Shooting Butterflies by T.M. Clark

disrespectful for not wearing a dress to visit him this first time to his home. That you were just strong willed and spirited, like your dad’s horses. Do you remember that?’
    She did. And she remembered the house boy serving them on the veranda. He had a big grin when he’d served her from the tray, and put the delicate porcelain teacup in front of her, then filled it with fresh hot brewed tea. But that grin had turned into a frown when he was ordered to take the tray away again and had to lift her tea away before she’d had a chance to drink it. He’d slipped a Marie biscuit into her lap from beneath his tea tray when they visited their weird neighbour, just as Buffel Potgieter had suddenly deemed their visit was over. She’d hidden it in her hand until they were back in the bakkie. Afraid to eat it near Buffel in case he took that from her too.
    She studied him.
    The richness of his skin was the same as most of the other Ndebeles on the farm and had a shine to it, as if he was sweating excessively. His nose was broad, his eyes were chocolate brown, and he looked her directly in the eye. Not downcast as if he needed to show her respect. Eyes that pleaded with her to trust him. Big lips that attempted to smile at her, his straight white teeth flashed underneath. She recognised his face. He was the same man. Only he wasn’t dressed in a white house boy’s uniform, but in full blueoveralls, as if he was working on the farm in the dairy or in the sheds. His hair was cut in the normal short shave most of the farm-boys wore.
    â€˜I know you,’ she said. ‘Why are you here, Shilo? At this gate?’
    â€˜That is a story for another time, inkosazana. Right now I need to help you back on your horse and you need to ride home. Fast as you can. It is dangerous out here alone.’
    Tara knew that without him, she couldn’t open the gate. If he wanted to kill or hurt her, he could have already done so easily.
    â€˜Come, you must get back onto your horse.’ He looked down at the ground, a sign of respect, and she believed him.
    â€˜Okay,’ Tara said. ‘But he’s too big. I need help. Come here and kneel down, I can stand on your back to climb up.’
    â€˜I can lift you up but you will need to bring the horses away from the gate so I can open it.’
    â€˜Are you scared of horses, Shilo?’
    â€˜No, but I don’t trust so many together not to crush me. They don’t know me. Hurry, Miss Tara.’ She saw him look over his shoulder and move a little closer to the horses. There was urgency in his movement.
    â€˜Okay,’ she said again, a waver in her voice as she swallowed the panic at the thought of the big man in camo coming after her. Leading Apache out the herd of horses, she stood next to Shilo. She lifted her arms up to allow him to slide his hands around her waist. Helping her on like this was not something that even Bomani had done. Only her dad, her uncle and Gabe lifted her onto a horse.
    He gently lifted her upwards. His hands were warm, not something she’d expected. Tara grabbed the horn on the saddle and scrambled up, and put her feet back into the leathers. She released a breath and Shilo stepped away.
    Apache snorted, unsure of the black stranger. His ears cocked backwards, listening and waiting for a signal from his rider.
    â€˜ Inkosazana , tell no one I helped you. Baas Potgieter mustn’t know I wasn’t working. I will be killed if he finds out that I was out here.’
    Tara looked at him standing next to her horse. His face wasn’t ancient but he already had grey hairs on his head and with black people it was hard to tell how old they were. He was big and muscled, but not fat that would jiggle when he ran. And he was afraid of Mr Potgieter.
    They had that in common.
    The big German terrified her.
    He was the only man she’d ever heard her dad say anything terrible about. This black man worked for Mr