“Kuno!”
Flora had no idea that her abundance of energy was causing Ernestine to lose sleep. And her own mother’s warnings not to stick her nose into everything were long forgotten. To Flora, the Sonnenscheins seemed overjoyed at her enthusiasm and commitment. Ernestine was even planning a coffee afternoon in the summerhouse, which certainly surprised Sabine—she had never known the mistress of the house to be so active. When Ernestine asked her to bake two cakes in addition to the usual Hefezopf, Sabine grumbled a little. Deep down, however, she was happy to see a little life in the house for a change.
The laying of the water pipes had just been completed and the street once again made passable for pedestrians and vehicles when Flora dug small cypress trees out of the back garden and set them out to the left and right of the shop entrance. In their plain terra-cotta pots, the trees certainly were not as spectacular as the ornamental cherry trees now at the front of Maison Kuttner, but Flora hoped they would draw more attention to the shop. The front window, which she thought was particularly unappealing, was next on her list: while Kuno buried himself in his newspaper, she discreetly removed the faded advertising. Then she set up a small table just inside the window and covered it with a slightly moth-eaten tablecloth that she had dug out of a cupboard.
“A table? There?” Kuno asked when he finally noticed what Flora was doing.
“I’d like to put the potted plants on it to show them off a little more.”
“I don’t know. People might think we’re selling furniture,” Kuno murmured. But he let Flora finish the job. That same day, they sold six of the potted violets that had previously gone unnoticed inside the shop.
“Ernestine, our Württemberg girl has ideas that you and I can’t keep up with,” Kuno said to his wife that evening, with admiration in his voice. Ernestine’s forehead rippled.
“You don’t think she’s overdoing things a little? She’s been here barely longer than a week, and she’s turning the whole shop upside down.”
Kuno simply shrugged. “Maybe it’s high time something around here got turned upside down.”
Ernestine silently wondered if her husband was coming down with something. His newfound wit worried her.
Although Flora inspected her flower bed every day, she knew that it would be weeks before the first flowers appeared. So in her second week in Baden-Baden, she once again went out walking before breakfast to pick wildflowers. With the aid of maps that Kuno sketched for her, she discovered more and more meadows and stretches of riverbank along Lichtenthaler Allee where she could cut all the geraniums, dandelions, bird’s eyes, and wild rose she could carry—all flowers she knew and none that would lead to another poisoning scare or spidery fiasco.
When she returned from these walks, her arms filled with flowers and her feet wet with morning dew, most of the houses in town were only just waking for the day. Shutters swung open, and on balconies she would occasionally see a man stretching in the morning air or smoking a cigar. From the hotel terraces came the clattering of porcelain and silver cutlery as the tables were being set for the day.
Flora gazed longingly at the pure-white linen tablecloths, in the center of which there was invariably a bouquet of beautiful flowers in a vase. She would have loved nothing more than to provide the flowers for the fine hotels personally—she would have put out fat bunches of snapdragons or white roses tied with bright ribbons.
Fantasies, she chided herself, swinging her load of flowers from one arm to the other. Fancy customers like that were hardly likely to allow their flowers to be arranged by an apprentice in a flower shop where even Kuno’s regular customers insisted on being served by the boss himself.
“Don’t worry over it, Flora,” Kuno said when yet another woman had refused to allow Flora to serve her. “The people would rather go to an old hand than a newling. That’s how it’s always been. It’s not something to take personally.”
Flora did not find Kuno’s words particularly consoling. How was she supposed to learn to tie a bouquet if no one ever wanted one from her? Or did their customers still secretly harbor a grudge over the affair with the poisonous plants?
Luckily, such grim thoughts came up only rarely when Flora went out for her morning walks. Some days, she marched up the steps to the marketplace and down again just because she felt like it. Once, feeling particularly exuberant, she followed a sign that read “Pferdebad”—a horse bath—and found herself behind the Palais Hamilton, standing in front of a huge hall, but she did not find the courage to venture inside. Baden-Baden really seemed to have many fascinating secrets, and she could hardly wait for Friedrich to show her more of the town.
Usually, Flora chose a route that took her along the Promenade, where she could gaze wistfully in the windows of the boutiques. Such lovely hats! And gloves. And silver jewelry. And sweets. And . . .
The only shop she snubbed was Maison Kuttner. The snotty young women who worked there could go to the devil, as far as she was concerned.
The women in Maison Kuttner, however, took a very good look at Flora: whenever she walked past with her meadow flowers, one of the saleswomen was always outside, sweeping the sidewalk and steps vigorously. And the moment she spied Flora, she called to her colleagues, who hurried out.
“Just look what she’s got today!”
“She’ll empty the meadows before you know it.”
“The poor customers. All they get to buy is weeds.”
“What customers? Old Sonnenschein doesn’t have any left!” And they all cackled like geese.
For the first few days, Flora gritted her teeth, put on her most stoic expression, and ignored the young women. She did not want trouble, and their chatter was too childish altogether. But one morning, when she heard them call her a “vandal” behind her back, she had had enough. She was picking flowers, not vandalizing anything!
Furiously, she stopped in her tracks, turned around, and glared at their leader, who stood among the others with her arms crossed and a hateful look on her face.
“I don’t know what I ever did to you, but if you think your stupid chatter makes any difference to me, you’re sadly mistaken! Your maison here with all its trinkets and trumpery is no more than a junk shop—at least we sell real flowers. And your candy-colored aprons might be just the thing for a sweet shop, but certainly not for a florist. They look ridiculous, simply ridiculous.”
Flora screwed up her nose and stalked away, her head held high.
She was still boiling when she arrived back at the Sonnenscheins’ store. Kuno was so engrossed in his newspaper that he did not even manage a few words of praise for what she had plundered from the meadows. And I put up with those miserable cows for this, Flora thought angrily, and she stomped out to the garden to get the watering can she had left there the evening before.
“Child, you’re not going to dig another flower bed, are you?”
Flora jumped. She had not heard Ernestine coming. And what if I am? she almost said.
Ernestine stood there in her nightgown with tousled hair, and Flora realized why Kuno did not insist on her helping in the store.
“You certainly look grim this morning,” Ernestine said, frowning. “That’s not like you at all. What’s got you so upset? Not Kuno, I hope?”