She was the sort of pale faced girl who was always in the background of things.
You wouldn't even have noticed her standing there, but when you thought back over the day's events you would realize that she had been there in the woodwork the whole time. Always chancing to turn up where ever anything of interest was going on, always just passing by, watching from behind the fringe of limp ginger hair that covered her softly freckled face.
She would almost certainly have blown over in a strong wind. She would never have survived a warmer climate than ours.
Built for grey sky's and cardigans, girls like that are.
She was there the day that they found the body. Quietly walking up the hill in that neither here nor there way of hers. Doubtlessly running some errand for that aunt of hers.
She stopped along side the hedge and quietly watched. the police would have shooed her off if they had noticed her, but of course they didn't.
With all of the wailing and exclaiming and prayers to the sweet lord Jesus who would notice a small, quiet girl? What struck me, the reason i noticed her, is that she didn't have the same look of horror and fear as everyone else.
Daisy's face was enquiring, all big eyes shinning from underneath that cinnamon hair.
She was by no means a firey red head, but she had a pale intensity about her that sort of made you want to look away. She was not upset enough, she was too accepting while the rest of us were horror struck.
Her expression made me stop long enough to realize that i was moaning with the others, or I had been until I looked at her and I stopped. I wanted to go and take her frail little hand in mine, but not for the reason you might think.
I didn't have an urge I should have to protect this small girl. Instead I was overcome with the feeling that she could shield me, protect me, from whatever horror was afoot here.