§ § § - October 1, 2009
The noon charter brought in Anna-Kristina and two suitcases, along with an overnight bag, a carry-on and a purse. "Are you moving in with us?" Christian kidded her.
"For the month, of course I am," said Anna-Kristina, whose smile was openly tense. "I just hope you're prepared to deal with my side effects. If Magga had hallucinations, I'll probably find myself sleepwalking, battling nightmares, seeing ghosts and demons..."
"Such an optimist," Christian snorted, rolling his eyes. "Try to remember that you'll be ridding yourself of that damned spice forever. Truly, think about it—two weeks of side effects in exchange for the rest of your life free of amakarna. Don't you think it'll be worth it? You're the one who came to this island almost ten years ago asking Mr. Roarke if he could get you off the spice, and now that he can, you've been balking."
"It wasn't supposed to be difficult," Anna-Kristina muttered.
"Life is difficult, Kattersprinsessan," Christian informed her, "as you should well know by now at the ripe old age of thirty-seven. Now for fate's sake, let's get you to our house and help you get settled. The triplets are still in school, so it'll be quiet for another two hours or so after we get you home. Leslie's waiting there with Anastasia."
When they got there, Leslie was playing another game of peekaboo with Anastasia; the game broke up mostly because Anastasia stared at her cousin for a solid ten minutes while Leslie got up to hug Anna-Kristina and Christian brought in her luggage. After the usual greetings and talk about how the flights had been and how she and her girls and Kai were doing, Anna-Kristina turned her attention to Anastasia. "Ödet ta mej, look at how much she's grown!" she exclaimed. "She certainly doesn't look as though she was born a little premature. And see those pretty eyes! Anastasia, you don't mind if your silly big cousin wants to hold you for a while, do you?"
Leslie grinned as she lifted Anastasia off the quilt where she sat. "She loves peekaboo, so if you're willing to play it with her, she'll be thrilled. She's such a good girl—she'll get mad if I have to delay a feeding for some reason, even by a minute or two, but she laughs and smiles all the time, and she puts up with a lot from the triplets. It's like she knows her sisters love her, and even her brother puts up with her."
Anna-Kristina laughed. "Are you the little angel around here, Princess Anastasia?" she teased, giving the baby a few quick tickles on her tummy. Sure enough, Anastasia squirmed and giggled on her cousin's arm, and Anna-Kristina beamed. "She's an adorable little thing. You really get along all right without the nanny here?"
"She wasn't exactly a nanny, more like a housekeeper," Christian corrected her, bringing in the last of her bags. "We've been doing fine really. Susanna and Karina help out quite a bit with her. They refuse to change diapers, of course, but they'll bring fresh diapers and clothes for Leslie when she needs to change or bathe Anastasia, and they bring baby wipes, powder, whatever else she needs. They even put things away when Leslie asks. They're quite the helpers, those two."
"What does Tobias do?" Anna-Kristina asked, gently bouncing Anastasia.
"Very little," Christian assured her with a wry grin. "Although he's been known to play peekaboo with Anastasia if he's in a good mood. Well, let's settle down and talk for a while. You can hold Anastasia all you like; she seems to like you."
"She likes anyone who plays peekaboo with her," Leslie reminded him, and he laughed. "So you're here for the whole month, then?"
When it came time to pick up the triplets, Leslie went alone; Christian stayed behind with Anna-Kristina, who found it impossible to relinquish her infant cousin when Anastasia fell asleep on her shoulder at her usual nap time. Susanna, Karina and Tobias were delighted to find they had a houseguest, at least till Anna-Kristina informed them that she'd been unable to bring Natalia or any of her cats along; then they seemed to lose interest and turned to their mother, asking for snacks, as she had predicted a month before.
"We'll be eating at Grandfather's tonight," Leslie told the triplets as she handed out apples to each child, "so that's all the snacks for now."
"Oh boy...Mariki makes the best desserts," Susanna said with anticipation. "Why?"
"Because your cousin has some things to talk to Grandfather about," said Leslie. "We'll be leaving in about an hour or so."
And they did at that, with a very crowded car; Mariki was delighted to find that she would have enough people to make a good dent in her Thursday-evening meal, and when Rogan appeared at Roarke's behest, she suggested he stay as well. Rogan snorted good-naturedly. "Appreciate the invitation, Mariki, but it'd be an insult to me lass if I didn't come home to her cookin'. So I hear ye're ready for the amakarna cure, Your Highness."
"As ready as I can be," she said through a sigh. "I admit I'm terrified of the side effects, but Uncle Christian reminded me that about ten years ago I came here asking Mr. Roarke if he could rid me of the need for amakarna, and I realized it would make me seem a bit hypocritical if I changed my mind. So here I am." She gave him an apprehensive look. "Magga said it tasted horrible, atop everything else."
"That'd be your sister, then? Aye, sure an' she did complain of the taste. I've done a wee bit of experimentin' with it, an' I've had some success with agave sweetener an' extract of papaya. That might help. As to the hallucinations...well, just be assured, we've all the best medical care here, so there's always help nearby."
Anna-Kristina nodded, still looking pensive, but without protesting further. "Then I guess I'm ready," she murmured. "When will I start?"
"Ye'll do it the way we did it with all five of our original test groups," said Rogan. "I'll give ye three vials through the day, one with each meal, and come Saturday we start to keep a close eye on ye if ye need any assistance. If ye start to notice anythin' wrong, tell someone immediately, Your Highness. Don't wait."
"I have one question though," Anna-Kristina ventured after a moment. "Have you heard anything from any of the women about...becoming pregnant?"
Rogan pulled up his shoulders, and Roarke regarded her with sympathy. "We haven't as yet," he said, his tone compassionate, "but then again, not very many of the trial participants have remained in touch; so it's possible that some of them may have become pregnant but haven't informed us."
Christian smiled at her. "Don't fret over that just now, all right? The important thing is ridding you of your need for that spice. Other concerns can come later."
Anna-Kristina nodded, then cleared her throat and sat up, her expression changing, as if she were determined to get her mind off the subject. "There's one other thing I'd like to ask of you...a little favor. I hope it's all right. I'd...I'd like to hear more stories of when Aunt Leslie was young and helping with fantasies."
Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and laughed. "That's an easy one," said Leslie, catching sight of the hopeful looks on the triplets' faces. "I don't mind if Father doesn't."
"I don't mind at all," Roarke said smilingly. "Very well, perhaps an hour after the meal will be sufficient."
The triplets all cheered, surprising their parents, cousin and grandfather, who laughed. "I didn't know you liked that," Leslie said, glancing at each one.
"It's fun to hear about you when you were little, Mommy," Karina said.
"I wasn't exactly little, sweetie," Leslie told her with a grin. "I was around Brianna and Noelle's age back then. But if you like hearing it, that's great. Finish supper so we can get some stuff done, and then we can tell you some of the stories."
It was a little past eight before they were ready; Christian and Anna-Kristina had been amusing Susanna, Karina, Tobias and Anastasia while Roarke and Leslie went over some of the details she had spoken with him over the phone about earlier. Roarke noticed his daughter's eyes beginning to glaze over, and smiled. "I think you're suffering from information fatigue, Leslie," he said. "Perhaps it's time for a break."
Tobias apparently had radar ears, for he instantly bounded up to the desk with a hopeful expression that turned his face into almost a caricature of itself. "Time for the stories now, Grandfather and Mommy?" he wheedled, clasping his hands.
Roarke grinned, and Leslie giggled. "Yep, time for the stories now. First things first, though. You and Susanna and Karina get into your pajamas and brush your teeth, and then we'll start."
"Okay!" Tobias blurted. "I'm gonna finish first!" With that he fled for the stairs; his sisters stared after him, looked at each other, then bolted up in his wake. The adults all burst out laughing, triggering energetic chortling from Anastasia that fed their mirth.
"I wish it were that easy every night," Christian remarked dryly. "I'll go and supervise, and that should give you time to decide which memories you'll be sharing this time."
It took almost fifteen minutes for him to get back downstairs with the excited triplets, who all eagerly bared their freshly brushed teeth at their mother, showed off their pajamas—Karina even twirled around once to make the ruffled hem of her knee-length summer nightdress flare out—and crowded around them, with Susanna and Tobias duking it out for Roarke's lap before Tobias won and Susanna settled for Christian's. Since Leslie's was already occupied by Anastasia, Karina agreed to take Anna-Kristina's lap. "Now can we start?" Susanna demanded. "We did all the stuff you wanted, Mommy!"
"Yes, now can we start?" teased Anna-Kristina.
Roarke and Leslie grinned at each other. "We can hardly say no in the face of such eagerness," Roarke observed lightly. "Suppose you choose the first one, Leslie."
She thought it over for a moment, then grinned. "We were always getting Red Baron fantasies," she mused. "I mean, all the time. Tattoo used to have to constantly play the role of the Red Baron and was always getting shot down." That brought on laughter, and she snickered in response. "But he got a break one weekend, when a guy who was a serious student of World War I decided he wanted to play the role. He made a pretty decent baron, too; he could actually fly those biplanes, and he almost—almost—nailed the German accent." Christian and Anna-Kristina grinned. "Anyway, there was more to this fantasy than just some World War I buff fixating on blowing the Red Baron out of the sky. And on top of that, we had a woman who decided she wanted to shave off half her age—which, naturally, came with the usual complications..."
§ § § - October 27, 1979
Roarke ushered Leslie out ahead of him and pulled the door shut behind him; they were both peering into the cloudless sky on their way across the porch, with the last few native girls hurrying down the stairs a few yards ahead of them. Roarke paused on the first step down to scan the full sweep of the sky; Leslie watched the native girls jogging barefoot up the lane and around the bend, before she heard footsteps to her left and twisted around to see Tattoo, arms held out straight in front of him like a sleepwalker, made up and dressed head to toe like a miniature version of Frankenstein's monster. She stared at him in sheer disbelief, wondering whose fantasy this might be part of.
"Good morning, boss, Leslie," Tattoo greeted them.
"Good morning, Tattoo," Roarke responded, with no reaction at all.
"Don't you see anything different about me?" Tattoo asked expectantly.
Roarke took a good look at him, then remarked with interest, "Oh...now that you mention it, yes, I have a feeling you are imitating the Frankenstein monster!" His expression changed finally, and he added, "Though I am at a complete loss to explain why."
"Well, it's to scare off the people who pick on me because of my size," Tattoo said.
Roarke seemed unmoved. "Well, with all due respect, may I suggest that you imitate the Frankenstein monster at some other time and meet us at the plane dock to welcome our incoming guests—or have you forgotten?"
Tattoo's expression collapsed and he threw his arms up in resignation before heading back toward the door. Leslie watched him go, stumping along and swaying slightly from side to side in his oversized shoes, while Roarke descended the remaining steps, muttering, "Frankenstein monster, indeed!" He got into the waiting car, turned back to look at the house and saw his ward standing there staring. "Leslie, are you coming with me, or did you plan to offer Tattoo help with removing his stage makeup?"
She twitched, blushed and scuttled down the steps. "Sorry, Mr. Roarke." But as she slid into the back seat, she heard him chuckle, and felt slightly better, wondering how long it would take Tattoo to change his clothes and join them at the plane dock.
The drive there was quiet; Roarke and Leslie stepped out, and he urged everyone to smile and signaled at the band to begin playing. But before they could turn their attention to the new arrivals, there came the warning honk of a horn, and they both turned to their right to see Tattoo's little car speeding madly along the grass between towering palms, scattering native girls as he always did, fishtailing slightly and skidding to a stop a few feet to their left (after nearly running over their toes, of course). Leslie stared at him in amazement. "Wow, that was really fast—only about ten minutes!"
"Ten minutes he shouldn't have had to take to make the changes in the first place," said Roarke in admonishment, giving Tattoo a reproving look that made the Frenchman shrug, only a little sheepish. Leslie grinned at him as he buttoned his jacket, and at last they all faced the dock.
The first guest to step out was, as Roarke introduced him, "Mr. Cornelius Weiselfarber, a locksmith and Boy Scout leader from Milwaukee, Wisconsin."
Leslie peered at him, confused by his pronunciation. "Whistlefarber?"
"Weiselfarber, Leslie," Roarke corrected her, using a long E for the first vowel.
"Sounds German," she said, and he smiled, nodding.
"What's his fantasy?" Tattoo prodded.
"He's an expert on the First World War, Tattoo—more especially, the flying aces of that war. Now this year, his scout troop has asked him to give a lecture on this, his favorite subject." As he said this last sentence, Weiselfarber accepted a lime-colored tropical drink, then paused to check his watch, thus pouring out almost the full contents of the glass. With a disgruntled look, he replaced it onto the nearest tray and chose another, amid the giggling of the native girls and Leslie's mostly futile attempts to choke back her own snickering. Roarke, of course, overheard and glanced at her with amusement.
"What does he want from us?" asked Tattoo.
"The opportunity to experience the Great War, as it was called firsthand. He's a fine pilot, Tattoo, and for this weekend he wants to be a flying ace of World War I."
"World War I!" echoed Tattoo. "Boss, can we really do that?"
Roarke shot a glance skyward and gave Tattoo a disgusted look; Leslie, giggling again at their wordless exchange, snorted. "Geez, Tattoo, that's gotta be one of the dumbest questions ever. You should know better!"
"You certainly should, my friend," commented Roarke with one last look, before shifting their collective attention to the plane dock. "Miss Helen Philips, from Poughkeepsie, New York." The woman in question was somewhere in her forties, with dark hair pulled back into a bun, glasses with the oversized lenses that were currently popular, and a severe-looking business suit with light-tan skirt and jacket and a cream-colored blouse. She carried a matching purse that looked just as plain as the outfit. "She has spent her entire adult life caring for hospital patients on a volunteer basis, while working as a librarian at Vassar College." He smiled at Leslie's impressed expression.
"What's her fantasy, boss?" inquired Tattoo.
"Miss Philips wants to shed half her age," said Roarke. "She wants to be twenty-five years old again."
"She's fifty?" Leslie blurted. "Wow. She looks only about...maybe forty-five." Roarke shot her a mildly annoyed look, which startled her. "What? That was a compliment."
Roarke chuckled. "When you reach that age yourself, my child, perhaps you'll see differently." She shrugged at that, still unable to understand.
Then Tattoo did it again: "Boss, can you really fix it so that she can be twenty-five years old again?"
This time both Roarke and Leslie speared him with incredulous stares. "What's with you today, Tattoo?" Leslie demanded. "That Frankenstein costume must've overheated your brain—I don't think it's working today." Tattoo glared at her, fielded Roarke's look and let out a small sigh; Roarke cast Leslie a quick wink over Tattoo's head, and she grinned at him as the native woman brought up Roarke's champagne flute and he toasted their latest guests—with, Leslie noticed laughingly, one more dubious look at Tattoo.