A/N: This story has turned out to be much longer than I meant it to be, and I'm still working on it as I post this. Its resolution will probably come over the course of another story or two. In the meantime, enjoy, and let me know what you think. Writing about infants has turned out to be quite educational for me! Thanks as always to PDXWiz, jtbwriter, Harry2, Kyryn and Bishop T, and also to Raggedygal for her recent reviews.
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§ § § -- June 17, 2004
"I think we're getting the hang of this," Leslie murmured, watching Karina and Tobias busily drawing milk from her. The two rested on a pillow for a king-size bed, the only type long enough to fit fully across Leslie's lap and comfortably hold two babies at once. Tobias seemed intent on feeding, but now and then Karina would look up and meet Leslie's gaze, never failing to make Leslie smile.
"Does it still hurt?" asked Christian, who sat beside her feeding Susanna.
"No," she said. "It feels normal now. Dr. Hannaford keeps saying I must be a natural." She caught Christian's eye and grinned. "Frankly, I just think it's because I wanted so much to be a mother. Listen, my love, has there been any chance yet to look around for someone who can do our grocery shopping?"
"I put an ad in the paper the day we brought the triplets home, but so far we haven't had any response," Christian mused, glancing down at Susanna. "I suppose the local teenagers have long since found jobs for the summer. I have to tell you, though, it's getting draining. Margareta refused last night to go anymore, and Ingrid's picked up perhaps five words of English. Neither of them knows how to read nutrition labels."
Leslie sighed. "Well, I guess it's not all bad. Margareta's habit of bringing home only fruit and produce is turning me into an unwilling vegetarian, but you can't say I'm not eating healthy." They chuckled together. "Besides, that book I borrowed from Maureen says that whatever the mother eats eventually adds a little of its taste to the breast milk, and the babies can taste it too—which influences what they like to eat later on. If I keep this up, we should have no problem with picky brats who won't eat their veggies."
Laughing, Christian remarked, "So that's how it's done! I'm sure mothers from the 60s back, all the way to the beginning of the human race, would have murdered to get that information. But you can't subsist on fruit and vegetables forever, and I'm beginning to go a little mad for the taste of some salmon or roast beef myself." He noted the level of formula in Susanna's bottle and looked around, calling, "Ingrid, jag behöver mera mjalk, ock skynda dej! Babyn sluttar stracks!" He smiled apologetically at Leslie, then quirked an eyebrow at her and said, "You've complained often enough that I won't teach you jordiska. If the babies are to grow up bilingual as we planned, then you may as well learn right beside them. What do you think I just said?"
Leslie rolled her eyes. "Now you decide to teach me," she said, and he grinned. "Well, this is mostly a guess, but since you took a quick look at Susanna's bottle before you yelled at Ingrid, I'd say you asked her for more milk. Do I win?"
"Yes, you do," Christian said, chuckling. "I also warned her that the baby will finish this shortly, so she'd better hurry." At that moment Ingrid came out of the kitchen toting a fresh bottle, and Christian nodded approval. "Right on time," he murmured, turning to Susanna and tugging very gently at the bottle. Susanna released it, but began to whimper in protest, and Christian quickly switched to the full one. Ingrid curtsied and whisked the empty one back to the kitchen. "There, Susanna lilla, you see? I promise, I won't starve you. These things just don't hold as much milk as Mamma's breasts do, so I have to keep changing them on you just to keep you happy." He looked up at Leslie's giggle and grinned at her again before focusing once more on Susanna. "Now if we can teach you and your brother and sister to like all the good jordiska foods such as salmon and other fish, and lobster and other wonderful crustaceans…"
"I suppose you're going to start feeding me lingonberry and cloudberry jam, and silver-speckled trout, and even cherry seltzer, just so they can have a taste of all that in the milk," Leslie said good-naturedly. "You may as well get ready to start importing."
Christian snickered. "You've never had cherry seltzer," he said, referring to a drink that was a summer specialty in Lilla Jordsö and was made with the juice of jordiska cherries, a little lingonberry juice, soda water, and just enough sugar to sweeten the tart berry juice. "Who told you about that?"
"Margareta did," Leslie said. "She was feeling a little homesick and talking about sending Gabriella an e-mail asking her to ship out some cherry seltzer. When I asked her what it was, she made it sound like utter ambrosia. I'd love to try some."
"Frankly, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic for it myself," Christian remarked. "It used to be a staple in my kitchen during the warm months. All right, Susanna lilla, stop squirming." He shifted the arm that supported the baby and let his back relax against the sofa back. "She must have gained ten pounds since we brought her home. My arm's numb under her."
"You sound so cute when you call them 'little' that way," Leslie said, enchanted, and laughed at the face Christian made. "It sounds so much nicer in jordiska anyway."
"I must have picked up the habit from Mother," Christian said. "She nearly always called me 'Christian lilla', till I was eleven and told her I wasn't so little anymore and she could stop doing it. I think she missed it. In our last long conversation before her death, she said it just one more time. It nearly did me in…I was distraught anyway, and it took me back to my childhood. I didn't realize it stuck with me like that, though."
Karina suddenly let go of Leslie to yawn, and Leslie grinned. "One down, two to go." This was Karina's way of indicating she was through eating; Leslie and Christian had both wished it were as easy to tell when Tobias and Susanna were through. Christian glanced over at Karina and smiled, then started when the phone rang.
"Herregud, what dreadful timing," he complained. "Obviously Magga has yet to e-mail Briella to ask for that cherry seltzer, or the line would have been busy—so why doesn't she answer the phone?"
"Don't worry about it, my love, just let the machine get it," Leslie said, gently massaging Karina's little tummy; sometimes this resulted in a burp from her, which came in handy when whichever triplet was at her other breast wasn't finished and she couldn't pick Karina up to burp her the usual way. "You can always call back."
"Mm-hmm," Christian mumbled, checking Susanna to see if she showed any signs of finishing yet, then looking at Tobias, who was still suckling away. "Look at that boy," he murmured with a note of pride in his voice.
"You'd think he was starving," Leslie said. "On the other hand, I never have to worry about whether they're emptying me out."
Christian gave her a sly look. "It's almost too bad," he said. "I'd like to have my own turn, if these three would ever give us enough time." Leslie snickered loudly, at which point the machine finally picked up the call and gave Christian and Leslie's joint greeting. But the message that followed was lost to them for the moment, since Tobias abruptly let his mother loose and, all by himself, released a startlingly loud burp that made both his parents break down into helpless laughter.
"I daresay he's ready to go back to sleep," Christian chortled, shaking his head. "Do you think you can handle it, or should I call Ingrid?"
Leslie pulled her shirt, an old cotton tee she'd owned since her senior year of high school, down to cover herself and said, "Go ahead and call Ingrid, and she can put Tobias in for some more sleep. I need to finish burping Karina." Christian nodded, called Ingrid again and sent her off with Tobias when she came in. Leslie lifted Karina to her shoulder and began to gently pat her back, closing her eyes and emitting a long yawn.
To Christian's relief, Susanna finally decided she'd had enough and stopped suckling; he removed the bottle, set it aside and followed Leslie's example to burp the baby. She was still sitting with her eyes closed, and he ventured, "Are you all right, my Rose?"
"Fine," murmured Leslie. "Just a little sleepy, that's all." Karina finally burped, and she visibly relaxed. "You know, my love, you were talking about a craving for meat a while ago. I'm feeling the same way. If we could have home-grilled hamburgers, maybe…after all, Dr. Hannaford told me I'd better get more iron into me, after I mentioned that Margareta's avoiding packaging and labels by buying nothing but fruit and vegetables."
"Stop it," groaned Christian, "you're making me unbelievably hungry. It's tempting to call the main house and ask Mr. Roarke if he'd mind sending Mariki down here with a nice, sumptuous home-cooked meal." Susanna burped then and he let out a small amused huff. "Good girl, Susanna lilla. Now you and your sister are going to bed, and your mother and I are going to see about reverting to our regular carnivorous status."
‡ ‡ ‡
About half an hour before all this, Janine Polidari had been listlessly paging through the Fantasy Island Chronicle, bored to tears and wishing she'd thought to ask her mother if she could spend the summer in Massachusetts with her father's parents. She probably would've said no, Janine thought, disgruntled. Boston was a lively place in the summer and she really missed it now that school was out and there was nothing to do. Denise had lost patience with her, which was pretty much normal for her now, and had gone out to take a long walk and get to know her way around the island. Janine had no interest in this, and she was feeling sorry for herself—a common habit of hers nowadays. Denise had settled in at school and had friends with whom she was keeping in contact during summer vacation; and her mother was still dating that German guy. By now she and Denise had met him and knew enough about him that they were no longer wary of him; Denise liked him, though Janine continued to reserve judgment.
There was really nothing to do on this island, resort or not. She wasn't old enough to go to the casino; she didn't like horses; and mopeds scared her. And you could go to the pool or the beach only so much before it got to be monotonous. She'd finally picked up the newspaper out of desperation and tried to kill time by reading everything in it, even the sports section and the want ads. It was in the latter section that she suddenly realized there might be positions open for teenagers who wanted to earn some money. It was Janine's hope that she could get a job that paid her enough to start a savings account; she could squirrel away money to return to Massachusetts, she thought, even if only for a visit. Several of her old friends back home had said they hoped she could come back to visit, and invited her to stay with them; and of course, there were her paternal grandparents, who called once a month to stay in touch with her and Denise. Janine was working up to asking them if they'd mind her coming to live with them. If she earned her own plane fare…
Unfortunately, there were very few jobs out there, and even fewer suitable for a sixteen-year-old girl. Discouraged, she was about to throw the paper aside when she caught sight of a small notice almost at the end of the listings. "Wanted: teenager with driver's license to shop for groceries twice a week. Car provided, pay is $25 per trip. Must be willing to follow a grocery list and read nutritional labels. For more info, call 695."
Janine considered it; it sounded pretty good. It didn't pay much, but on the other hand, she could still make some fairly good money just for spending a few hours a week choosing groceries. She began to calculate. Two trips a week at twenty-five dollars a trip, till summer's end, would come out to almost six hundred dollars. That might be enough for plane tickets back to Boston! she thought excitedly. I wonder who it's for? It's probably some rich old bag in the Enclave someplace, or maybe somebody who's sick or broke their leg and can't get out. Well, whoever it was, it would get her out of this house for a while, and she'd be actually earning her own money so that she could finally go home where she belonged. Her mother and sister never had to know what the money would be used for.
She tossed the paper aside and headed for the phone, dialing the number given in the ad and waiting nervously. The buzz of the phone ringing sounded four times; then an answering machine clicked on and she heard, "Hello, you've reached the Enstad residence. We can't get to the phone at the moment, but leave us your name and number and let us know what you're calling about, and we'll get back to you first chance we get. Thanks!" A beep sounded.
"Uh…my name's Janine Polidari, and I'm calling about the ad you put in the paper. I'm sixteen and I have a driver's license. I'd really like that job. The number here is 243. Thanks for your time." She hung up, a little disappointed that she hadn't gotten through. "Enstad, Enstad…" she mumbled, trying to place the name, which sounded familiar. Then it hit her: her Aunt Camille was friends with Mr. Roarke's daughter, whose married name was Enstad. They'd just had babies, as she recalled. Maybe they wanted her to shop for baby formula and…ugh…diapers. Janine made a face and began to wish she hadn't called. Her mother's cousin Lauren's baby son was a holy horror, and whenever they were invited over, Janine always came up with an excuse not to go. Babies cried all the time and did nothing but create dirty diapers and spit up all over everything. The one time Lauren had brought little Kevin over here, he had cried and cried, and once Lauren had had to change his diaper. She'd done it right there in their living room, and the whole place had stunk so much that Janine had opened the windows after they were gone and left them that way all night. No, Janine definitely wanted nothing to do with babies. But what else was there for her to do, and how on earth was she going to get back to Boston without asking her mother for the money?
She was still contemplating this dilemma when her Uncle Jeremy swung into the house, fresh off his shift at the island's radio station. "Hiya, Janine," he said.
"Hi, Uncle Jeremy," she replied absently.
"Where's Denise?" he asked, coming through the living room into the kitchen and poking through a cabinet. Andrea, Janine and Denise had grown used to having Jeremy take all his meals with them; Andrea had jacked up his rent by fifty dollars a month as a result, but Jeremy had taken it in stride and sometimes did the family grocery shopping.
"She's out walking somewhere," Janine said. "Hey, Uncle Jeremy, how far away from here is the Enclave?"
Jeremy paused and looked oddly at her. "The Enclave? Why would you be interested in that?"
"Well, I just called about a job in the paper," Janine said, trying to be as vague as she could, "and I know it's going to be over there. I was thinking I could get there on my bike."
"Oh," he said and grinned. "You'll have to be in good shape. The Enclave's about eight miles from here, as the crow flies. You'd have to take the Old Swamp Road, then cut off at a path about halfway down and follow it through some really dense jungle till you come out on the back of the old Duncan property." He frowned suddenly and scratched his head. "Come to think of it, that path might not be there anymore. That hasn't been the old Duncan property in almost fifteen years…I think it belongs to some friends of Camille's now. But if the path is still there, it'd make a great shortcut into the Enclave. Just cut around the old Duncan property and head down that dirt lane, and you'll run into the main access road there. Think you can remember all that?"
"I guess so," Janine said a little doubtfully. Maybe this job was going to be more trouble than it was worth. "What if it's not?"
"Then you'll just have to go all the way down Old Swamp and hang a left when you get to the southern arm of the Ring Road. After that you watch for it on the left. That'll add about ten extra miles to your ride. I sure hope that job pays enough to be worth all that pedaling. What's it for?"
"Grocery-shopping," Janine said evasively. "I don't know if I'll even get it—I had to leave a message at the number in the ad. Hey…I thought your girlfriend was coming in on the plane today or something."
Jeremy grinned. "She sure is. I'm bringing her back here so you can meet her, but her plane won't get in till four. Well, good luck with the job." He pulled a bag of potato chips out of the cabinet and headed off to his cellar room, whistling.
He hadn't been gone long, and Janine was poring halfheartedly through the TV listings, when the phone rang and she lunged for it. "Hello?"
A male voice inquired, "May I speak with Janine Polidari, please?"
"Speaking," Janine said breathlessly.
"Ah, good. Hello, Janine, I'm Christian Enstad, and I received your message just now. Are you still interested in the grocery-shopping job?"
"You bet!" Janine exclaimed, then backtracked. "I mean…yes, I am…"
She heard a laugh on the other end. "Good…in that case, suppose you come in at ten tomorrow morning and we'll talk a little. Do you need someone to bring you here?"
"No, I've got a bike," Janine said. "I guess it's a long ride, but that's okay."
"Well enough," said Christian Enstad. "You'll have a chance to meet my niece at the very least, and perhaps my wife if she isn't asleep. I'll explain to you precisely what you'd be shopping for and what nutritional requirements you would need to look for. I look forward to seeing you."
"Me too," Janine said enthusiastically. "Thanks so much, Mr. Enstad."
"You're welcome," he replied, and they said goodbye. Janine hung up and giggled to herself. Boston, here I come! She dashed up to her room to hunt through her closet for something suitable to wear to the next day's interview.
