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She stood smiling shyly at Pastor Daniel.  “You look nice this evening Girly,” he had said to her. Her dress was a bright yellow, her mother had it made with the material her aunty June had sent from Cape Town to celebrate her fourteenth birthday. Her Sunday shoes, shiny and black, matched the ribbon in her blond hair. Her mother had said that since she had finished school and today was a special celebration, she should do her best to look like the young lady she was.

“Thank you, Pastor,” Girly said shyly. She knew he was being polite, and they both knew that she wasn’t ready to be a lady just yet. Once a year the townsfolk had a bit of a festival to mark the end of the school year and the beginning of a short break for the farmers before life on the farm got too busy for them to see anyone. Girly was celebrating the end of her schooling, but she didn’t want to get caught up in all the adult concerns just yet. Instead, she had volunteered to look after the younger children for the afternoon.

Pastor Daniels wife had kindly set up a little club room in an unused outbuilding on their property. She had provided seating and a few toys and games and encouraged the town children to use the space as they wished, and to bring along anything that would make it a haven for them. Today she had provided them with a large jug of orange squash and some biscuits. Girly could share them out later in the afternoon.

Neatly hanging her yellow dress in her wardrobe and gently wiping the dust from her Sunday shoes before she placed them neatly in their box under her bed, Girly thought to herself that she probably wouldn’t get to wear her dress again. There were no occasions any time soon and even she could see how she had begun to fill her clothes, a source of both pride and concern to her parents. They had done the best they could with what they had and had done their utmost to prepare her for a world they had never ventured into.

Her toes free and her legs bare, Girly left the house and ran down the garden path allowing the gate to slam behind her. Once.  Twice. She winced, then remembered that her parents were out. The younger children had already started to gather outside the clubhouse. They didn’t want to go inside; they had decided to wait for Girly and play a few games of hide and seek as they made their way down to the river.

The air was warm, but the light had begun to fade. Chivvying the slowest of the group along, Girly herded them all back to the clubhouse. Collecting their share of the cookies and squash the children made themselves comfortable. Everyone had a spot where they liked to sit and play games or just banter with their friends. Mrs. Pastor, as they called her, had left a pile of magazines on a table. She was often at odds with the quality of education in general and in town specifically. Hopefully one of the children would find the magazines inspiring if not at least interesting.

The pages stuck to her fingers as she stared at the beautiful woman and her companion sitting in what appeared to be a rather fancy restaurant. The closest Girly had ever been, was to the café in the middle of town where the owner thought that an abundance of frills was indicative of taste. There was nothing to compare it to and nobody argued.

Girly began to dream.