The Flower Shop (Die Samenh?ndlerin-Saga #2)

And Friedrich would help her . . . The fluttering in her belly grew a little more intense.

She set her wineglass down, reached across the table, and took Friedrich’s hand in hers. “All right, it’s worth a try!”





Chapter Nineteen

As much as Friedrich enjoyed the time he spent with Flora, he could not clear his mind of all the worries that beset him during the summer of 1871. Though the streets and cafés of the town were still very lively, it was easy to see that since the war, there were fewer visitors to the spa complex, and that meant less income. And while the guests might not notice that cuts were already being made, Friedrich, who was intimately familiar with the town, saw the signs: here a moldering park bench that had not been replaced, and there, flower beds that were not being planted. The leaseholder of the casino had also reduced Friedrich’s budget for the maintenance of the Trinkhalle for the season. He could still get by, but what if, one day, someone decided the Trinkhalle was no longer viable and simply closed it?

Friedrich’s anxiety only increased when a rumor started circulating that the new government in Berlin was planning to close all the gaming houses in the empire. He silently regarded everyone who threw their money away at the gaming tables with cynicism, but what would Baden-Baden be without its casino? Some claimed that it would be just another forgotten Black Forest village, but others believed it would become a town on its way to becoming a true spa destination. With sick people, too—or rather, with their hopes for a cure—there was also good money to be made.

Friedrich had not yet formed his own opinion on the matter. If there was no more leaseholder for the casino—and therefore also for the Trinkhalle—then what would become of him? Would he really go onto the town payroll now that municipal funds were so short? Questions were already being raised about how the fund that had supported the spa since 1850 would be replenished in the future.

Many of the big names in German politics also stayed away that year, although the artists still came, at least: painters, writers, and musicians, even Johann Strauss, “the Waltz King” himself, gave concerts in Baden-Baden that year.

Still, anyone whose livelihood depended on the town’s spa and casino spent the summer worried that their jobs might suddenly disappear.

Although he did not normally get out of the Trinkhalle before eight, Friedrich and Flora had gotten into the habit of going for a walk in the evenings.

“Are you really sure you’re not too tired?” Flora asked the first few times. “I could go out with Sabine, too.”

But Friedrich insisted that it would be a great pleasure for him to go out with her for a stroll, and thus began a ritual that, soon, neither of them wanted to do without.

As the summer advanced, instead of the activity of the tourist areas, they sought the quiet of the small area of parkland behind the Trinkhalle, where the birds in the sequoias twittered their evening songs, the bees buzzed, and they felt as if they were far out in the countryside.

In the evening hours, everything there had a special radiance. The wooden backs of the park benches still held the warmth of the day. The air carried the fresh scent of forgotten laundry hanging on a line in a garden, which mixed with the perfume of the well-dressed women out for their own evening strolls. And Friedrich put his arm around Flora and told her the names of the more exotic trees and bushes in the park.

Flora would have liked to go to the Conversationshaus with Friedrich and drink a glass of wine, or go to one of the open-air concerts more often. How was she supposed to find out more about the wealthy visitors and what they might be looking for if she was never able to get close to them?

But at the end of the day, Friedrich was often so tired that he wanted nothing more than to get away from all that turmoil, for which she could hardly blame him. She, too, some evenings, felt utterly exhausted, although at the start she had no idea why she was so tired. Every day, there were long periods when not a single customer came their way. It took some time for Flora to realize that it was those times when no one was there that were wearing her out so much. She would have been a thousand times happier if the shop was crowded and noisy as a dovecote. But so far, neither she nor Friedrich had had an idea about how to attract more doves.

It was not only Flora’s closeness to Friedrich that grew from day to day, but also her attachment to Baden-Baden. Soon she felt very much at home in the town.

Thanks to the seeds her father had sent along, the Sonnenscheins’ garden was in full midsummer bloom, and as a result the shop offered an abundance of flowers. Lavender-colored bellflowers, deep-purple zinnias, colorful coleus, petunias, and more—the G?nningen seeds had lived up to the promise made by the seed dealers to their customers.

She could have made the most beautiful bouquets for the spa visitors, flower baskets for their children, and floral decorations for their magnificent coaches as well. But the spa visitors and their staff continued to go to Maison Kuttner, and Flora doubted they were aware that the Sonnenschein shop even existed.



One hand pressed to her breast, Ernestine wandered through the house. Her heart was beating so hard that she thought it might burst out of her chest.

Today was the big day. They would be arriving in an hour. One after the other.

Heavens! What had she let herself in for? Didn’t she have enough to do already? She could no longer imagine at all that it had been her idea to invite some friends for an afternoon of coffee and cake.

Gretel, Luise, and the other women were looking forward to it so much—because, of course, they did not have to do any of the work. For days, whenever she bumped into one or the other of them in Else Walbusch’s store or on the street, the talk was always about the coffee afternoon. Gretel had even asked if she could bring her sister, who was visiting Baden-Baden just then. And Luise’s newly married daughter wanted to come, too.

Strangers. Two guests more than originally planned . . . and they all would walk through the main house. She had to sleep in the bed she had made.

She had already been out to check the summerhouse. Sabine had set the table very nicely, and pitchers of lemonade were prepared. She would bring the coffee and cake from the kitchen once the women had taken their places around the table. That was how Ernestine had planned it.

Now, in the front room of the main house, the flower arrangement on a lace doily in the center of the sideboard caught her eye. Blue cornflowers and some pink blooms she did not know the name of and white baby’s breath.

More of Flora’s handiwork. Did Kuno have any idea how often the girl pilfered flowers from the shop for their house? Weren’t they losing sales like that?

Ernestine’s nostrils flared. It smelled so good in here! And the sideboard looked lovely with the bouquet of flowers. But where did that vase come from? She did not recognize it at all . . .

With a frown, Ernestine pushed the flowers aside a little. Flora had actually put the bouquet in a soup tureen—had anyone ever seen anything like it?

It was the one with the chipped rim, probably the result of some inattention by Sabine. Ernestine had been quite annoyed when she had discovered the damage a few days before. The tureen was an old piece she had inherited from her mother.

A smile crept over Ernestine’s face, and then she let out a little laugh. The mass of flowers that formed the bouquet hung over the edge of the tureen in such a way that the damage was out of sight.

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