The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2) Page 17

  Oh curious one, you who toil and turn your hand in many fields, go not to the ant, but to the bee, and learn wisdom there . . . Leave not one flower to fly to another, as triflers do . . . Gather what you need from a single book, and keep it in the hive of your memory.

  Hannah sniffed so loudly that Helmut had to elbow her in the ribs, and Suse and some of the other young women from the village sighed wistfully. How lovely Flora looked in her beaded dress. One could hardly see the fabric that had been added when Seraphine had let it out. And how gorgeous the bride’s bouquet was—composed from white orchids, myrtle, and white roses—and the bridal wreath, also of orchids. Kuno Sonnenschein had brought the bridal flowers with him from Baden-Baden, and the guests agreed unanimously that he certainly knew his craft.

  The party that followed in The Eagle was also a success. The guests were amazed at Flora’s floral contributions, and the food, comprising both Swabian and Baden dishes, tempted both the Gönningers and their Baden-Baden visitors to have seconds. When everyone had had their fill, the proprietor of the inn, with two of the kitchen hands, carried in a triple-layered wedding cake. The expensive ingredients—marzipan, chocolate, and sugared almonds—and the sight of the cake itself drew gasps on every side. A moment later, several of the women let out little squeals of delight when small bowls of candies were distributed to every table. Helmut had brought it all back with him from Bohemia. He went around and handed each of the men a fat cigar.

  So many presents! Ernestine’s eyes were the size of apples.

  Silver candlesticks, fine linens, a mother-of-pearl toiletries kit with gilded handles, and even a sewing machine were on the gift table.

  And the guests were all wearing their finest—Ernestine would never have suspected that a small Swabian village could dress with such style, and certainly not that their apprentice-girl’s family was so well-to-do. The thought bothered Ernestine enough that her cake lay untouched on her plate for some time.

  Kuno, by contrast, dug into all the food with gusto—no doubt he would suffer for it the next morning. And he laughed and laughed, as if he had no cares in the world at all. And to think, that morning he had hardly been able to drag himself out of bed because of the weight of all the new impressions.

  “Don’t you like the cake, Mother? Would you prefer a few pralines instead?” Friedrich asked in passing.

  “My heavens, I feel I’m going to burst any second,” Ernestine said. “Look, you’re expected.” She pointed her son in the direction of the dance floor.

  With embarrassed smiles and a little awkwardly, the bride and groom began to waltz around the dance floor. It made Ernestine dizzy just to watch. But with every turn they took, her heart grew lighter. Maybe one should simply enjoy a day like this, and not brood so much?

  “Makes you want to be young again,” sighed Gretel Grün, also sitting at Ernestine’s table. She looked expectantly at her husband as she spoke, a look he studiously ignored.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your Friedrich show so much energy before,” said the pharmacist, then added, “Lovely party, too!” He drew luxuriously on his cigar.

  Finally, Ernestine stabbed her fork into her slice of cake. With her lips still sticky, she smiled at Gretel. “Isn’t the chocolate just marvelous?”

  “Flora’s family haven’t spared any expense at all,” said Gretel, impressed. “Chocolate in a cake . . .”

  Ernestine shrugged. “Friedrich would not have entertained the notion of marrying a girl from a poor family. He knows what suits us. I mean, the girl is marrying into a thriving business, after all. That’s something we can be proud of, isn’t it, Kuno?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  If it had been up to Flora, the party would have gone on and on. One more song. One more dance. And one more toast to the bride and groom. Before the wedding, she never imagined that getting married could be so much fun.

  At some point the ranks of guests began to thin—it had been a long, exciting day for everyone. “Goodbye, Mrs. Sonnenschein!” many said as they left. And every time, it took Flora by surprise.

  Some could not resist an insinuating remark, and while Friedrich only grinned, Flora’s face flushed crimson. When she thought that everyone there knew what would happen later that night . . . it was embarrassing, terribly embarrassing.

  When Kuno and Ernestine went up to their room, it was already two in the morning. Ernestine, with a mixture of astonishment and horror, said she had never stayed up so late in her life.

  Hannah watched them depart, a wistful expression on her face. “I think I’ve had enough for one night, too,” she said to Flora. “Today of all days, my leg is especially painful. Maybe I’ve just been dancing too much.”

  “Stop complaining,” said Seraphine, sitting with them at the table. “Getting married only happens once. Prost!” She raised her wineglass with a laugh.

  Mother and daughter shared a look. Was that really Seraphine? They had never seen her so cheerful.

  “You can laugh,” said Flora. “When I think about . . . what’s still to come, it makes my knees go weak. I wish it was already tomorrow.” She bit her bottom lip and looked over to the table where the men had taken Friedrich into their midst.

  Hannah and Seraphine exchanged a knowing look. “Stay calm, child. Nothing bad will happen,” Hannah whispered. “Your Friedrich is a fine young man; just let him do what he wants. Oh, look, there’s—” Before Flora had a chance to say anything, Hannah was scurrying off toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

  “Where’s she off to?” Seraphine asked, shaking her head. Then she turned to Flora. “You lucky thing! I’d give anything to experience an all-consuming love one more time. A love so intense it hurts. A love you would die for if you can’t have it in life.”

  All-consuming? Die? Flora gave her aunt a lopsided look. Did Seraphine always have to be so terribly theatrical?

  She took another mouthful of wine, although it had lost its flavor long before. She felt ill and dizzy. Why had her mother run off like that? She was probably telling The Eagle’s proprietor what he was supposed to do with all the leftovers.

  Flora suddenly felt lonely and tired and frightened and . . . just terrible. With all the excitement, she was finding it hard just to breathe properly. Or did that have more to do with the tight dress? On the one hand, she could hardly wait to undo the dozens of eyelets and peel herself free of the top. On the other, she could think of nothing more terrifying.

  At least Hannah had had the foresight to reserve a room for her and Friedrich at The Sun, the inn run by her friend Käthe. They would not have to spend the night under the same roof as Friedrich’s parents at The Eagle. Just a wall between them, and everyone able to hear what . . . Flora shuddered.

  Friedrich waved to her from the table where he sat with the other men. She smiled back. He looked so happy and relaxed, her husband . . .

  “By the way, something occurred to me about how you can attract those rich Russians,” said Seraphine so suddenly that it took Flora a moment to realize what she was talking about.

  “What?”

  “I’m talking about the advice your father gave you. The show one has to put on for one’s pampered clientele. I’ve had an idea for how you might do that . . .” Seraphine paused—clearly only to pique Flora’s interest—before going on. “It’s to do with the book about the language of flowers that you showed me last winter,” she said, when she was sure of her niece’s attention. “Have you read any more about the subject since then?”

  Flora frowned. “What do you mean by more?”

  “Oh, there are many more books about flowers. Have you read Balzac’s novel The Lily of the Valley? Or do you know Goethe’s marvelous flower poems?”

  Flora shook her head and laughed. “You were always the big reader in the family. To be honest, for a long time I thought the book about the language of flowers that Mother gave me was the only one of its kind.” This could not be hap
pening, she suddenly thought—here she was on her wedding night, sitting with Seraphine and blathering away about flower books. Was this Seraphine’s attempt at distracting her from all her fears? If that was the case, Flora could not say for certain that her aunt would have any success.

  Seraphine raised her eyebrows dubiously. “It doesn’t look as if you’re as interested in the topic as I thought. Just a few months ago you couldn’t talk about anything else. I remember clearly how you constantly told us about the meaning of this or that flower.”

  “That’s true, but . . .” Flora could only shrug. What did her aunt expect of her?

  “I, for one, have not been able to get the subject out of my head,” said Seraphine, her voice heavy with disappointment. “But here in the village, no one has any interest in painting or flower poems. I thought you, at least—”

  Flora raised her hands defensively. “Don’t look at me like that! Believe it or not, I was so busy with all my work that I hardly had a moment to spare for the language of flowers. You say there are more books about it? Then I definitely want to read them.”

  At Flora’s words, Seraphine’s expression immediately grew more positive again. “If you ask me, the symbolism of flowers will appeal greatly to the Russians—people say they are a particularly Romantic people. And while it’s true that you can buy flowers anywhere, flowers that tell stories or that appear in poetry, well, that would be something out of the ordinary, I’m sure of it.”

  “You may be right,” said Flora, but she sounded skeptical. “I had the same idea not long after I went to Baden-Baden, but my dear father-in-law has no interest in the language of flowers. Actually, it was the opposite: he made it very clear to me that he did not appreciate me bothering the customers with it. He thinks that the language of flowers is too ambiguous altogether, and misunderstandings happen.”

  “He’s not wrong, of course. Flowers have a very different symbolic meaning in the Orient than they do here in Europe, and the connotations are probably different in every country. I have, however, discovered that the symbolism attached to a particular plant is also connected to the time in which a writer lived. The ancient Egyptians, for example—” Seraphine stopped abruptly. “I don’t want to bore you. It was just an idea. It’s just that, since you came home with that little book . . . for me, it was like the key to a new world. Dealing with seeds all the time can be a little monotonous.”

  Flora laughed. “You don’t have to tell me!”

  Seraphine leaned closer. “Right now, I’m reading a wonderful French book about the language of flowers. It’s over fifty years old. For the first time in a long time, I’m glad I learned French.” The corners of her mouth crept into a smile.

  “When I told Friedrich that they teach French and even English in our village school, he didn’t want to believe it. I explained to him that it’s because we go off to sell our seeds all over the world.” Flora shook her head. “I did not think that you would also be interested in the language of flowers.”

  Seraphine laughed. “There are simply a lot of people who love flowers more than anything else, although most of them can’t live out their love the way you can.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At some point in the evening, it had begun to snow. Flora and Friedrich stamped hand in hand through the snow-covered streets to The Sun, and in the light of the occasional streetlamp, falling flakes danced, silvery, through the air.

  “As if we’re the only two people on God’s earth,” Flora whispered, looking back at their footprints in the snow.

  “Whoops! Careful,” said Friedrich when Flora slipped and almost fell. He let go of her hand and held on to her arm firmly. “It’s not a good night to break a leg, after all. The teasing would never stop.”

  Friedrich carried Flora over the threshold of The Sun. He had heard somewhere that it was supposed to bring good fortune to the marriage. No sooner were they inside than he put her down and leaned back against the closed door.

  “Well, that’s behind us,” he said, and puffed his cheeks. “I would not have thought it would be such a strain.”

  Flora gave him a playful push. “Do you mean the carrying, the party, or slipping and sliding all the way here?” she asked, and both of them broke into laughter.

  She was happy to see that the room that had been reserved for them was warm. Candles stood ready, and beside them a box of matches. Käthe had also put out a plate of cookies and a carafe of wine on the small table by the window.

  Everything looked cozy, and Flora sighed. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all.

  “As if we hadn’t already had enough to eat and drink tonight,” said Friedrich, shaking his head.

  “But you’ll still drink a little wine with me, won’t you?” Flora held up the carafe inquiringly. When Friedrich shrugged, she said, “It’s silly, really, but you and I have seen less of each other today than everyone else. There was always someone wanting something of us. But that’s over now . . .” As she poured two fingers of wine into each glass, Friedrich wrapped her in his arms.

  “What a marvelous party that was! Flora, you know, I’m the happiest man in the world. And so . . . here, for you.”

  Flora frowned and looked at the small packet that lay on Friedrich’s open palm. “Another present?”

  “What do you mean, another? I haven’t given you anything at all yet. Open it!”

  In the candlelight, Flora pulled at the thin paper until a small container appeared. Carefully, she opened the lid. Inside, on pale tissue paper, lay a silver brooch in the form of a letter F, studded with small sparkling stones.

  “They’re marcasites,” Friedrich explained. “Not as valuable as diamonds, to be sure, but they shine very prettily. I know you love to wear flowers on your dress. Well, now you can pin them in place with the brooch.

  “How beautiful. Thank you,” Flora whispered. She had never seen a brooch quite like it. While she moved it back and forth in the candlelight, studying the way the stones glittered, she suddenly noticed the silence that had forced its way between her and her husband.

  “I think we should slowly be . . .” Friedrich began after a long moment.

  Flora laughed, feeling embarrassed. “You’re probably right. Maybe you could undo the loops?” She turned her back to him.

  Friedrich went to work awkwardly. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, when Flora stood before him in her underdress. “Honestly, I’m a little excited. It . . . it’s the first time for me, too. I didn’t want to . . . do it with just any . . . I wanted to wait for the right one.”

  “Oh, Friedrich,” Flora said hoarsely. The first time for him, too? Was that good or bad? It won’t be so difficult, she told herself bravely. But how was she supposed to get into her delicate pink nightdress without Friedrich watching her?

  The next moment, Friedrich drew her toward the bed.

  “You would not believe how much I’ve been looking forward to this moment,” he whispered as he took off his trousers. “I don’t want to hurt you. You have to tell me if I am, all right?” He lay on top of her cautiously.

  Flora was unable to say anything. In the candlelight, their bodies formed one large, moving shadow on the wall.

  “How lovely you are . . . so beautiful . . .” Friedrich’s breathing was warm with red wine, and it tickled her ear. His lips were firm, and for a brief second Flora thought she felt his tongue, but then the moment passed.

  “Just let him do what he wants,” her mother had said. Flora opened her legs a little. She felt his knee between her thighs. Then something else. Something . . . hard. Flora knew what that was. She had grown up with two brothers, after all.

  “Should I?” Friedrich looked at her inquiringly. “Is it all right if I—”

  Flora let out a small laugh. “Oh, Friedrich, of course you should.”

  He laughed with her then, and kissed her lips softly.

  After that, everything happened very quickly. Friedrich moved up and down, and Flora’s back
ached a little as he did so. He whispered a few more endearments in her ear, how lovely, how beautiful she was. Then he groaned and rolled off her.

  “My angel, you have made me very happy!” He gazed at her from shining eyes.

  “And you have done the same for me,” said Flora, her voice husky. That was everything? It couldn’t be. Could it?

  She snuggled close to Friedrich, pulled at the bedcover that he had wrapped around himself. “I’m going to need a corner of that if I don’t want to freeze to death on my wedding night.”

  “Should I get another blanket? Or something to drink? A towel? I saw a whole pile of hand towels on the chair by the door.” He was already climbing out of bed.

  Before he got back, Flora lifted the bedcover. Why hadn’t she thought to lay a towel down first? She was sure that’s what the pile on the chair was intended for.

  She prodded carefully at herself with one hand and felt a slight twinge beneath her fingertips, but it did not really hurt. Nor had it hurt just a minute before, when Friedrich . . .

  Her mother had been right, again—it had not been so bad.

  So now she was a real woman. Although, she had to admit, she did not feel so much different from before.

  Flora took the hand towel from Friedrich, then lifted the bedcover for him. When his now cooled body touched hers, she flinched.

  “What a day,” said Friedrich, and yawned. “I am terribly tired.”

  Flora smiled. “Don’t you think the twins went a little too far with that drinking song of theirs? I don’t know what your mother must have thought. Friedrich?”

  But a snore was all the answer she got that night.

  Chapter Thirty

  Two days after the wedding, the young couple returned to Baden-Baden with Friedrich’s parents. Of course, there were tears during the goodbyes.

  But Helmut and Hannah were already halfway to Bohemia in their minds. Hannah was overjoyed to go away with her husband and talked to Flora at length about the closeness between herself and Helmut that developed anew every time they went on their adventurous and never entirely safe journeys. Valentin, however, was happy to be able to stay home and give his sore back—which had been plaguing him—a little rest.