§ § § - July 15, 1972

"Herregud, but this room is small," Christian blurted when they had closed the door behind them. "Strange—I don't recall it being quite so cramped when your grandmother's friend gave us that tour, back when I was hiring for my Boston branch."

"We saw the rebuilt section," Leslie explained. "This is the original bedroom wing of the house—and yes, I did have a tiny room, but at least it was mine. I think I put up a bit of a stink about having to move in with Kristy and Kelly, but when I got a little older, I asked Mom why mormor had moved in with us in the first place. She told me the landlord raised the rent on mormor's apartment beyond her ability to afford it, so she came to live with us."

"Seems landlords enjoy doing things like that," Christian remarked wryly, surveying the little room. His gaze stopped on the elderly woman and the little girl sitting close together on the brass-framed twin bed. "You were seven here, you said?"

Leslie nodded, taking his hand and drifting forward to get a closer look. "I'd kind of forgotten that old brass bed. I never saw her sleep in anything else. Here, Christian, come and meet my mormor...Ingunna Hansson Reed."

A box sat at Ingunna's and young Leslie's feet, and as the two visitors watched, the little girl reached in and withdrew a glossy brochure. "You went to a lot of places, mormor," commented seven-year-old Leslie, her long straight ponytails—fastened directly over each ear—dangling nearly into the child's eyes as she leaned down to pick up the brochure. "Sas...Sacks...what's that say?"

"Saskatchewan," said Ingunna, the long Canadian name distorted to some extent by her soft, musical Swedish accent. "It's a part of Canada. Here in America, you have states; in Canada, they have provinces, and that's what Saskatchewan is."

"That's a funny name," commented young Leslie, setting the brochure aside and pulling out another. "Wow, this one's really old."

Ingunna smiled, putting even more lines in her soft, wrinkled features. "Yes, I have had it since I was no older than you are, min lilla." At this Christian tossed Leslie a surprised look, and Leslie grinned at him, nodding.

"That's what she called me," she told her husband. "Not too different from your expression 'lillan min'."

"I wonder that she didn't teach you some of the language," he teased, and she laughed.

"Lilla," young Leslie repeated. "That's the same word on this." Her observation drew Christian's and Leslie's attention; they both looked closer at the pamphlet advertising Lilla Jordsö, circa 1920, and Christian sucked in a breath before staring accusingly at his wife.

"You never said she had a brochure," he informed her with mock indignation.

"Ha," Leslie shot back. "I'd forgotten about it. Anyway, it wasn't with the things in her shoebox...it must have been destroyed in the fire."

Christian sobered at that and smoothed her hair, watching Ingunna and his wife's younger self poring over the brochure. "It's a shame. It would have been fascinating to look at." He knelt enough to get a look at it himself, with Leslie following suit, and they grinned at the assorted black-and-white photos—the castle, a formal portrait of a monarch and his queen, streetcars running along a boulevard in Sundborg. "How interesting. That portrait is of my great-great grandfather, Carl IV. She must have obtained that brochure well before she visited Lilla Jordsö."

"That'd make sense, since she was probably there for your great-grandfather's coronation. Remember the photo she took with King Erik and Queen Agneta, and your grandparents, and your father as a little boy? She wrote on the back that it was taken three days after Erik's coronation, so naturally the brochure would've predated that."

"That's right, I had forgotten about that." He watched as Ingunna took the pamphlet from her granddaughter and carefully closed it up, setting it aside. "What a shame that was lost. It might have been worth a little money. And even if it wasn't, it would have been a wonderful piece of history."

"I wouldn't mind seeing it again myself," Leslie confessed wistfully.

They fell silent while young Leslie delved into the box for more travel brochures, for places all over North America—California, Ontario, St. Louis, New York City. Then the child came up with a color-splashed foldout that had begun to turn yellow with age, much like most of the others. The little girl squinted at it as Ingunna gazed distantly at the wall, as if reliving memories; her puzzled voice seemed to startle the elderly lady. "Fantasy Island," young Leslie read aloud. "Mormor, what's this?"

Ingunna blinked, turned back to the child and looked over the foldout in her hands, while the adult Leslie stared at the scene with her eyes fixed on her grandmother, her lips silently mouthing the words along with her, to Christian's amused bewilderment. "Oh yes." Ingunna's smile was dreamy. "The most wonderful place in the world, söta lilla. It's magical."

The seven-year-old's eyes went wide, and she stared up at Ingunna with the wonder of a child being told about Disneyland. "Real magic, mormor? Like fairies and unicorns and flying carpets?"

"Exactly so," Ingunna assured her. "The flowers have special magic in them. Unicorns and mermaids can be seen there." At this, young Leslie gasped, and somehow her eyes got even bigger. "Even the dirt is magical. Everyone wants to go to Fantasy Island, because that's where your dearest dream can come true. Mr. Roarke is the man who owns the island. The only thing he cannot do is bring people back to life...but he has amazing powers, and he is no ordinary man."

"What kind of powers?" young Leslie persisted.

Christian, this time, was watching his wife, whose expression was that of one who expects to lose a loved one very soon; he slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close, and she came, though she never took her eyes off her grandmother. Ingunna spoke slowly, as if she were trying to remember. "They say he can make a blind person see again, a deaf person hear again...and one with...with förlamning walk again." Ingunna shook her head when the little girl screwed up her face. "I'm sorry, min lilla, I don't remember the English word. But yes, he can do that, and many other things."

"Paralysis," Christian said when his wife turned to him. "Our word is almost identical to that—forlamming."

"Mind-reader—I was about to ask you. Sometimes mormor had trouble with the bigger English words, so there were times I didn't get everything she said."

He nodded, and they shifted their attention back to Ingunna and young Leslie, who was still staring up at her grandmother. "If I wanted to fly, could he do that? If I wanted to pretend I was a famous movie star, could he do that?"

"Yes, he could. That's why people go to his island, you see. He makes their strangest dreams come true—their fantasies that could never happen otherwise, you see? This is why his island is called Fantasy Island. Perhaps one day when you are grown, you will go." She smiled at Leslie and stroked two fingers, scissor-style, down one of the girl's ponytails.

"When I'm grown?" adult Leslie echoed and shook her head. "Oh, mormor, you knew all the time, and you never even hinted." She looked up at Christian. "I'd forgotten that too. Mormor obviously was a better actress than Mom." Christian chuckled.

"If I get to go," young Leslie said then, "I want to go with you. Then we can both have a fantasy be real." She laid the brochure aside with care. "We should save that so we don't forget that we want to take a trip there together." At that Ingunna laughed and gave the girl a quick squeeze—and just like that, the whole scene disappeared.

"Oh, damn," Leslie muttered, voice thick. "I wasn't ready either."

Christian pulled her into a full hug and mused, "It's funny, listening to your grandmother speaking reminded me of when Mr. Roarke brought my parents back, when the triplets were two. Mother's accent was the same. I suspect it would have been so in life as well, if her English had been better, but she didn't learn it very well in school and always had some difficulty with it. I'm sorry this memory was so much shorter than mine with farfar, but I had a chance at least to get a glimpse of your grandmother, and that's certainly more than I could ever have expected otherwise."

She nodded, but he recognized her pensive look when she met his gaze, for they both had the same letdown feeling. "I wish we could keep doing this," she murmured.

"It's best that we not ask," Christian said with a little grin. "We'll only look like a pair of spoiled brats, after the indescribable generosity of this gift from your father. Let's be grateful that we had these chances. And I truly am, for somehow I feel as though I understand you better, with these glimpses into your life that gave me some insight on what made you the woman you are now."

"I feel the same way," Leslie agreed, nodding. "And all this has made me love you more than ever, too. I still feel so lucky that I was the one you wanted." She gazed up at him. "Thank you for loving me, for showing me that it was more than worth taking the chance of falling for you and marrying you. You've made my life so rich and full. If we...if we make the decision I think we're going to make, that's what will sustain me."

Christian kissed her. "Thank you for your heart, my Leslie Rose, and for all you've given me since we met. Now...come on, I think it's time we have a talk with Mr. Roarke."

Decisions, decisions...all will be revealed in future stories, I promise!