Chapter Text
Tío Bruno remained kneeling after Padre Flores' dismissal and the three old ladies who had been sitting in front of Mirabel had creakily genuflected and headed out, their gossip audible the second they passed the chapel door. Manuela, the shoemaker's middle daughter, had been found in a compromising position with the baker's eldest son. Opinions varied, but a consensus seemed to be forming that this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to Manuela.
Mirabel worried more about the continued quality of the parva said baker's son was responsible for; in particular, the mojicones that her uncle liked best. She looked back across the aisle at him as she rose from her own genuflection.
His hair had been neatly trimmed by her father, and in her opinion, looked fantastic. She just knew that she'd soon be helping him sort through the spinsters and younger widows headed his way... except for his shabby clothes.
Bruno finished muttering whatever remarks he still had for their Lord, crossed himself and stood up. As he turned around to leave, his face showed surprise.
"You're still here?"
"Of course. Wasn't going to ditch my parva buddy," she replied, winking.
He crooked his left arm, and she took it as they walked out. She looked over at the seam that she had noticed was coming apart that first day she re-met him behind the walls. Work on rebuilding Casita had only made it worse. So far, he had refused her offers of assistance.
"There are like five strands of yarn holding your ruana together on your left shoulder, Tío. Please let me fix it!" she implored once they were outside. She dropped his arm to remove her mantilla and pack it in her mochila.
He looked a bit uncomfortable. "How long will it take?"
Mirabel inspected the falling-apart seam more closely, poking at the most threadbare spots. "If you don't mind me shortening it two or three centimeters, about an hour or two." She thought about the excellent tapestry needles that Señora Rodriguez had given her for getting her two little boys to recite the alphabet, just the right size for the yarn she usually spun.
"How long would it take if you didn't?"
"Well, I'd have to match the colors of the background and the decoration, dye the wool, spin it, then re-weave a few rows."
Bruno picked at the hem that also needed work, but not as desperately as the shoulder seams. "I'm guessing you couldn't do that in an evening."
"No."
"A bit shorter is fine," he acquiesced.
She nearly asked for the garment right then and there, but then realized that it was part of his armor against the world.
"I'll pick it up after dinner and meet you at Casa Fernández before church tomorrow."
Bruno's face shone with relief and gratitude. Her uncle really was handsome when he smiled.
Any day now, one of the unmarried ladies a few, or several, years older than her would see it for herself.