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

  Flora sat down on her bed. “How long have you been here?” She patted the space beside her.

  “A year,” said Sabine, sitting next to Flora. “Ever since they shipped Miss Sonnenschein off to the nunnery. I heard Mrs. Sonnenschein say, “She’s not pretty and not particularly bright—what else were we supposed to do with her?” while Sybille—that’s the daughter—was standing right there. She looked terribly miserable.”

  A crease crossed Flora’s brow. “I thought Miss Sonnenschein chose to go to the convent herself?”

  Sabine shrugged.

  “What about the son?” Flora asked curiously.

  “Friedrich. We hardly see him. He leaves the house before breakfast. He works at the Trinkhalle, and usually doesn’t get home till long after dinner’s finished.” There was a trace of regret in Sabine’s voice. “He talks and talks, very serious, like the others, and he’s a sturdy enough fellow. But he has no eye for the likes of us.” Sabine sighed so deeply that Flora had to laugh.

  “Well, life here can’t be all miserable, can it?”

  “Hmm . . .”

  Sabine hesitated long enough that it seemed clear she was struggling with how much to tell Flora.

  “As far as I’m concerned, I have enough work. The mistress is not what I’d call hardworking. When it comes to shopping, cooking, doing the laundry, and cleaning the house and the shop, I do the lot. All she does is peer over my shoulder. But I can’t complain. It’s better than being at home with my brothers and sisters and all the work in the stables. To be honest”—she lowered her voice—“sometimes I wonder why they took me on at all. The work here really just takes one. But madam is just, well . . .” Sabine shrugged. “Once we get the water piped straight into the house, everything will be easier. Then I won’t have to haul it all the way from the spring, and what a blessing that will be! They say they’ll be finished in a week. I’d like to get out there with a shovel and help the men myself so that they really get the job done!”

  Both women laughed.

  “So that’s why it looks so horrible out on the street,” said Flora.

  “Did you think it was because of the French?” Sabine said, making Flora laugh again.

  When, a short time later, they went down to the kitchen to clean the vegetables for dinner, each had the feeling that, beyond expectations, she had found a friend.

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh, believe me, it isn’t easy running a business in Baden-Baden. That’s how it was before the war and nothing is going to change about that now. If anything, it’ll get harder, since the French aren’t coming. They were good customers. Jewelry, clothes, flowers, didn’t matter what. Always at the best restaurants, staying in the most expensive hotels, and they practically lived in the casino! Well, if you’ve got the change to spare . . . but I’ll tell you, the business owners here didn’t have any of that this year, of course.” Mr. Sonnenschein swung his spoon out wide to add emphasis, then dipped it into his soup again.

  “Not that we’ll be missing the French money,” said Ernestine. “We never saw any of it anyway. You were always against giving the shop a French name. ‘Maison Du Soleil’—that would have sounded very nice, if you ask me. But it’s too late now.”

  Kuno Sonnenschein glanced sideways at his wife. “This bowing down to everything French . . . if you look at it like that, the end of the French era is no great loss.”

  Flora was intrigued by the man who was to teach her the art of floristry. So far, she had not figured out much about him. Was he sorry that the French no longer visited the town, or was he pleased about it? Either way, it was about time that she took part in the conversation.

  “But isn’t the end of the war a blessing, too?” Flora asked. “In Gönningen, I’ve heard the men talking about how the emperor is going to use the money that the French have to repair the streets and build more of them. Traveling will be easier and more comfortable—that is a good thing. And luckily, we don’t need a passport to travel inside the German Empire anymore. It was always such a lot of running around until you got one, and if you didn’t have it on you when they checked, you were in trouble!”

  “Oh, yes. The streets.” Mr. Sonnenschein sighed. “But the real question is: Will the people still come here at all? Or will they suddenly decide to go to Karlsbad or Marienbad or some other spa town, or even head for southern climes? All those beautiful spots will be faster and easier to reach.”

  “Hmm. I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Flora said with a frown.

  “Then you should, dear girl,” Mr. Sonnenschein said solemnly.

  Friedrich spoke up then. “Father, stop painting everything so black,” he said. Then, turning to Flora, he added, “It’s true, though. We miss having the French in town, but at least the Russians are loyal. And they’re so filthy rich, it stinks to high heaven.” He screwed up his nose in disgust.

  “I know from my father that there are a lot of rich Russians. He used to do good business with them,” said Flora, smiling at Friedrich.

  “Well, our boy here would know. He deals with nobility and the rich every day at the Trinkhalle,” Mrs. Sonnenschein said, and she patted Friedrich’s hand. “He doesn’t have to worry much about having enough guests, do you?”

  “You’re mistaken, Mother,” Friedrich replied, pulling his hand out from beneath hers. “Even with us, it is much quieter than it was this time last year. There are fewer visitors in town. And it’s no surprise at all that the hoteliers are complaining.”

  “But the hoteliers always find something to complain about,” Kuno said. “And they don’t look to me like they are starving.”

  Friedrich laughed. “You’re not wrong, but you only have to look through the Badeblatt to see that their concerns are actually justified this year. Picture this:”—he turned now to Flora—“last year, fewer than thirty thousand guests were listed in the visitors’ register. In 1869 it was around sixty-two thousand! But things will improve, I’m sure. They don’t call Baden-Baden the summer capital of Europe for nothing, do they? This is where the wealthy of the world meet, and that can’t change overnight.”

  Flora nodded uneasily. The way the Sonnenscheins talked, one could easily think Baden-Baden was on the brink of ruin. The war, which had all but ended just a few months before, seemed to have left its mark.

  Flora looked down at her empty plate and realized she was far from full.

  “Soup, soup, soup. And vegetables in between. We’re all on short rations around here, and you’d do well to get used to it early,” Sabine had told her when Flora was helping her in the kitchen. “Meat or smoked fish is a rare treat. They even skimp on Speck.”

  Flora found it strange that Sabine was eating alone in the kitchen at that moment. Back home in Gönningen, their elderly maid, Ursel, always joined them at the table. But Mrs. Sonnenschein obviously had her own views when it came to customs and decency.

  “Can you tell me about the Trinkhalle? I’ve only seen it from a distance, and it looks quite magnificent, but I’ve never been inside. Is it a bar?”

  Friedrich laughed. “No, the Trinkhalle is not a bar, but we certainly serve something! I’m talking about thermal waters, and from several different springs at once. The very best medicinal water there is, extremely beneficial for your health, whether you’re suffering from an upset stomach or a gall bladder episode. Gout, a weak heart . . .”

  Mrs. Sonnenschein looked at her son with motherly pride. “The Trinkhalle, the walking paths all around it, the pavilion—and our darling boy is responsible for all of it. But don’t think for a minute that the casino leaseholder appreciates any of it. The only thing that matters is his gambling tables. He never thinks about the benefits of having the Trinkhalle next door.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Friedrich said defensively. After a long silence, he turned back to Flora. “If you like, I’ll invite you to try a glass of our outstanding medicinal water within our hallowed halls.”

  “I’d love to! I can hardly wait to fi
nd out more about Baden-Baden,” Flora said. Hallowed halls—so much fuss about a few glasses of water, she thought to herself. And the way Mrs. Sonnenschein talked about her son, her “darling boy.” Her own brothers would have slithered under the table in shame if their mother ever talked about them like that.

  A wave of homesickness washed over Flora at the thought. To distract herself, she asked Friedrich, “That means you mostly deal with sick people, doesn’t it? I’m not sure if I’d want to—”

  “Oh, that’s not the case at all. Baden-Baden is not a spa town in the sense of offering a cure for seriously ill people. Only rarely do the truly sick ever come to us.”

  Mrs. Sonnenschein’s brow furrowed. “Your waters are so healthful! They take a little getting used to, perhaps, but they’re very beneficial.”

  “But you can’t go prescribing how the guests are supposed to spend their time. Most of them only have their own amusement in mind,” Mr. Sonnenschein added.

  Flora was dead tired. The long journey and the discussion at the dinner table had taken their toll. But when Sabine asked her if she felt like going for a walk that evening once she was done cleaning up in the kitchen, Flora spontaneously said she would. As long as it was light out, the maid was free to go out as she pleased, but she would be in trouble if she came back after nightfall. On that point, Sabine explained as they strolled along Stephanienstrasse, Mrs. Sonnenschein was unwavering. At that time of day, most of the businesses and workshops were closed, but the woman who ran The Gilded Rose, where Flora had stayed with her mother in winter, waved cheerfully to them as they passed.

  Sabine had a tale to tell about every house and almost every inhabitant, and Flora’s head was soon buzzing.

  “This is Karl-Ottfried Schierstiefel’s tailor’s shop. He’s an old crony of the master and drops in almost every day. You should hear them—they go on like old washerwomen! And . . .” Sabine seemed to be keeping a lookout for something.

  “Is something wrong?” Flora asked.

  The maid shook her head rapidly, but then changed her mind. She beckoned Flora closer. “Old Schierstiefel, well, there’s this fellow Moritz who works with him . . .”

  “Ah-ha, now you look like my friend Suse when she raves on about her Rolf.”

  “You’re the one saying I’ve got a heartthrob, not me!” Sabine said, her face suddenly crimson. “Schierstiefel is an old miser. He never has any scraps of cloth left over. But there’s also a woman with a tailor’s shop a bit farther away, and you can often pick up a bit of leftover fabric from her. Enough for a hair band or two, certainly.”

  They strolled on.

  “This is Grün’s pharmacy. Gretel Grün is a friend of madam’s and she is always very nice to me. Mmm, something smells good, doesn’t it?”

  The smell of sauerkraut and mashed potatoes wafted from the windows of restaurants.

  Flora’s stomach replied for her with a loud growl.

  “Hungry?” Sabine asked with a frown.

  Flora just nodded.

  “Then I know just the thing!” With a loud laugh, Sabine pulled Flora onward. “This is Walbusch’s general store. Mrs. Walbusch is a friend of madam’s, and whenever she comes to visit the Sonnenscheins she always has to have a cup of coffee served instantly. And do the fine ladies care if I happen to be busy with the washing or cooking? Oh no! If you ask me, she’s a crook. I think she charges madam far too much, but I won’t let her do that to me!”

  “Then why don’t you just do the shopping at Walbusch’s?”

  “Because madam won’t let anyone stop her from choosing her buttons and sewing thread herself. She spends hours and hours on something like that and comes home exhausted, because everything is, oh, such a strain . . .” Sabine theatrically wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead. The next moment, she grabbed Flora by the sleeve. “Here I am babbling away, and we hardly even know each other. You don’t breathe a word of any of this to madam or the master, understood?”

  “Do you think I’m some sort of tattler?” Flora said, affronted, but Sabine merely shrugged.

  They had gone quite a way along the street when Sabine turned into a narrow side alley and from there into a courtyard.

  “My little Württemberger girl!” she heard the moment they walked through the courtyard gate.

  In front of Flora stood a giant of a man wearing a bloodstained apron, and she recoiled reflexively. Along the side of the courtyard were several slaughtered pigs, or rather half pigs, hung on large hooks from a balcony. Beneath one of the half pigs stood a large basin into which blood dripped. What in the world did Sabine want here? The huge man had already embraced Sabine and planted a kiss on her cheek. And the way he looked at her . . .

  “Mr. Semmel—may I introduce Flora? She comes from Württemberg, too, and she’ll be helping in the flower shop starting tomorrow.”

  For better or worse, Flora took the proffered blood-smeared hand. He was from the Swabian Mountains, he explained, but love had brought him to Baden-Baden many years earlier. The love, however, had long since flown, and now he was waiting for another, he added, looking at Sabine as he spoke. She stubbornly said nothing.

  “Well? Can I interest two young women from Württemberg in a bowl of Metzelsuppe?” Mr. Semmel nodded toward the butcher’s shop.

  Flora and Sabine exchanged a glance. “You bet!” they said, at the same time.

  “You really know this town backward and forward, don’t you?” said Flora as they went on their way again after a rich bowl of the broth left over from making sausages. For the first time that day, her stomach felt warm and full.

  “And side to side.” Sabine laughed. “One has to know where one is, right? We won’t go to bed hungry tonight.”

  “Um . . . do you think we could still take a look at the Trinkhalle where Friedrich works?” Flora asked.

  Sabine frowned. “Do we have to? I can tell you right now that it’s too late to get in, and even if it was open, the water tastes just awful! I tried it once—just once. It doesn’t cost anything, after all. But who would pay for stuff like that? No one! Let’s go for a walk along by the hotels, where all the high-and-mighty spa guests stay.”

  Sabine suggested getting there via the Promenade so that they could look in the windows of all the lovely shops, and Flora readily agreed.

  “I know this place,” Flora said when they found themselves in front of Maison Kuttner. “I was even in there with my mother.” With a deep crease between her eyes, she told Sabine about their reception in the flower shop.

  “They pinch all the good jobs and customers from the master. But it’s no surprise. They’re in the middle of everything here, and the Sonnenscheins are in the middle of nowhere.

  Flora shook her head. “Now you’re really exaggerating. You can get to the Sonnenscheins’ shop in a few minutes at a brisk walk. It’s only a few streets.”

  “But for the spa guests, even a few streets is too far. Personally, I wouldn’t set foot inside that place,” said Sabine as she tried to move Flora along. “The likes of us aren’t good enough for them.”

  Flora stopped abruptly and planted her hands on her hips. Angrily, she asked, “Does our money stink? Are we worth any less than the fine ladies and gentlemen here?” She swept her hands out wide, including the other people out walking with her gesture.

  Sabine, somewhat embarrassed at the scene Flora was making, tried again to pull Flora on. “We’re servants, no more. Other laws apply for us. That’s how it’s always been.”

  Flora bit down on her lip. That was not how she saw things at all. What had her father always told her? “Child, some of our customers like to treat traveling traders like the dirt under their feet. But as a Gönningen seed woman, you’re the equal of anyone on this earth. If we’ve got something to say, we don’t let anyone tell us to be quiet.”

  Dusk was slowly beginning to settle by the time they reached the shores of the Oos. Flora looked at the hotels with fascination. They stood side by side along the river
like pearls on a string. And on their terraces, in the dining halls, in the fire-lit lounges and salons, everywhere she looked, she saw glittering chandeliers and flickering candles, like countless fireflies on a summer night.

  “We should be getting back. We really have to be home again before dark,” said Sabine.

  Flora could not drag herself away from the magnificent sight. “Look, they are dancing over there. I think it’s a ball,” she said reverently, and she nodded in the direction of the Englischer Hof, on the terrace of which elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen were standing in small groups. “I’d love to take a closer look.” Musical notes drifted through the evening air, which was already saturated with the fragrance of lilac and lily of the valley.

  Sabine sniffed dismissively. “It’s nothing special. The guests there have a party every night of the week. I know a chambermaid, Konstanze, at the Englischer Hof, and the tales she has to tell . . .” Sabine paused meaningfully. “Just imagine, the guests there eat foie gras for breakfast! With the finest white bread! And caviar, too. They bring it all the way from Russia in golden tins, says Konstanze.”

  Foie gras . . . Flora knew how fine that tasted. Her father had once brought home a small tin of it himself.

  “The spa guests . . . I still don’t know what that’s all about. The master said earlier that they spend a lot of money in the local shops, but they can’t just do that the whole day long, can they? And certainly not for the whole summer. They have to work sometime, don’t they?”

  Sabine laughed. “That’s what you think. Konstanze will tell you otherwise. After breakfast, they go for a walk, and if you have a little free time, you should see that for yourself. You have never seen lovelier clothes in your life.” Sabine’s eyes gleamed longingly. “Sometimes they’ll return to their hotel rooms throughout the day, and Konstanze says that the women change their clothes up to five times in a single day, and that they have maids just to help them get dressed. They meet other guests for lunch or a drink. Or they go shopping, or to the casino. And starting early in the afternoon, all the gracious nobles have to start prettifying themselves for the balls and parties of the evening. I think we can safely say that none of them actually work.”