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The weather was beautiful that day.
The weather was beautiful and Alma thought it was like a slap in her face that the day was so beautiful and yet, her family felt as if the rain was raining heavily for the past few days and there was no trace of the sun in the sky for many hours.
The sun that shone so brightly and warmed the skin so nicely; the breeze that was very gently brushing one’s hair; the happy trill of some birds in the surrounding trees - it all seemed like such an irony today.
Because for her, nor her family, this day wasn’t beautiful.
Mirabel’s funeral was about to begin.
The swarm of people clothed in black or dark clothes gathered in the church, and those who didn’t find a place inside stood outside.
She was kneeling in the front, feeling some beams of the sun on her face, her hands clasped together, a rosary between them.
On her left sat Camilo. Antonio was next to him, then Pepa and Félix .
Julieta and Agustín sat at the other side, her daughter being closest to her, but not even once glancing in her direction, her empty gaze fixed on the floor, sometimes on the casket is she was brave enough.
Next to them, there were Luisa and Isabela and Alma recalled that Dolores sat there too, as emotional support for Isabela, probably. Her two oldest granddaughters were always close, always more like sisters than cousins.
Mirabel’s casket was open.
Her head was full of dark locks that contrasted weirdly against her deathly paled complexion. Alma wasn’t brave enough to get closer to the casket. She didn’t consider it proper, given that her family, or at least Julieta’s family, blamed her for why Mirabel was lying there in the first place.
Alma had picked a dress for her. It had been the most she could have done in that scenario, and Mirabel was lying there, her body clad in a white dress - something only children would wear.
Mirabel might have had her quinceañera, and traditionally she had been considered a grown-up woman when she died but–
It seemed only proper.
White was the colour of purity - and Mirabel had the purest heart of them all.
White was the colour of innocence - and under no conditions, had Mirabel deserved what had happened to her. She had only good intentions at heart.
White was the colour of goodness - and Mirabel had always been good - despite how she was treated by her own family or sometimes, the townfolks.
White was also a colour of calmness. Of peace. And Alma hoped that Mirabel would get all the peace all calm where she had gone. She hoped that she was there with Pedro.
Pedro deserved to know his granddaughter - one so similar to him in many aspects. One so selfless and ready to make sacrifices, just like her late husband. With a heart so full of love and kindness.
She made no sound as a lonely tear fell down her cheek.
The mass began.
There were many people in their church. All people from Encanto gathered there, ready to say their last goodbyes to Mirabel; ready to pay respects and keep her company on her last way.
But, it seemed, nobody was making any sound. Coughs and sneezes? They were always there, but today–
Today even small children were quiet.
Somewhere behind her, Alma heard some sniffing and quiet talks, and she recognised the voices of a few children that were often spending time with Mirabel when she went down to their town.
Little Cecilia, Alejandra and Juancho.
Three little bundles of energy that had been always following Mirabel around the town. Now, she heard a whisper.
“I miss her voice.”
Alma missed Mirabel’s voice too.
There were prayers. There were more sniffles as the ceremony was coming to an end and Alma risked a glance in her daughter’s direction only to see as she was staring at Mirabel’s peaceful face.
Something tugged on her heart at the sight. The sight she had seen in her mirror fifty years before - as she was looking at her own face and expressionless eyes, at her own grief visible between every blink of her eyes.
“Abuela,” she heard, as Camilo delicately touched her arm. She looked at him. “They took the casket,” he said, his voice soft and breaking a little. “We should follow.”
And it was true. The casket was nowhere to be seen, just as Julieta, Agustín or their daughters, and people started to leave the church after them, so she hurried too, with Camilo linking their arms together.
Their procession didn’t go to the local cemetery, no.
It had been decided that Mirabel would be laid on their ground, near where Casita once stood, now ready to be rebuilt.
Next to Pedro’s grave, or rather his memorial stone, as his body had never been recovered from the place he died in. Alma had never got to know what happened to him after the blade pierced his heart.
They gathered there, on the top of the hill, with the sight of the almost empty village underneath them.
And only then, only when the casket was to be lowered into the ground, the sobs rang out in the air.
Julieta wailed like a wounded animal, her sobs not leaving any room for proper breathing, her frame trembling more and more every second. Agustín tried to calm her, his arm was on her back, then on her shoulders, then Julieta just turned and hugged him tightly as they both looked at the grave, tears on both faces.
“ Dios te salve, Maria,” Alma muttered under her breath, observing as some men started to cover the casket with dirt.
It was the moment she heard more sobs but she couldn't identify who were they coming from. It might have been Isabela, but it might have been Dolores as well. Or Pepa. Or any other woman she knew.
As people started to slowly walk away, her family started gathering together, huddling closer to each other, trying to offer comfort while standing in front of a freshly-made grave.
Isabela stepped forward, her face blank but her lower lip trembling as she kneeled and put some flowers on the cold stone that covered Mirabel’s eternal rest place.
Dolores did the same, an identical bunch of flowers in her hand.
There were more flowers and more, and more, and more as every member of their family laid down the flowers that must have been collected and prepared by Isabela earlier that day.
Alma was the last one to do so.
And she didn’t have any bouquet.
But then, someone handed her one.
Alma looked up, surprised, to see that Julieta reached her arm towards her, although she didn’t make any eye contact.
But it was enough for Alma.
It was enough because she didn’t expect even that much.
Julieta had been avoiding her since Mirabel’s death.
This small gesture - it awoke hope.
She stepped forward, kneeled, put the flowers down, then put her hand to her lips and moved it to the gravestone, an imitation of a kiss that had been made too late and should have been given on a warm cheek, not a cold surface of Mirabel’s grave.
“Lo siento,” she breathed simply and stood up.
“I believe a candle is what we lack.”
Everyone stilled at a new voice and Alma turned her head sharply, recognizing the tone, recognizing the soft manner of speaking.
There, on the verge of the trees, with lit, small candle in hands, was Bruno. Her son. Her only son that had disappeared for a decade and now, he was back.
He looked at all of them, but nobody dared to move, so he made his way toward them, the candle held firmly in his hands, his steps confident, but his eyes not looking at any of them, focused on the grave instead.
He kneeled down and put the candle just before the flowers.
Its flame danced in the light wind.
“Brunito,” she heard herself say.
The man in question stood up and turned his head, his eyes still glued to the ground. “ Mamá.”
It seemed to break the weird spell that kept everyone quiet and unmoving.
In a blink of an eye, Bruno was gathered into a hug, Julieta and Pepa both clinging to him. Their arms snaked around each other, bringing them closer as if Bruno had never left, as if it was just a normal hug, as if they saw them just a few days ago, not a few years.
“Juli,” she heard his murmur. “Lo siento mucho, hermana.”
“No.”
“Lo siento!”
“Bruno–”
“Te amo,” said Pepa and the sobs erupted again.
Julieta’s broken: “Te amo,” sounded right away, as she, once again, hugged her siblings closer.
“Te amo,” echoed Bruno and his voice was small, his hands holding both sisters by their waists.
Alma looked at that scene and for the first time, she thought the sun that day was a welcome sight.
It brought hope.