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In return for the miracle, they served the village of the Encanto for three generations. That’s what their abuela had always said. They each needed to serve a purpose, to prove that they were worthy for such a gift to be bestowed upon them.
Now the gifts were gone, but the village was still here.
The Madrigals were still trying to pick up the pieces of their lost home in place of the lost pieces of themselves, when the townspeople crossed the bridge and up the hill with tools, bricks, spackle, and everything needed to rebuild.
With the help of those they had served for years, they rebuilt the entire foundation of Casa Madrigal within a day. For once, Isabela felt connected to the community they spent so long to build. For once, she felt like her sacrifice had been finally worth it, had finally amounted to something. Even if they looked at her in awe and envy, even if they only stared at her with a lovestruck grin, it had been worth it to have their own home again.
And then the townspeople left for the night, allowing the Madrigals to adjust to their newly built home, Isabela realized that everything was truly changed for good.
There was no candle in the window looking over them. There were no mystical glowing doors that felt so warm and welcoming. No bedrooms specific to them.
When Isabela opened the plain oak door where her room used to be, it opened to a square bedroom with a twin bed, a dresser, and a single window. White walls. Donated pink bed set. Someone was kind enough to set a clay pot on her desk with a single orchid. It drooped sadly to one side.
As the night sky pulled down like a curtain, it brought heavy clouds of rain. The family migrated inside just as a drizzle fell over the valley, and even Pepa can’t be to blame. It was like the Encanto felt the mood of the whole family.
Isabela unclasped the window and cupped her hands under the falling rain. She took the water she collected and poured it over the sad orchid. She traced a finger down its curved stem, across its delicate petals. Just yesterday, she would be able to lift this blossom until it stood proud and healthy. Now, all she could do was hope that water was enough.
The rest of her new room was plain. Small. So colorless.
She couldn’t stand it.
With a huff, Isabela stood up and stepped out.
The dull drizzle of rain on the tiles below did little to relax her. She hoped the rain didn’t seep into the bricks and ruin their newly built foundation. Her family couldn’t survive another loss.
Through the rain, she heard the muffled sound of voices below. The lights were still on in the kitchen. Curious, Isabela silently crept down the stairs and peeked through the open doors.
Her parents stood over their dining table - not the long one they had before, this one was round and donated from the village; it wasn’t big enough - alongside her Tía Pepa and Tío Félix. The table was covered in broken glass, old wooden frames, and the pictures saved from the wreckage.
“This is all that we could find,” Pepa said in a mournful tone.
Julieta leaned over the table. She was a mess, and it broke Isabela’s heart. Her hair was falling out of its neat bun, she still had dust smeared across her cheek and hands, her eyes still rimmed red. She looked down at the table with an open grimace.
“This--” She began, struggling to find words. “This is it?”
Pepa looked to Félix. He nodded, regretfully. “It’s everything we have left.”
“Where…?” Julieta picked up one picture. Set it down, picked up another. “Where is my Mirabel?”
Pepa wiped her eyes. “We tried to find--”
“And you couldn’t find a single one of my daughter?” Julieta asked, incredulous. She shook her head. “No. There has to be one. At least one.”
“I don’t know if there is--”
“How?” Julieta demanded, her voice loud and broken. “How did we not--” She clapped a hand over her mouth as a sob ripped up her throat. “My daughter is gone and I don’t have anything to remember her?”
“I’m sorry, Julie,” Pepa whispered. “Tomorrow we’ll look again, okay? She might have just gotten lost, we’ll climb the mountains again--”
Julieta shoved away from the table and stormed out. Isabela pressed against the wall and went miraculously unseen as her parents passed by and stormed up the stairs to their newly built room. Pepa curled into Félix’s embrace. Isabela could hear her faint sobs.
Isabela carefully snuck away to the stairs. She leaned on the railing, allowing the raindrops to soak into her stained clothes, wet her hair. Not a single picture of Mirabel. Not a thumbprint left behind. Like she had never been here.
Isabela sunk to the ground. What have they done to her hermana?
“Isa?”
She looked up to find Luisa, just closing her own bedroom door behind her. She sniffed. “What are you doing out here?”
“Can’t sleep,” Isabela said.
Luisa nodded. “Me neither.”
“Was there anything left of Mirabel’s?” Isabela asked. “Do you know?”
Luisa shrugged. “I think so. Tía Pepa put them in her room.” She pointed to the back wall, where the old nursery was. Where they put Mirabel’s room.
Isabela rushed to her feet and took long strides down the hall. She heard Luisa behind her. The two of them approached Mirabel’s door and Isabela swung it open.
It wasn’t like the nursery. It wasn’t personalized like Mirabel had made it. There were no colorful drawings on the walls, no half-finished sewing projects, no crafts. It had a bed and boxes and the plain white walls of the rest of the home.
Isabela stepped in and began rummaging through one of the boxes. Luisa lifted one at the top of a stack with a grunt. Isabela watched her sister use genuine effort to unstack the filled boxes, but refused to give it up.
“Luisa?” Isabela asked.
Her sister dropped the box and stretched her back. “Isa?”
Isabela wrapped her arms around her sister’s waist and squeezed. Luisa tensed in surprise, but graciously accepted the hug after a moment passed. Even with her gift gone, she still had enough muscle to squeeze the breath out of Isabela.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” Isabela said. “Even if we never get our gifts back. I’m glad you’re my sister. I wouldn’t trade you for anything, mi hermana.”
She felt Luisa’s shoulders shake, so she pulled away. Luisa had tears running down her face. She hiccuped, “Me--Me too, Isa.”
Isabela helped to clean Luisa’s face before they returned to the boxes. They uncovered broken crayons, crumpled drawings, stray strings of yarn, countless colorful papers, crafting tools, notebooks, stuffed animals, and more. If Mirabel had been given a gift, it would be to create anything with a needle and thread.
Isabela tucked away a couple bottles of dye and a pair of scissors without Luisa noticing.
“Were you searching for anything, Isa?” Luisa asked, holding up a half-finished shirt with some mismatched design.
“Not exactly,” Isabela said. She sighed. “I don’t know. I feel like, if I look hard enough, I could find something that would tell us where she went.”
She opened up one of the notebooks and blinked in surprise. Inside were several carefully pressed flowers. Curious, Isabela picked up a stem and examined the blossom. It felt familiar in her fingertips. Undoubtedly, these were flowers she had created herself, preserved between the pages of a stray book.
Oh, Mirabel.
“Do you think I’m selfish, too?” Isabela asked quietly.
“Uh--No?” Luisa said, unsure. “You do a lot for the Encanto.”
“Be honest,” Isabela encouraged. She replaced the flower and held the book to her chest as she faced her sister. “Mirabel believed I was señorita perfecta. I want to know if you feel the same.”
Luisa shrugged. “No. You’re not selfish. But…it does seem to come effortlessly to you. To all of you. I feel like I’m close to my breaking point every single day I’m moving churches, bridges, donkeys. I never feel strong enough to do the tasks everyone wants me to do.” She clenched a fist. “Now I never will be.”
Isabela leaned on the wall next to her. “It’s not as effortless as it looks.” Luisa gave her a curious look. “I feel like I’ve been in a box ever since I first got my gift. That my powers have to be presented in a certain way. To be perfect. I struggled to keep my gift in check, from going out of control and turning the whole town into a field of cacti.” She chuckled. “Mirabel was a bad influence.”
Luisa laughed, too. “She was.”
Isabela leaned her head on Luisa’s shoulder. “I miss her.”
“Me too.”