Gemma inched her pickup truck through the wrought iron gates, windshield wipers furiously flashing. Peach trees lined either side of the quarter-mile path and did nothing to lessen the rain that pounded the vehicle. “Kind of appropriate.”

A low laugh came from the black-clad figure passenger seat. “Two goths moving into a possibly haunted century farm, in the middle of a popup thunderburst? Excellent aesthetics for our first home together, my lady of storms.”

She smiled, the points of her black cat-eye sunglasses briefly rising, and reached out to squeeze his hand briefly. “Glad my dad insisted on hiring the moving van, or the boxes would have been soaked. We’ll wait out the storm to bring them in.”

“Farms and weather. It’ll be worth it.” Michael leaned toward the window. “Hey, did you see something scurrying? I would have thought all those falcons we saw swooping about during the showing would have taken care of a rodent problem.”

“Those aren’t rodents,” Gemma said slowly, and pulled the four-by-four onto the right side of the circular drive. The rain lightened enough to see the orange and white rental truck pull around to the other side.

“Are you sure?” The rain and truck both sputtered to a reluctant stop.

“One was carrying an umbrella.” She shoved her sunglasses to the top of her nose and opened the door. “There. They’re in my fountain.”

She’d fallen in love with the chipped and moss-covered stone, with its streaks of black running from a woman’s still face. “Stop!”

Michael splashed across the brick drive, an umbrella held like a club. “Where is it? I’ll take care of it. Point me in the right direction.”

“No, not that! Make them stop! Please, stop cleaning!”

“What?”

Michael wasn’t the only one to ask the question. So did Gemma’s dad – and the dozen garden gnomes hastily scrubbing at the fountain from inside the basin. All of them stared at her, bewildered.

“I like it that way,” Gemma said. Her hand hovered over the edge of the fountain, still distinctly green with years of lichen. “Really.”

Michael detected a hint of desperation in her voice and pointed to the stone woman’s face. “Look, love, she’s still crying darkness.”

“I do appreciate you trying to help get things ready.” She tried again. “Please, you don’t have to, there’s no need. Why don’t you join us for tea, and proper introductions?”

A gnome, all of six inches high, took a step forward and doffed his cap. “Aye, milady, milord. You honor us all with th’ offer. P’raps – mayhap we can tell you her story over th’ tea.”

“How lovely,” Gemma said warmly. “I even think the teapot will be easy to find.”

Another gnome, this one with a dark purple skirt and apron, bobbed an odd curtsey. “Will ye be quietin’ her tears, mum?”

Gemma froze on her way to the pickup’s backseat. “What?”

***

This week, my prompt was from Becky – gnomes in the fountain! My prompt went to Parrish. Check them out, over at MOTE!