The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2) Read online

  Then Flora’s thoughts had moved on, and she turned to the next page of the letter. “Flora, please,” Seraphine mumbled, and she tugged a pin from between her lips. “Stop fidgeting. If you don’t hold still, we’re not going to get anywhere with this dress.”

  The wedding preparations progressed with every passing week, and Seraphine actually managed the miracle of refashioning her old wedding dress so that it fit Flora perfectly.

  Hannah dedicated herself to organizing the celebrations at The Eagle, the biggest inn in the village. It had not only a large hall, but also many rooms where the Sonnenschein family and others from Baden-Baden could stay on the night of the wedding. Besides, her own wedding celebration had taken place there many years before, and Hannah’s mood turned sentimental at the memory. If only Helmut would finally get home—she would have loved to sit and reminisce with him.

  If you think the guy is the right one for our Flora, then tell them both they have my blessing, he had written to Hannah once Flora and Friedrich had written to him to tell him of their plans. Flora chose him herself, so he will be the right one, Hannah had written back, and in his next letter Helmut had replied, Let’s hope our Flora has the same knack in picking husbands as her mother did back then.

  “Oh, Helmut, my darling! Finally!” Sobbing with joy, Hannah threw herself into her husband’s arms. “I was really starting to fear that you wouldn’t make it back in time.” Hannah covered his face with a thousand kisses.

  Helmut, who still had his seed sack over his shoulder, smiled from ear to ear and tried half-heartedly to free himself from his wife. “Christmas Eve is not until tomorrow, so we’re more than on time, aren’t we?”

  Valentin, still standing behind Helmut in the doorway, cleared his throat. “Uh, perhaps I could get inside, too?” He was looking off over Helmut’s shoulder toward the stairs.

  Where is Seraphine? Flora wondered, waiting impatiently herself for her chance to embrace her father. The men come home from weeks spent in distant lands, and there was no sign of her aunt. It was, admittedly, not necessary to be as effusive about it as the two turtledoves—as her parents called themselves—but a heartfelt “Welcome home” when her husband returned after so long away was not too much to expect.

  How sad her uncle looked . . . Flora threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy to see you home again.”

  Helmut, who had finally managed to escape Hannah, laughed loudly. “And you don’t know how happy we are to be here! I could not have stood another day on the road. Now it is time to celebrate. Good business behind us, Christmas ahead—”

  “And New Year’s Day,” Hannah threw in. “With big New Year’s pretzels—”

  “And a wedding!” said Flora and Helmut, as if from one mouth, and they exchanged an affectionate look.

  “My little girl is a bride now,” Helmut murmured.

  Hannah clapped her hands. “Oh, life can be so wonderful!”

  The day after Christmas, Hannah had had enough of cooking, clearing the table, and washing dishes, so the family was at The Sun inn. The twins went off to sit with their friends in one corner; Hannah went to the kitchen to join Käthe, the proprietress of the inn; while Helmut, Valentin, and Flora made a beeline for the table where the seed traders regularly met.

  “Sit, sit,” said Klaus Müllerschön, a neighbor, and he slid across to make room for Flora.

  “Anyone hungry?” asked Käthe, coming to the table just then with a tray laden with mugs of beer, but Helmut, Valentin, and Flora were the only ones who took her up on the offer. The rest were there only to talk and catch up. Most had not seen each other since autumn, after all, and many of them, in the meantime, had many miles in many lands under their belts. All were happy to be home again.

  How had the business been? What was the latest news from Russia, France, England, and Switzerland?

  Klaus Müllerschön had almost been the victim of a robbery in Alsace, but the police had happened to come along just in time. And Fritz Sailer, an imposing man of sixty, reported that one of his horses had perished in a snowstorm. He and his son had become bogged down in a snowdrift. Half-frozen and weakened themselves, they had had to abandon the beast to its fate to get themselves to safety.

  Flora listened in rapt silence. Although she had heard such stories for years, she had the feeling that she was only now actually conscious of much of what was said.

  How brave the Gönningers were. How courageous and—

  Flora jumped when Klaus laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “But enough of the trade! Girl, tell us about Baden-Baden. Does anyone there want your flowers?”

  “Some, certainly . . .” Flora had been so engrossed in the men’s stories that she had to gather herself. She drank a swig of beer, then told them about the flower beds she had laid out in the Sonnenscheins’ garden. “Things in the shop are actually going quite well, but . . .” She trailed off uncertainly, not wanting to bore anyone. But when she looked around, she saw only interested faces, so she straightened her shoulders and went on. “The problem is that we are too far from the center. There are wealthy spa guests from everywhere there, and I wish so much that they would come to us. The Russians like to throw their money around, but they simply don’t find their way to our side street.”

  The men at the table laughed. Käthe, bringing plates of stew to the table, looked at Helmut. “You and your brother went off to Russia once, and you know the country and the people. Can’t you give Flora some advice?”

  “Yes, exactly! You dealt with enough rich Russians on your travels there, didn’t you?” Fritz Sailer said.

  “I remember now, too,” Klaus added. “You went on for years about how magnificent everything was.”

  Käthe laughed. “And at the end of the trip, someone robbed you and stole almost everything you’d made.”

  Helmut looked around the table. “You’ve got good memories, I must say.” Then he turned to Flora. “Doing business with the Russians is not so hard. You just have to—”

  “But you were there so long ago,” Flora interrupted him.

  Helmut put down his spoon and frowned. “I wouldn’t call it ‘so long,’ exactly. You make it sound like I’m ready for the scrap heap.”

  “Brother dear, I don’t think the youngster wants to hear our stories anymore,” Valentin said with a laugh.

  “Of course I do!” said Flora, not very convincingly.

  “What I have to say is as true today as it was then.” Helmut looked around, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “If the Russians won’t come to your shop, then you have to go to them. Just like we did, back then. Or do you think a single Russian has ever strayed as far afield as Gönningen?”

  “So you think I should take my flowers door-to-door?” Flora asked, somewhat perplexed.

  “Don’t say a word against door-to-door selling,” said Fritz. “There’s nothing dishonorable in it.”

  Helmut nodded. “What’s stopping you from approaching the spa guests in their hotels?”

  “Maybe one of the hoteliers would be prepared to sell your bouquets to his guests. With a small addition to the cost, of course,” Fritz added. “Or you might be allowed to set yourself up in a corner of the lobby.”

  “You all have some ideas,” said Flora, taken aback.

  “You just have to ask the right people,” said Fritz.

  “But that’s only the first step, my girl. Once you’ve made the first contact, that’s when the work really starts,” Helmut said. “You can’t just offer a run-of-the-mill posy to the rich. They want huge bouquets, stunning arrangements, unusual varieties. Crazy things, basically. Of course, it all has to be the very finest quality, and even that won’t be enough. The rich want to be entertained well for their money, which means you have to play a kind of court jester. You have to give them the feeling that they are the finest, most elegant, most important people in the world. You have to put on a show! We learned that very fast back then, didn’t we,
Valentin?”

  “It’s no different with my rich customers in Zurich,” Fritz said with a dry chuckle. “What did you call it? Playing the court jester? I couldn’t have put it better. But every time has to be opening night! Don’t think for a minute that the rich will be content with just one performance.”

  Flora shook her head. “I don’t know what to say. That’s a lot to digest.” She looked around the group. “I’ll do what you suggest with the hotels at the start of next season, certainly. I’m curious about what Kuno and Friedrich will have to say about it, but . . .”

  “What is it? Just ask,” said Fritz, and the others nodded vigorously. They clearly felt very much in their element as advisers.

  “The ‘show’ you say you have to offer the rich—what would that look like, coming from me?”

  The seed traders around her laughed. Helmut put an arm around Flora’s shoulders and gave her an encouraging squeeze.

  “That, my child, is something you will have to find out for yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Konstantin Sokerov judged it the right decision to travel to Monte Carlo. There could hardly be a more pleasant way to spend the winter.

  It had not rained a single day since their arrival, and even today, New Year’s Eve of 1871, the sun shone over the Mediterranean coast. Konstantin was certain that the sun would continue to shine on him in the new year.

  He paused for a moment, with his hands on the sun-warmed wall of the quay, and looked out over the sea.

  It was a perfect day to go out sailing, in fact. But it would also be ideal for a gallop along the coastal strip. Sergej had told him just the day before that the stables beside their hotel possessed a pair of Arab stallions that loved to run and which one could rent by the hour.

  “What a glorious day!” Laughing, Konstantin turned around to his companion. “A day to celebrate and indulge and make love.” Yes! That was perhaps the best of all the possibilities that lay before him.

  “Not so loud, you old charmer,” she replied, patting him on the arm. “I feel the green-eyed glances from the other ladies enough already. They would be only too happy to take my place, and I am quite sure that flippant comments like that from you will only make things worse, darling.”

  “If you think so.” Konstantin’s thoughts were already drifting again.

  No doubt Crimea would be in the grip of snowstorms, with an icy wind blasting across the land, freezing people and animals. Crimea—who could think of going to such an inhospitable place of their own free will? A slight shudder ran through Konstantin at the thought.

  He swept his eyes across the bay and the harbor toward the casino. In the mild sunlight, it looked as if a baker had covered a cake with too much frosting. The casino in Bad Homburg in Prussia was supposed to be just as grand, François Blanc had told Konstantin a few days before. François would know: he and his brother had founded the Prussian casino, and he now ran the gambling rooms in Monte Carlo.

  It was really no surprise at all that the casinos of the world were overflowing with pomp and splendor, not if one thought of the money gambled away every day in their merry rooms.

  They would have to pay a visit to Bad Homburg, and the sooner the better, François Blanc had urged him, because a rumor was circulating that the German emperor wanted to close down every casino in his realm—what a catastrophe that would be!

  And what would become of Baden-Baden then? Konstantin wondered. He had felt quite at home there, and would gladly go back. But the next summer season was still a long way off.

  Konstantin straightened his shoulders and breathed in the mélange of odors that was so typical of Monte Carlo: freshly fried fish wafting from the fishermen’s huts, the scent of winter jasmine mixed with the scents worn by the women who paraded along the promenade by the water, and over all of it the green traces of the seaweed washed up constantly by the waves and from which the women recoiled in such disgust.

  Konstantin laughed. “It’s true—I feel as if I could hug the world today! The world and you.” He blew an extravagant kiss to his companion.

  “You look so beautiful. Your white dress with all its frills, the silver pommel of your parasol that gleams so wonderfully in the sunlight. And the sea itself, with all its blues, its turquoise, its deep azure. A painter could hardly wish for a more enchanting motif. How lovely you are, Püppi.”

  His compliment was met with a coquettish giggle. Konstantin rolled his eyes mentally—the old clichés still worked the best, and it made no difference if the woman’s name was Irina, Püppi, or something else.

  “You’re very charming today, as ever. Does this dress really suit me? You don’t think it makes me look a little pale?”

  A white dress, in fact, was far from flattering for a woman of a certain . . . maturity. All those frills really looked far too youthful.

  “If anything, the only thing wrong with that dress is that it is perhaps a little light for the fresh breeze off the water.” He thoughtfully laid his companion’s fur stole across her shoulders, then lifted his arm for her to take. “What do you say, my dear? Shall we look in quickly on Marie and François? Marie said just yesterday evening that it had become a tradition for her to open her house on the last day of the year, with a glass of champagne for every guest.”

  “Are you really just after a glass of champagne? Or are you more interested in the red and the black?” Püppi replied.

  Konstantin smiled. “I’m an open book to you, aren’t I? Would it be all right if I were to leave you alone for an hour or two? Piotr told me that I absolutely cannot deny him a final game to salute the old year.”

  As expected, she patted his arm fondly. “Go, go! I’d like to rest for a little while, anyway. I do want to be fresh to properly celebrate the last night of the year, after all.”

  Konstantin’s eyes shone. “Oh, Püppi, what have I done to deserve a woman as kind and considerate as you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  On the eleventh of January, Friedrich and his parents arrived in Gönningen, and his guests the next day. Flora’s family greeted them all warmly, and although the two sets of parents were very different, they quickly found common ground. While Ernestine looked around rather pleadingly for Kuno when Hannah led her away to the kitchen for a chat, just an hour later the two women were setting the table together for dinner, and Ernestine was proudly telling her about her “garden parties,” which had been possible only because Flora had fixed up their garden so prettily.

  While the women were occupied with each other, Helmut and Kuno discussed the outcomes of the war—Kuno listened with concern to Helmut’s tales of the many new routes that had opened up. “Do you think any tourists at all will find their way to us in Baden-Baden now?” he asked.

  Helmut replied, “No doubt. Baden-Baden is still the number-one spa town in the entire empire.”

  Under the watchful eyes of their parents and relatives, the prospective bride and groom managed no more than a fleeting embrace. They had no opportunity to be alone; everybody wanted their piece of the happy couple.

  “As excited as I am to be marrying you, I’ll be glad when all the wedding hubbub is over,” Flora said in a rare quiet moment with Friedrich. “After all the chaos, I think I’m going to need some time in a spa myself.”

  “Then you should take the waters, as well,” Friedrich said, his arms around his bride-to-be. “Our excellent waters are wonderfully invigorating!”

  “Well? What do you think?” Hannah and Flora stood arm in arm in the doorway that led into the main hall at The Eagle. It was the morning of the thirteenth of January, and the wedding was to take place in a few hours. Friedrich and his parents were at breakfast.

  Although she had sat up half the night creating the flower arrangements for the hall, Flora was not tired in the slightest—more elated and nervous, in fact. Hannah was the first to see her finished handiwork, and Flora was excited to hear what she thought.

  “I’ve never seen anythin
g so lovely in my life,” Hannah said reverently.

  Flora smiled proudly. Considering that it was winter and that she had almost no fresh flowers to work with, everything looked quite outstanding.

  “What a wonderful idea, to decorate the chairs as well.”

  “That was most of the work. Suse and I thought we would never get through it all,” Flora said with a laugh.

  They had adorned each of the more than two hundred chairs with a small ensemble of fir sprigs, rosemary, and a dried red rose, and attached them to the back of the chairs so that they would not be crushed by the guests.

  “In the language of flowers, rosemary means ‘Soon I will be yours forever.’” Flora found the sentiment especially appropriate for the occasion.

  Suse had asked her what the fir sprigs meant, and Flora had rolled her eyes and replied, “‘Don’t be so grumpy all the time.’ Not really what you want for a wedding, is it? But it’s about the only greenery you can find right now.”

  Flora had even decorated the table intended for gifts with garlands of fir and roses. If it held no gifts, at least it would not look so empty.

  In an uncertain voice, she asked her mother, “What if no one gives me anything? Maybe the people here don’t like it that I’m marrying someone from outside the village . . .”

  Hannah looked sideways at her daughter. “Ah. I think your nerves are getting to you.” She took Flora by the arm and turned her toward the door. “Let’s go home. It’s high time we dressed our bride up a little. Maybe that will get your mind onto other things.”

  The parish priest’s sermon was particularly moving. He had known the bride since she was a baby, and on his strolls through the village she had given him one of her handmade bouquets many times. He quoted from St. Anthony: