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Back The Cottage at Rosella Cove Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-one
  25. Twenty-two
  26. Twenty-three
  27. Twenty-four
  28. Twenty-five
  29. Twenty-six
  30. Twenty-seven
  31. Twenty-eight
  32. Twenty-nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-one
  35. Thirty-two
  36. Thirty-three
  37. Thirty-four
  38. Thirty-five
  39. Thirty-six
  40. Thirty-seven
  41. Thirty-eight
  42. Thirty-nine
  43. Acknowledgements
  44. About the Author
  45. Also by Sandie Docker
  46. Book Club Questions
  47. Welcome to the Kookaburra Creek Café
  48. Prologue
  49. One
  50. Sign up to Read More and discover new favourites

In the end, I organised a lunch for Father Anthony yesterday with a few of those closest to him – William Tucker and Iris, Mrs Li, young Carole. (Poor thing needed a pick-me-up. She has got her hands full with toddler number three and her husband is away). Father Anthony accepted my invitation graciously and asked if he could bring along a couple of the Sunday School kids whose parents were going to be late picking them up. Really, you would think given the circumstances they could have cancelled whatever was going to keep them away and pick the kids up on time. As if the poor man needed that. But some people only think of themselves, I suppose. I wonder how they would feel if the situation were reversed? I said yes, naturally. I could handle a few extra mouths, if it meant getting Father Anthony there.

Charlie helped me set up the yard yesterday. He moved the two trestle tables I use for my stall into position and set all the chairs up for me. He borrowed some extras from the church storeroom. I cut some hydrangeas from the garden and some roses, and placed them on the tables with the violets. It was not quite as pretty as Lucy’s wedding, but it was lovely just the same.

Charlie did not join us, though I asked him to.

I made the pasta salad Fabricio taught me and sliced up some cold roast lamb. We had fruit salad and cream for dessert.

Father Anthony seemed to take comfort in the afternoon and squeezed me tightly in thanks afterward.

Apparently the Sunday School kids had such a great time they have been bragging to their friends who now stop me in the street and ask when it will be their turn to come over and have a picnic.

The children are so persistent that I have suggested to Father Anthony he might like to bring all of them over for a picnic next month. He thought it a lovely idea.

Charlie has finished his repairs to the boatshed and it is now, without a doubt, his home. I do hope he stays. Every now and then I see a look in his eyes and I worry he will take off. But, perhaps he is merely remembering his past.

The past haunts us all, I guess.

This is where he belongs and I tell him as such constantly. He simply shrugs.

I have decided to close my stall and only sculpt to order now. I have not the energy for it anymore. But you should see the markets now! Every manner of ware can be found: old, new, useful and ridiculously impractical. They will not miss my table of figurines.

Forever yours,

Ivy