There was some sense mothers had, some chime in the blood, that let them know when their children were near. Marjorie stood from where she'd been mending the chicken fence, rubbing her hands absently against the front of her corduroys. She hadn't lost track of the time and had been expecting Sarah any moment, only when she'd finished baking, Marjorie wanted for something else to keep her busy until her daughter arrived. She liked to stay busy all of the time, but especially today.
Securing the last bit of wire, she crossed around the house to the door, putting on a bright smile before padding into the kitchen, muddy boots exchanged for woolly house shoes.