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It was Dolores who was the first one to notice, of course, just a few weeks after Isabela figured it out.
The family was gathered around the table, eating dinner, and mixed in with the sounds of chatter and laughter, almost imperceptible even to Dolores' ears, was a tiny heartbeat, steadily beating.
She'd heard this before, a year and a half ago when her mother had announced that she and her father would be welcoming another child. But no excited announcement accompanied this one.
Dolores looked from her mother, little Antonio perched on her lap; to her aunt, absentmindedly giving Mirabel another helping; to Isabela, picking listlessly at her food.
Come to think of it, she hadn't been eating that much these past few weeks. She'd claimed an upset stomach, one of the few ailments that was difficult for Tía Julieta to cure, since when your stomach rebelled it was difficult to think of swallowing anything at all.
Oh.
Dolores squeaked.
Isabela looked up and met her eyes from across the table. Her mouth moved silently, forming words only Dolores could hear. Don't tell.
As soon as possible, they met in Isabela's room. Few people went to Dolores' room, but nobody went to Isabela's. It had been solely her domain for years.
"Look, don't panic," Isabela said. "I'm going to hide it."
"What do you mean, hide it?" Dolores demanded, waving a hand. "You can only hide it for so long! People are going to notice! And you won't be able to hide the actual baby!"
"I know! Listen." She hadn't gotten the chance to lay out her tentative plan so far, and she spoke slowly, thinking. She was glad, actually, of the opportunity to talk about it with someone, to see if Dolores thought it was feasible, or if she should give up and confess everything immediately. "No one will notice. I'll wear a lot of layers, a lot of loose clothing. I'll have the baby in secret, and I'll leave it by the orphanage. No one will know."
Dolores hesitated. It was possible. Only distantly - the odds that someone would notice in the months before the baby's birth were very high - but possible.
And plenty of babies were anonymously left at the orphanage. Small village that they were, they had their own orphanage. That night Abuela refused to talk about had left quite a few orphans.
Nowadays, most children whose parents had died - usually from fatal accidents that killed them before Tía Julieta could get to them - were taken in by relatives or neighbors, so most of the orphanage children had been left there as infants, presumably from young women in positions similar to Isabela's.
Of course, considering the size of the Encanto, and the fact that hardly anyone ever left or entered, it was often quite obvious, as the children grew, which families they were related to. Some ended up adopting their illegitimate grandchild; some ignored the resemblance.
Hopefully, no one would figure out that there was a Madrigal baby in the orphanage. Not for a good long while, at least.
There was one other factor to be taken into consideration, however. Dolores pursed her lips. "Who is it?"
There was no use pretending she didn't know who Dolores was talking about. "Esteban Gómez."
Dolores vaguely remembered him. He'd been a year older than her and Isabela at school, and he was handsome enough, although not nearly as much as Mariano Guzmán, at least in her opinion. He liked spending a lot of time outside, playing games with the other boys; he hardly ever argued with his parents, and he usually made time for his little brother. She'd never paid much more attention to him than what she'd overheard.
Apparently, Isabela had.
"You like him?"
Isabela sighed. "It wasn't supposed to be real. Not an official proper courtship, I mean. But he was nice, and he hardly ever mentioned my flowers, and he's funny sometimes..." She trailed off, waving her hand.
Dolores thought about this. "Would he marry you? Would you marry him?"
"He probably would," Isabela said. Esteban was a good young man, not the sort to deny responsibility for his child. And, altruistic though he may have been by nature, most would jump at the chance to officially be part of La Familia Madrigal. And if none of that would convince him, they would marry for no other reason than that both of their grandmothers would make them. "But I haven't told him."
"You haven't?" Dolores looked shocked.
"No." She tried to explain. It made a lot more sense in her head.
She was Isabela Madrigal, the perfect one. Everything she did had to be perfect. Everyone looked up to her. Her parents trusted her to look after her sisters and set a good example for them; Abuela, the same, only for her cousins as well. She had always gotten good marks, always behaved, always befriended only the most suitable...
And now this.
Isabela had plans for her future, and those plans did not include being married off at seventeen in a rushed wedding to avoid the scandal that the baby born seven months later would bring. If it was five or ten years later, maybe, but now? No.
She couldn't bring shame on her family like that. She couldn't bring shame on herself like that. She couldn't disappoint everyone. She could just imagine the look on her parents' and grandmother's face, telling her they loved her unconditionally while never fully trusting her again. She would never have the same status and respect in their eyes that she did now. She couldn't tell anyone.
So hiding was the only option.
"And what about giving birth?" Dolores wanted to know.
"I hadn't thought of that yet," Isabela admitted.
"I helped Mamá when she had Antonio," Dolores mused. "I might be able to help you too. The library might have a book, I can check."
She leaned over and squeezed Isabela's hand. "Don't worry, Bela," she said, which she hadn't called her in years. "We'll figure it out."
We. A warm feeling suffused Isabela's chest.
A single time helping her mother and a book about childbirth read under the covers wasn't going to be enough, so Dolores suggested that she begin helping out the midwife.
"I can hear the baby inside the mother," Dolores explained to Abuela. "The heartbeat and everything. And I thought I could help Señora Calles sometimes. I'll be able to tell if everything's all right, if the baby's in the right position and everything. And I'll learn how to help if things go wrong. I'll be able to help more people with my gift this way."
Abuela thought this was a wonderful idea, so Dolores began to help out Señora Calles twice a week. Usually it was just checkups, and she would listen carefully and relay the quiet noises that she heard; occasionally it was an actual birth.
As the months progressed, Isabela began to wear looser, baggier clothing, and hoped nobody would comment on it. Occasionally this necessitated borrowing something of Luisa's, who half the time didn't even notice. The other half of the time she seemed to assume Isabela must have needed it for something and didn't even mention it, kind soul that she was.
She avoided her family - well, everyone, really - as much as she could, lest someone notice something about her midsection. There were only so many times she could claim to be sick, especially living in the same house as her mother - and a close inspection by her mother was the last thing she needed right now - but she claimed to want peace and quiet, or privacy, and spent most of her time alone in her room, where there was no risk that anyone would notice anything.
Isabela and Dolores began spending a lot more time together than they used to, due to necessity. They could often be found with their heads bent together, whispering, and falling silent whenever anyone else approached. In fact, it began to be rare for Isabela to be found in anyone else's company.
Julieta and Agustín conferred with each other in worried whispers about the fact that their eldest daughter was spending so much time alone, hardly ever talking to anyone, distancing herself from her family. Why was she isolating herself so much?
"She's probably just going through a phase," Agustín suggested. "She wants to be by herself, think about things, and so on. A lot of teenagers do something like this." He paused, frowning. "Usually they're younger than Isabela, though."
Abuela commented to her daughters that it was so nice to see Isabela and Dolores spending more time with each other and growing closer, just as family should be.
All this was faithfully relayed by Dolores to Isabela, and they shared relief. So far, no one had suspected anything. They were getting away with this. They could pull this off.
Maybe.
It was barely after sunset when Isabela hurried through the hallway to knock on Dolores' door, which swung open before she could.
They'd planned this. Dolores' room was soundproof, after all, and if things went to plan everything would be over by dawn. She'd been squirreling away rags and towels surreptitiously taken from the laundry pile for the past two weeks. She also had hot water, cold water, all of today's leftovers, and three jugs of her aunt's lulada.
She'd been rather busy since dinner.
"Thank you." Isabela grimaced, kneeling on the bed. "Lola, I don't know how to....Thank you, for all this. For everything."
"You can thank me later," Dolores responded. "Afterwards. Don't worry, you can do this."
A short time later, they were both very grateful the room was soundproof.
It was harder than Dolores had thought, and she wasn't even the one giving birth here. She thought Isabela would squeeze her fingers off.
Could she manage this by herself? What if something went wrong? Sure, she'd helped by births before. But she'd never been the only one there to help, the sole responsibility resting on her. There'd always been other, more experienced people who actually knew what they were doing. When her mother had been having Antonio, there'd been her aunt, and her grandmother, and the midwife, and the midwife's real apprentice, who helped Señora Calles as an actual job and not just a couple of times a week. When she'd helped Señora Calles with the other births, well, Señora Calles had been right there, and other women as well - usually a sister or cousin or two of the woman in labor. She'd never been by herself.
"If the baby's not born by morning I'm getting your mother," Dolores said.
"Duly noted," Isabela managed, air hissing through her teeth.
There was blood.
Isabela screamed again.
When the baby finally came she was still and quiet. Isabela, gray and exhausted, watched fearfully.
Dolores remembered what her aunt had done with Antonio, and smacked the baby. The baby jerked, gasped, and started to cry. Isabela sagged with relief.
Dolores handed Isabela a now-bloodstained glass of lulada and carried the baby across the room to clean her and clothe her. The water was long cold by now, and the baby whimpered.
"Ssh," Dolores soothed her - her cousin? Her niece? Family member who she would never be able to acknowledge as family again? She dropped the damp rag to the floor and picked up a clean one.
They hadn't been able to buy or make any clothes for the baby, for obvious reasons. But Isabela had snagged one of Antonio's old outfits last month, and had kept it in the bottom of a drawer until now. It was plain and white, soft and thick and warm, and not obviously linked to the Madrigals in any way. Dolores gently put it on the baby and carried her back to Isabela.
"A girl," she told her. "I think she looks like you."
This was not the point of pride it should have been, because if a baby looking a lot like Isabela Madrigal appeared on the doorstep of the orphanage after Isabela had been acting withdrawn and odd for a few months, people would have questions.
The baby did indeed look a lot like Isabela. She already had a thatch of dark hair atop her head, a nose that was a miniature version of Isabela's, tiny rosebud lips.
"Maybe she'll look different when she gets older," Isabela said absently, too busy counting all of her daughter's fingers and toes to think too much about it. She paused, a thought striking her. "People will notice if she gets a gift, though."
"She might not," Dolores pointed out, voicing the secret fear all of the Madrigals had. "Maybe there'll be no more gifts. Mirabel didn't get one. We don't know if Antonio will. And we don't know if future Madrigals-" She pointed to the baby, the next generation. "Will get gifts. Maybe it was just our parents and their...most of their children."
"If she does," Isabela mused, "it'll be in...a long time. We can figure it out then." In five years they would both be grown women, able to deal with whatever came their way, including an old secret in the form of a child, or so they both hoped.
Dolores nodded. "We should...we should bring her now," she said gently.
Isabela closed her eyes and nodded. "Do you have a paper? And something to write with? And something to attach it to her with?"
Dolores did, and watched as Isabela carefully wrote on a piece of paper. She needn't have worried that her cousin would give too much away in a heartfelt note; all Isabela wrote was a single word. Asha. It was unlikely that her handwriting would be recognized from a single word, and it was much more wobbly than usual, anyway.
Isabela pinned the note to Asha's clothing.
"That's a pretty name," Dolores said.
Isabela nodded.
Dolores stifled a yawn. They'd both been up all night, and would have to be up all day pretended nothing had happened. She wanted to sleep, but couldn't. Not yet.
She held out her hands for the baby - for Asha - but Isabela didn't move.
"You'll be able to visit her," she prompted.
This was true. The orphanage was open to all, and the coming weeks would no doubt see the eldest Madrigal grandchild develop a sudden interest in it and volunteer to help out there as much as she was able.
Isabela sighed, gently kissed the top of the baby's head, and relinquished her.
Dolores turned, clutching Asha to her chest while praying she would stay quiet as she took her out of the house, and surveyed the room.
It was a mess. Bloodstained sheets and rags were everywhere, and a very tired Isabela was already half-asleep on her bed.
It looked like someone had been killed here. But quite the opposite had happened.
How had they thought they were going to hide this? She'd hoped to have time to clean up, but she couldn't bring Asha to the orphanage and clean up at once.
And what about Isabela? Wouldn't the family notice she was weak? It had been obvious when Pepa had had Antonio. She'd slept for most of the day afterwards, and had been ravenous when she'd woken up. If Isabela slept for most of the day both of her parents would wonder what was wrong. If they thought she was really sick and that nothing of Julieta's was working they would call in the village doctor, whose friendly rivalry with Julieta was infamous. With all those people....someone would definitely figure out what had happened.
They both startled at Mirabel's wakeup knock, the only thing the magic allowed to be audible in this room.
Oh, no.
It was later than either of them had thought, late enough for the family to be rousing. And Isabela and Dolores would be expected for breakfast.
"Okay, you didn't sleep well last night so you came to fall asleep in my room," Dolores ordered. "And..." That was Isabela's presence explained, but what about everything else?
She'd...gotten her period? Isabela had been sleeping in her bed, and both of them had gotten their periods at once, so that was why there was so much more blood than usual...No, that wouldn't work. She was getting desperate. That wouldn't explain this much blood to either of their mothers, who had both had children before. She'd probably just have to destroy the sheets.
First things first. Get Asha to the orphanage without anyone noticing.
At least, thanks to her gift, she would know where exactly in the house everyone was.
She unlocked the door, and turned the knob.
Nothing happened.
She sighed. "Now, Casita? Really?" Casita was choosing an odd moment to be unhelpful, though - it could have given them away at any time over the past six months. Yet the house had never given anyone a clue as to the secret Isabela was hiding, which led them both to conclude that the house was on their side, or at least wouldn't give anything away.
The floorboards creaked. A window shutter banged.
Dolores turned to find an empty cupboard on the wall, door hanging open.
Which hadn't been there until now. She was sure of it. She wasn't that tired.
"Casita?"
Another creak. The cupboard door swung open wider.
There was no shelf in there. Nothing except for clean, dry wood.
Exactly the right size as a newborn baby.
"Casita?" she asked again.
"What?" Isabela asked from the bed. "What's going on?"
The cupboard jerked, door swinging back and forth ever so slightly. Its walls flexed invitingly.
Dolores swallowed. "You want me to put the baby in there?"
"What?" said Isabela again.
A creak of affirmation. The cupboard door banged closed and then open again. Waiting.
"Why?" Isabela asked. "You can't hide her in there."
The door shook from side to side.
"Not to hide her," Dolores realized.
The door closed again, gently this time, and opened.
"You'll...take her away?"
The floorboards rattled in affirmation.
"What do you mean?" Isabela demanded. "To where? Where will you take her?"
The window shutter closed quietly, almost like a shrug. As if Casita was trying to say, I wish I could tell you. I'm a house.
"I wish you could talk," Isabela muttered. "You'll bring her somewhere safe? Somewhere where she'll be taken care of, where there are people to love her?"
Creak, creak, creak. Yes, yes, yes.
Isabela swallowed. "Then do it."
Dolores gently placed baby Asha inside the cupboard. The door swung closed.
And opened.
The cupboard was empty, as if nothing had ever been there.
Isabela burst into tears.
Sakina was stepping out to milk the goat. She wasn't even fully out the door when she stumbled and shrieked, the bucket clanging against a rock on the ground as her husband and father-in-law came running.
They found her kneeling in the doorway, gingerly lifting a small white bundle off the ground.
"Sakina, what..." Tomás trailed off. "Mi amor, what happened...?"
She raised her head, seeing her disbelief and shock reflected in his eyes. "A baby," she said. "It's a baby!"
They brought the baby inside.
The baby was a girl, dressed all in white, tiny and new. "She can't be more than a few hours old," Sakina said. The little patch of hair atop her head was still damp.
There was no one outside. They looked up and down the street. It was deserted, windows dark, the street silent and still in the gray predawn light.
Tomás milked the goat. Sakina sat at the table with the baby in her arms and the milk in a bowl. She dipped a piece of cloth into the bowl, soaking it in milk, and then put it in the baby's mouth to suck on. She repeated it again, and again. Tomás and Sabino sat at the table beside her.
"There's no sign of whoever left her here," Tomás reported.
Sabino asked, "Do you know of anyone having a baby around now? Who would leave her by us for some reason?"
Sakina shook her head. "I know a few women who are pregnant, but none of them are due to give birth in less than two months."
They all looked at the baby in silence for a few moments.
"There's a note," Tomás noted; his sharp eyes had spotted what Sakina, preoccupied with the milk, had not. He reached over and unpinned a small piece of paper. "It just says a name. Asha."
Another pause.
"It's a good name," Sabino said finally.
"But why would someone leave a baby by us, out of everyone in Rosas?" Sakina asked.
"It could have been a new arrival, perhaps," Sabino suggested. "Someone you wouldn't know, a woman who couldn't care for her child, maybe..."
"Or..." Tomás began.
They looked at him.
He hesitated. "We saw no one, we didn't hear anything. We don't know of anyone who would have had a baby now. She looks like she can't even be a day old. I was thinking...maybe our wish?"
Sakina inhaled sharply.
Her wish, Tomás's wish, the wishes they had given the king; a wish for a child.
They had been childless for over a decade at the time they had moved to Rosas. They had heard stories of the wonders done there, of the benevolent sorcerer-king who could grant any wish, and they had hoped that if they could not have a child through natural means, perhaps they could have one through magical ones. But that had been years ago, and as yet, the king had not seen fit to grant their wish.
Until now. Possibly.
"But why wouldn't he tell us?" Sakina asked.
"Why would he not have granted your wish at the last ceremony?" Sabino added.
"Maybe he was making an exception for us?" Tomás suggested. "He does that sometimes." Occasionally, the king granted more wishes than the standard once-a-month, usually in celebration of a holiday, or to reward people who had done some sort of service for him. "Maybe he decided it was time to grant our wish, but because it wasn't during a ceremony, it had to be done in secret?"
"Maybe," Sakina whispered, looking down at the baby. She was almost asleep now. Maybe the king had finally granted their wish. She hoped so. She wanted to believe Tomás was right. That meant that this baby could be theirs.
"If the king meant for it to be a secret," Sabino began slowly, "then we'd best not tell anyone the truth. Not even her, when she grows older."
And that settled it, because it meant they would be raising Asha.
"We can tell people that you concealed your pregnancy because we didn't want to get our hopes up after so long," Tomás suggested. "And that you're not able to nurse her, I think we can afford to hire a wet nurse for a few months at least. You'll have to put on a show of resting in bed for the next few days at least, mi amor, and I'm sure all our neighbors will want to visit and make a fuss over our new estrellita here...May I hold her?"
Sakina wordlessly placed Asha in his arms.
"Estrellita," he repeated, staring down at the baby's little face. "Hello, little one. It is very nice to meet you."