Tarry Not With Your Tidings
“Marjorie, are you waiting by the window again?” her mother’s voice sounded down the hall.
“Yes,” answered Marjorie, not moving from her spot on the window seat. Her eyes eagerly watched the crowds below, searching for the tell-tale blue uniform of the telegram delivery boy on his bicycle.
“Come away, sitting like that for hours isn’t good for you,” her mother chided, coming into the room.
Marjorie rested a hand on her swollen stomach and smiled when she felt the baby inside kick against her hand. “Nonsense. We’re waiting on Daddy’s news. He’s coming home soon, you know. He promised.”