Beyond the sound of Luisa's stamping, I could almost hear a voice on the breeze. No, not hear it exactly, but I could feel it. It's hard to explain, but something told me not to give up just yet.
I scanned our surroundings. It was just as we had left it: a cleared area, encircled by towering palms, some of which could be a hundred years old or more. I wondered what they must have made of their area suddenly shifting and changing one day, and the peculiar settlement of humans that sprouted up overnight.
"If only trees could talk," I said without thinking.
"What?" Isabela asked, eyeing me like I'd lost my mind.
I shook my head as my attention returned to reality. "Oh? Uh… I just meant that if the trees could talk, the one that had been here would be able to tell us who buried that baby."
"Too bad they can't," said Luisa.
"Plants don't talk exactly, but they certainly communicate," Isabela explained.
"And you can understand them?" asked Luisa, hopeful.
Isabela giggled. "Of course not. I'm not a plant. I just make them grow."
This gave me an idea. "Isa! Would you recognise that tree if you saw it again?"
"Of course I would, it's a good tree, but…" Her eyes narrowed. "You're not thinking of asking it about the baby, are you?"
"'Course not. Just wanna check it for clues!"
Isabela's smile broadened. "Then come on, let's go!" she yelled, and soon we were on our way to the new location of the tree.
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"You're sure this is the one?" I asked for the second time as we craned our necks up at the towering tree.
"Very sure. I told you, it's a good tree," Isabela replied.
Luisa walked around it once more, observing the trunk for any slight detail that we might have missed.
"There's nothing here either," she said, dejected.
I continued to look towards the fronds many metres above us. "Maybe not down here," I replied, then turned to Isabela. "Can you get us up there?"
"Of course!" A thick vine had already sprouted before she even answered.
As we approached the leaves, we noticed a small mark in the wood.
"A CLUE!" yelled Isabela stopping the vine in front of it.
It really was a clue. Someone had carved two distinctive butterfly wings with an intricate petal design inside them.
"Butterfly wings?" I said, with a glance at my sisters. "Butterflies are our symbol. You don't think this has something to do with our family, do you?"
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We wasted no time in returning to the Casita. Our mom wasn't downstairs so we headed to her room. In her enthusiasm, Luisa entered before she remembered to knock on the door.
"Oh, hi girls. Come in, come in," said our mom, pulling up a stool and inviting us to sit in the armchairs, though we remained standing.
"Mamá, we need to ask you something," I began. "And we need an honest answer."
She eyed us suspiciously then gave a single nod.
"You promise you know nothing about that baby?" I asked, getting straight to the point.
Her brow furrowed. "Of course I don't. Why would I lie about that?"
"It isn't possible that someone in this family had a baby and just… didn't tell anyone?" Isabela suggested.
"What are you asking me?"
It hadn't occurred to me what a horrible thing we were accusing someone in our family of doing until I heard the shock in her voice. As I began to fumble for something diplomatic to say, I felt Isabela's elbow in my side. Yeah, I got it, Isa!
"Oh, no no no," I stuttered. "We're not suggesting someone, you know…"
Isabela jumped in. "It's a detective thing!" she explained hurriedly. "'Rule out all possibilities then all you're left with is the truth'. You understand, right?"
"Besides," our mom continued, ignoring what Isabela just said, "your doors all appeared before my sister and I even knew we were pregnant, so a member of this family couldn't hide a pregnancy anyway."
She had a point.
"What about Tío Bruno?" asked Luisa.
Mamá gave a little laugh. "Bruno can't get pregnant, Luisa, he's a—"
Luisa rolled her eyes. "Tch, I know that. I meant that if he…" she hesitated for a moment. "What if our gifts are only passed down the female line?"
After a puzzled beat, our mom laughed again. "My brother hardly left his room never mind the Casita. He didn't really speak to anyone unless they wanted a vision, so…"
"His gift! Of course!" Luisa yelled before suddenly fleeing from the room. Isabela threw me a confused look, then the realisation dawned on both of us at once.
"Oh no!" we said together.
Isabela grabbed a vine that sprouted from the ceiling and used it to swing herself through the door and across the balcony.
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My sisters were already talking to our uncle by the time I reached them. He was sitting in his favourite spot; an armchair on the balcony by the front stairs.
"Sorry, what?" I heard him ask. He sounded taken aback.
I sidled up to Isabela. "She didn't, did she?" I whispered.
"No, thank goodness," she whispered back. "But I think she's onto something."
"Why would I know anything?" Tío Bruno asked.
"Because of your gift?" Luisa suggested.
He chuckled. "My gift? I think you might have misunderstood what my gift is. You see, prophecy is more about things that happen in the future," he said sarcastically. "What you need is—"
"Ugh, we know that," Isabela said with a roll of her eyes. "But you must've been privy to all kinds of gossip, right? I bet some pretty personal details came out sometimes."
Tío Bruno looked thoughtful. "I suppose, but I never heard about a baby going missing."
"Did you learn anything about a baby?" I asked.
"Sure. Babies came up all the time. They were usually alive and accounted for though."
Luisa's shoulders slumped so heavily that I thought I'd heard her heart sink. "Well, thanks anyway," she said, turning away.
"I mean, it wasn't always without controversy," our uncle continued and Luisa snapped back around. "There was the time I accidentally revealed someone's newborn son wasn't his… though that kid's all grown up now so…. Ooh, and one time, I predicted an imminent birth but the mother didn't even know she was pregnant."
"Wait. That can happen?" I asked. "Someone can have a baby without knowing they were pregnant?"
Tío Bruno shrugged. "Guess so."
"That must be it!" Isabela yelled.
"Huh?" Luisa didn't seem to get it.
"Think about it," I started explaining. "Everyone's saying there's no way someone could be pregnant one minute and then the baby just suddenly vanished. People would want to know what happened, and if a baby tragically passed away, they'd have had a proper burial."
"So?"
"So," Isabela answered, "the only way this could have happened is if nobody knew about the pregnancy in the first place."
Luisa finally got it. "Oh!" she replied. "So now we just have to knock on doors and ask everyone if they accidentally had a baby and accidentally didn't tell anyone, before it accidentally died and they accidentally hid it under a tree? Gotcha."
"I feel like you're being facetious," Tío Bruno remarked.
We all went silent while we considered what to do next.
"It would help if we had any idea how old those bones are," I mused aloud.
"Didn't find any clues then?" asked Tío Bruno.
"Oh, we did!" Isabela replied. "We found butterfly wings scratched onto the tree." The enthusiasm then faded from her voice as she added, "It wasn't very helpful though."
A grin spread across Tío Bruno's face. "What are you talking about? That's a great clue!"
"It is?" I asked.
"Of course. Wax palms grow at a pretty predictable rate, so you can work out roughly when the wings were drawn by how far up the trunk they've moved! Work out when they were drawn and…"
"…We'll have a good idea how long the bones have been there!" I concluded excitedly. "Tío Bruno, you're a genius! Isabela, how fast do wax palms grow?"
"It depends on their age, but around a meter a year?"
"And you guessed that tree was roughly fifty-five meters tall?"
Isabela nodded.
"So the bones have been there since before the Encanto was established?" Luisa concluded with the same dejected tone she'd had all day.
"Not necessarily," said Isabela. "The butterfly wings won't have been engraved on a tiny sapling, so it was probably already a few years old when someone transplanted it over the grave. And they wouldn't have engraved it right at the roots."
"Sounds like you have a time stamp of roughly fifty years!" Tío Bruno pointed out. "Exquisite detective work, girls!" he said, giving himself none of the credit.
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¿Puedes oírme ahora?
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Abuela sat quietly on the edge of her bed, as Luisa flicked through a photo album beside her.
"So this is everyone who was there when the Encanto first formed?" Luisa asked her, looking at an old grainy image showing around sixty people all huddled together in the courtyard of the Casita. The photo appeared to have been taken from the upper balcony.
"I believe so, yes."
"Well, nobody looks pregnant," my sister said, handing the album to me.
I ran my fingers over the photo. It was mostly just a sea of heads looking towards the photographer. "You wouldn't be able to tell from a picture like this," I said. "Abuela, do you remember anyone looking a bit… you know…"
"She had just lost her husband and had three newborns to take care of. What do you think?" Isabela remarked, then cringed when she realised what she'd said. "Sorry, Abuela. I didn't mean to…"
Abuela smiled and waved her words away. "That may be true, but there is something I remember from that time that might be useful." We all leaned in, keen to hear what she had to say next. "You said you found the bones to the east of the town?"
We all nodded.
"I remember that area. Yes. We had taken the trees from there to build our houses, so several people from town planted new ones in their place."
I looked to my sisters whose eyes were wide with excitement. "Do you remember who planted them?" I asked.
"No, but Señora Guzmán made it her business to know everything about everyone. I'm sure she'll remember."
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Two hours later…
Luisa slumped on the roadside outside the last house. "Well, that's everyone," she said with a sigh. "Guess we'd best get back for dinner."
Not a single person that Sra. Guzmán had suggested we speak to had remembered seeing anything unusual while planting the trees. Our detective work had hit a wall.
"I'm so sorry Luisa. We did our best," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder, knowing that nothing I could say would make her feel any better. That headstone would forever remain nameless and I knew the thought was breaking her heart.
She raised her head but didn't look at us as she spoke. "Thanks for trying to help, guys. Ya right. We did our best."
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¿Mamá?
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The following morning was market day and so my sisters and I were at the plaza with a long shopping list that our mom had given us. I finished paying for a sack of cornflour then stepped aside so Luisa could fling it onto the pile of items she had balanced on her arm. As I reversed from the stall, I let out a startled yelp. Something had slammed against my shoulder.
"Sorry," I said, adjusting my glasses. "Didn't see you there."
When my eyes reached her face I realised I'd bumped into Elisa Osma. We had spoken the day before because her abuela had been one of the people responsible for planting the young trees. A known recluse, Abuela Osma had refused to come to the door, but Elisa kindly passed on our message. Just like the others, she couldn't recall anything that could help our investigation.
"Not at all. I should watch where I'm going," Elisa replied politely, even though it had been me who backed into her.
As she stepped away, I noticed something on the floor and picked it up. It was a thick ribbon that I assumed fell from Elisa's hair when I bumped into her.
"Excuse me! Your ribbon!" I called after her.
She stopped and felt her hair. "Oh? Thanks, Mirabel," she said, holding out her hand to take it.
"It's nothing. It's—" I froze as the embroidered pattern on the ribbon caught my eye.
"Is everything alright?"
Realising I'd been staring for an unnatural length of time, I hastily handed it over. "That's a beautiful ribbon," I said, "where did you get it?"
"My abuela made it when I was a little girl."
"I love the butterfly wings," I said, trying to keep the conversation going while subtly waving for my sisters to come over so they could see.
"Oh they're not butterfly wings," she said with a giggle. "They're angel wings. She would paint and sew them onto everything back in the day. When her hands were still good. It's kind of our family symbol I suppose." She tied the ribbon back in her thick, light-brown hair. "Thanks again. It's irreplaceable."
My sisters and I stood motionless as we watched her walk away until Isabela broke the silence.
"Was that the…?"
"The symbol from the tree? Yeah. It was," I replied, not taking my eyes off Elisa.
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"What's the hurry?" our mom asked as Luisa dropped a bag of flour, sack of potatoes and large bunch of plantains heavily on the floor, just inside the kitchen.
"Sorry Mamá, no time. We've gotta go," she said, slightly out of breath having just ran up the hill.
I handed the change to our mom. "We'll explain when we get back," I said, just as urgently, but less breathlessly thanks to doing part of the journey by vine.
"We have a clue!" Isabela added, then the two of us set off running after our sister who had already reached the front door.
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Bendígame Padre, porque he pecado.
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"Mirabel, Luisa, Isabela, what brings you back here?" Elisa asked when she opened the door.
"Can we come in?" I asked. I didn't want to discuss something so personal on the doorstep.
"I…" Elisa looked over her shoulder then back to us with a conflicted expression. "What's this about?"
"It's about the angel wings," I explained.
"Our family symbol?"
"Yeah. You see," I paused to think of a gentle way to say it, but Isabela beat me to it.
"That symbol was carved onto the tree we found the bones under," she said. Although blunt, there was a gentleness to her tone that softened the blow. A sweetness of voice cultivated over many years of being the Encanto's 'Señorita Perfecta' helped the message land as gently as possible.
"W-what are you saying?"
None of us could answer Elisa's question, but after a short pause, she answered it herself.
"You think my abuela knows something, don't you?" We each nodded, and a troubled look came across her face. She looked over her shoulder again, this time holding the pose for a while longer, before turning back. "I think you had better come inside after all."
"Abuela!" Elisa called out as she led us through the lobby and into their living area. Despite it being midday, the window shutters were closed and the room was lit by candles. "It's the Madrigal girls!" She emphasised our family name as though introducing royalty.
"Madrigal?" Abuela Osma repeated. The old lady sat in a tatty old armchair with a patchwork blanket across her knees. The familiar angel wings adorned every section of mismatched fabric. Despite being a little younger than our own abuela, she seemed much older. Weary and frail.
"Yes. You remember Mirabel, right?"
She nodded. "The little girl that didn't get a gift."
Elisa looked embarrassed. "Sorry," she whispered. "She wasn't always so blunt."
Abuela Osma considered us for a long moment, then her face darkened. The contours appeared sharpened against shadows as candle light danced across her face.
"Get them out of here," she ordered, her voice a low growl.
I recoiled, taking a step back, but a quick glance at Luisa reminded me why we'd come this far. "Please, Señora. We just want to know about the angel wings," I tried.
"GET OUT!"
Elisa put her hand on my shoulder and started to gently guide me away. "I'm truly sorry," she said, "but I think you should go."
"But…" Luisa's eyes were pleading with me. With all of us.
"Elisa's right," said Isabela, placing her hand on Luisa's arm. "Come on." She turned to Abuela Osma and gave a slight curtsy. "I'm sorry to have caused offence."
Much to our surprise, Abuela Osma then chuckled. "Whatever do you have on your dress, child?" she asked, observing the patches of green and brown pollen. The angry old lady from moments ago seemed to have left the room, and I felt the tension ease just a little.
Isabela ran her hands down her dress and smiled bashfully. "Oh, it's—"
"NO!"
We all turned towards Luisa. Her feet were planted firmly and her hands, clenched where they hung at her sides, shook ever so slightly. Although her natural speaking voice was loud, Luisa rarely raised it in anger. The decisiveness of her next words was equally unexpected.
"I'm not going."
"Luisa…" Isabela reached for our sister's arm again, but I grabbed her shoulder before she made contact. Something told me to let this play out.
Moving slowly, Luisa picked up a whittled carving of the angel wings and, still shaking, knelt beside the frail old lady.
"Please," she began, handing her the carving. I noticed a strange black bandage around Abuela Osma's hand as she took it.
Luisa's voice was gentle and unthreatening as she continued, "That little one has been all alone, for so long. No name. No one to mourn them." She paused, her eyes searching for her next words. "This might sound crazy, but ever since we found those bones, I've had like, a weird feeling, like there's a voice on the wind trying to talk to us."
I felt a chill when she said that. I'd been feeling that too, and from the faint gasp beside me, it seemed Luisa and I weren't the only ones.
"Somebody, somewhere knows who they are. Somebody loves them," our sister continued. "And I'd bet my life that they feel that voice too."
The old lady looked up from the carving as the words landed.
Luisa pressed on. "If they're one of us? If they belong to the Encanto? I beg you, just let us know their name."
Abuela Osma's eyes twinkled faintly like old stars nearing the end of their time as she gazed ahead, not looking at anything in particular. Then as though unable to hold it back a moment longer, a single word floated from her mouth like a sigh.
"Angélica."
In the silence that followed, a breeze blew through the room bringing with it an otherworldly feeling as the name echoed in our minds.
"Her name is Angélica," she repeated.
Isabela clasped her hands over her mouth, and Luisa took Abuela Osma's hand.
She looked sorrowfully at her granddaughter, whose eyes were wide with disbelief. Then with a weary sigh, she began to tell us how Angélica came to spend the last fifty years beneath a tree.
"I made a terrible mistake," she said, speaking to the carving that she still clutched in both hands. "I was so young. So foolish. I fell in love with a married man. A powerful, respectable man. We knew it was wrong. We tried to call it off many times, but each time… each time…" She swallowed hard, swallowing whatever words she'd been about to say.
"I hid the pregnancy well," she continued once she was ready. "I barely showed. But I knew I couldn't hide it forever. Sooner or later that baby would arrive and there'd be questions to answer. I wanted to keep my baby, I had to, but I didn't dare tell anyone the truth. The shame it would have brought on both our families. So I came up with a plan. I would pretend to find them abandoned, so I could adopt them, raise them without judgement. It was a perfect plan.
"Then that dreadful night came. The night we were forced to flee our homes as everything we held dear burnt around us. At first…" She looked up from the carving for the first time since she started speaking, and made eye contact with Luisa, still crouched beside her. "At first I was grateful for your Abuela Alma's miracle. Grateful for the sanctuary it gave us. Grateful for my life. But then it hit me. How could I pretend to find an abandoned baby now that we were cut off from the outside world?"
Her attention returned to the carving of the wings. "It was the very first night, the night after it happened, when we were all taking shelter in the Casita. I heard my lover's wife wailing in despair. He hadn't made it.
"I've never felt pain like it. The horror of realising the man I loved was gone, yet I was unable to grieve. Unable to show my anguish but to feign it was for the life we'd left behind. I wished so much that I had died too. And then it happened. I don't know if it was the trauma, or the grief, or the exhaustion, but I felt that first contraction. I snuck out, unnoticed in the chaos. Out into the forest to give birth in secret, too afraid to seek help. Too afraid to admit what had happened. What I'd done.
"Then, just when I thought I'd already hit the lowest point of my life. When I was alone, scared, sore. My baby was still in my arms. I wrapped her tiny body in my shawl and started to stumble back towards the Casita for help. Maybe the miracle could…
"The closer I got, the more afraid I became. Afraid of the truth coming out. Of being rejected from this safe haven I'd found myself in. But what choice did I have? I had to come clean for the sake of my baby. So I pressed on, but then a horrible thought entered my mind. One that led to the worst decision of my life. I threw back the shawl and looked at my newborn baby. She wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing. She was gone. That's when it hit me; no one would need to know.
"At first I just hid her in a shallow grave in the forest, but I was terrified someone might stumble upon her while hunting. So when we started transplanting those young saplings, I struck upon an idea. I'd volunteer to help, and then, when everyone had returned home for dinner, I'd sneak out and bury my daughter under a tree. She'd remain there, safe, hidden, forever."
Elisa leaned down and hugged her abuela, and as I glanced at my sisters, I realised that everyone in that room was crying.
"I'm so sorry," Abuela Osma said when Elisa broke away from the hug. "It was an evil act, and I've been repenting for it my entire life." She touched the bandage on her hand and I wondered what it could be hiding, but I got the feeling it wasn't my business to know.
"So that's what the angel wings were?" Elisa asked.
Abuela Osma nodded. "I knew I couldn't write her name on that tree, but I didn't want to leave her grave unmarked. So I etched a pair of wings into the wood so she would make it safely up to heaven. My little angel. My Angélica."
.
Six months later...
Luisa smiled as she ran her hand across the freshly laid headstone before reading it aloud;
"Here lies Angélica Osma
The Encanto's first baby
Born and died 18th October 1900
Once remembered, never forgotten
Welcome home, little one."
Isabela added a few more flowers, which already covered the grave and encircled the headstone so that only the words and angel wings were visible. "You did well sis," she said, linking her arm with Luisa's.
"Yeah," I agreed, taking her other arm. "You did an amazing job!"
~El fin~
Translations of Angélica's 'whispers'
¿Hola? ¿Hay alguien ahí? = Hello? Is somebody there?
¿Dónde estoy? = Where am I?
¿Puedes oírme ahora? = Can you hear me now?
Bendígame Padre, porque he pecado = Bless me Father, for I have sinned.