Mother Elf walked the fresh ground where eight small cottages now stood in a quiet row. Each one waited with clean windows and soft beds inside. She carried a list in her hand, though she already knew the names by heart. Between now and Mother's Day, she would choose eight mothers who needed rest. They would come here and be still for a few days while someone else did the work. She stopped at the first cottage and looked through the window. A flower crown lay on the kitchen table, woven tight with roses and daisies and tiny purple blooms she had gathered that morning. She had made one for each cottage. When a mother arrived, Mother Elf would place it on her head before she even unpacked her bag. Outside, Daddy Elf knelt by the garden that circled all eight cottages. Roses and tulips pressed close together in a wide ring of color. He scattered seeds from a paper packet, filling the gaps where the ground still showed through. The mothers would walk this path when they needed air. They would sit on the benches he built and do nothing at all. Mother Elf folded the list and put it in her dress pocket. The cottages were ready. The crowns were waiting. In three weeks, the first mother would arrive, and Mother Elf would meet her at the door with flowers already in her hands.