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That was the last thing Violet needed to hear. She decided she would have to call the NRMA and see if something could be done.

Today.

Chapter 12

Violet

Violet strolled back to the main shopping street; there were more people around and all the shops were open now. Most of their windows were jazzed up with Christmas decorations. As she turned the corner past the grocery store, she spotted a banner advertising Carols by Candlelight on the sixteenth of December at the local showgrounds.

It was a shame she’d be gone by then—at least she hoped she was—because she’d loved going to the carols with Gran and Pop when she was a child. Violet wandered past the shops, looking into their windows as she filled in time waiting for Joe to finish work; she’d wait until he came to pick her up before she called the NRMA because she wasn’t sure where to tell them to come; the depended on whether Joe suggested leaving the ute on the car trailer in town, or taking it back to the farm.

Violet smiled as she walked along the street, Christmas carols were coming from a shop ahead. A wave of loneliness hit hard and she wondered where she would spend Christmas Day this year.

Christmas had been a special day back in her childhood. Gran had always bought her a new Christmas dress, and they’d started the day off with ham and eggs, and after opening the Santa presents, she and Gran would set the Christmas table before the aunts and uncles and cousins arrived. No matter what the temperature was, a baked dinner followed by hot plum pudding and homemade custard was always served on the long table set up on the high veranda of their Queenslander at West End. Gran had a white damask tablecloth she would iron for hours on Christmas Eve and woe betide anyone who spilled gravy on it.

Violet could almost smell the fresh linen smell as Gran damped it down with a sprinkle from the jug of distilled water. Those days were gone now. Gran and Pop had both passed on when Violet was in her late teens. Without Gran to keep them in touch, she and Wendy had lost touch with the cousins over the past ten years.

The streets of Bindarra Creek were clean, and the shops neatly kept; it was very different to some of the suburban centres in the city where she shopped at home. It was a pretty street and everyone she passed either smiled or greeted her with a bright “Good morning”.

She shook her head as she thought of home. No. It wasn’t home anymore; and she wasn’t going to have a new home for a long time.

The carols coming from the gallery next to IGA enticed her to enter. The bell tinkled as she pushed the door and walked inside.

“Oh, look at this gorgeous little pot,” one of the browsing customers exclaimed. She turned to Violet as she stood by the door looking at the dreamcatchers hanging in the window. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s certainly unusual,” Violet said with a smile. “The colours are gorgeous.” The pot was a combination of bronze and pink.

The woman behind the counter smiled at them both. “It’s one of our local potter’s pieces. Jonas—you can see the J on the bottom—was our pastor, but sadly has dementia now, but his wife has encouraged him to take up pottery again. He actually was studying art at uni before he realised his calling. His daughter’s moved back to town for a few months and is helping out, so we were able to get some of his pieces in for Christmas. They’re selling really well. Are you both visiting town?” she asked.

The other customer shook her head. “I’m from Tamworth. I came down with my friend for the day. I’m meeting her back here for coffee after she browses the bookstore. We always do our Christmas shopping in Bindarra Creek. The gift shops here always have something a little bit different. Your gallery and the new gift shop at the Old Butter Factory have some lovely products this year. And when we finish, we always have lunch at the Cyprus Café.”

“That’s so good to hear. It’s good for Bindarra Creek,” the woman behind the counter said. “What about you?” She smiled at Violet. “Are you visiting too?”

“Sort of. My car’s broken down so I’m spending a few days in town. I’m just waiting for Fred’s Garage to open, so the mechanic can take a look at my car.”

The woman behind the counter shook her head. “Oh, that’s a shame. I heard this morning that Dale won’t be back until Friday. Family illness, I think.”

Violet’s stomach plummeted. Friday!

The woman looked thoughtful. “Has anyone mentioned Billie Miller to you? She’s the woman I mentioned who’s come back to town to help her mum with Jonas. She’s a casual mechanic at the garage.”

“Yes, I’d heard about her. Do you have her number?” Violet’s hopes rose slightly.

“Better than that. She called me a little while ago. She’s on her way down with some more stock for me. I’m Amy, what’s your name?”

“Violet Valentine.”

“Well, Violet, have a browse for a few minutes. Billie will be here soon.”

“Thank you.” Violet nodded and crossed to the shelves on the other side of the counter. She would buy some of the goat’s milk soap she’d noticed.

The lady from Tamworth took her selection to the counter, and by the time she paid for it and Amy had gift-wrapped her purchases, Violet was waiting beside her with a selection of soaps, and a cute little Paddington Bear door plaque with Georgia on the front. She would give some of the soap to Jaclyn before they left for their holiday. Maybe they could drop it in on the way home today to save Joe bringing her in yet again.

“Morning, Amy.”

Violet looked up as the bell over the door tinkled. A woman with shoulder-length blonde hair walked in carrying a box.

“Hi, Billie,” Amy said with another smile. “Thanks for bringing some more in. I’ve nearly sold out of your dad’s small pots.”