Susana Quill had drowned in the lake. Six years old and bathed in childhood innocence. They pulled her body out at sunset, still wearing her Sunday best from earlier that day. White cotton dress suctioned to her small frame with water weight. Shore sediment blotched the fabric, impurity. Lips slightly parted and colored by the waves matched the shade of a road map of still veins beneath Susana’s pillow skin. Death took on his angel form. Cropped auburn hair, shoulder lengthy and straw stringy, stuck at all angles. Under different circumstances her mother might have laughed and told her to “Comb down the mane!” but Mrs. Quill’s cheeks were soaked. Pulsing life pressed against strands now dull and damp.
“I never should have let her go alone” her mother whispered with trembling hands covering a mouth stuck in an expression of horror.
“It was beyond your control. This is God’s will.” Mr. Parker responded, wrapping his calloused hands tightly around her shoulders, lingering too long.
Mr. Quill watched the encounter.
“God is punishing me” she said.
