She relaxed a little. Everything looked somehow brighter and more welcoming than it usually did. Was it the tablecloth? Or the bouquet? Or was it the fragrance of verbena and mallow wafting in through the half-open window? Maybe it was just the beautiful weather.
Ernestine let out a deep sigh. If she were to be honest with herself, she was looking forward a little to her coffee circle. Everyone was sure to like Sabine’s nut cake, and the little tartlets she had baked were lovely to look at.
When her guests began to arrive, Ernestine’s heart once again began to beat a touch faster, but this time less from anxiety and restlessness, and more in anticipation.
“Do you hear all that cackling?” Kuno jabbed his chin in the direction of the garden. “It’s always the same. You get two women together, and they natter on like you’ve never heard before.” He shook his head and laid aside his Die Gartenlaube, the magazine that the mailman had brought earlier. Once he had read the chapter of the serialized novel that he looked forward to every week, the other members of the family could read whatever they wanted.
“It sounds as if the ladies are having a nice time. Your wife—” Flora stopped talking when the doorbell to the shop tinkled. It was Gretel Grün, the pharmacist’s wife.
“Kuno—can you imagine?” Gretel began. “My sister called your garden a ‘wellspring of calm’! She was quite amazed at how stylishly we can do things here in Baden-Baden. Living in Stuttgart, she seems to think she’s the only one in the world with good taste.” She pursed her lips in an expression of such extreme disapproval that a thousand tiny creases formed above them.
“I’m pleased to know everyone is enjoying it,” said Kuno.
“I don’t remember your garden ever looking so lovely, to be frank. As I said to Ernestine earlier, we need to make this coffee afternoon a regular weekly thing. And now I’d like to have a bouquet just like the one you have in your summerhouse.” She was already taking out her purse.
Kuno’s face lit up. “Flora tied that bouquet, you know. I’m sure she’d be glad—”
“And it’s really very lovely,” Gretel interrupted him. “But I would still prefer you make my bouquet.”
Although Ernestine was thoroughly worn out afterward and swore she would not be inviting anyone again soon, the women returned to the Sonnenscheins’ garden for coffee the very next week—her friends had simply talked her into doing it again!
It was the end of July, and the garden looked gorgeous. The sun-warmed air was heavy with the scent of the different flowers. The almost aphrodisiac aroma of the phlox clusters mixed with the delicate perfume of the old rosebushes, while peppermint and thyme lent the air a slightly peppery note.
Ernestine’s friends were intoxicated by it all. “This air!” they cried. “These colors! The abundance of it all!” Almost every one of them marched into the flower shop afterward and went home with a fat bouquet.
For Flora, the stream of new customers had a bitter taste: hardly any of Ernestine’s friends were willing to let Flora bind a bouquet for them. How was she supposed to develop as a florist?
At least Kuno let her get all the practice she wanted when they were alone. Spherical Biedermeier bouquets, decorative vases, posies—over time, she learned more and more techniques. Her finished works were then placed in water and sold. No one needed to know that Flora was the one who made them.
Flora was overjoyed to see the painter’s maid, Greta, come to the store again. Her master, Mr. Winterhalter, had found the first bouquet quite lovely, and a picture commissioned by the noblewoman was taking shape, but until it was finished several bouquets were going to be required.
Flora set to work eagerly each time the painter sent for a new one—if it had been up to her, his painting would have been a monumental work that would take decades to complete, for which dozens and dozens of bouquets would be needed.
Chapter Twenty
“I’m telling you, nothing will come of Flora and the young master . . .” Sabine sighed lavishly. Then she raised her beer glass and clinked it against her friend Minka’s.
At eight in the evening, it was still unusually hot in the town, and the two young women had agreed spontaneously to treat themselves to a refreshing glass of beer at The Gilded Rose. They had spent the entire day sweating—Sabine in the kitchen at the Sonnenschein house and Minka in the laundry at the Englischer Hof—so they enjoyed even more the luxury of a free hour and a bit of gossip. Because the waiter at The Gilded Rose was an old friend of Minka’s, they had high hopes for a free refill of beer. But so far the proprietress had kept an eagle eye on the women and the waiter.
“Really? You really think Flora and Friedrich won’t amount to anything? Can’t you already hear the wedding bells ringing?” Minka looked up from her glass with disappointment. “You can’t just rob me of all my illusions! I mean, that a fine young man like Friedrich Sonnenschein would take one of us as his wife, it’s what we all dream about, isn’t it?”
Sabine nodded grumpily. “But it doesn’t look like that particular dream is going to be fulfilled. Flora always says that I read too much into their evening strolls, but . . .”
Minka nodded. “The poor thing! I’m sure she’s inconsolable not to have her love returned—”
“Her love? Don’t be ridiculous! Flora acts as if none of it has anything to do with her. I asked her whether the young master had already kissed her, and she just about throttled me. If you think she’d go out of her way to win him as a husband, then you’d better think twice. She hasn’t got even an ounce of coquette in her, that one. Doesn’t even bother to dress herself up when the young master takes her out. She does my hair up beautifully whenever I meet Moritz, but she doesn’t go to any trouble with her own.”
As expected, Minka shared Sabine’s disapproval. “Well, I for one would be making eyes at him all day if I had half a chance, I’ll tell you that. And I’d do it until he had no choice but to fall in love with me.”
“But if Friedrich was serious about Flora, he would have to court her at least a little, wouldn’t he? Bring her a little gift now and then, like Moritz does for me. Look, he sewed together this flower for me.” Sabine proudly puffed out her chest, where a flower made of leftover shirt silk was pinned to her dress.
When Minka had admired it sufficiently, Sabine went on with her litany. “But Flora has never received a thing from Friedrich. When he takes her out, all they do is walk through town. Or sit in the garden. Flora said just yesterday that she can practically greet every blade of grass out there by name. If it were up to her, the young master would at least invite her out for an occasional glass of wine. Or maybe for a dance. And she wants to visit the casino, too, before she goes home.”
“The casino?” asked Minka in disbelief. “And dancing? Is she completely mad? That’s for the finer types around here.”
“Oh, Flora has no fear of the rich. A few weeks ago, she had a squabble with the snobby witches at Maison Kuttner, and left them looking very dazed indeed, apparently.”
Minka giggled. “That just makes me like your Flora more. I’d love to get to know her. Why didn’t you bring her along?”
Sabine shook her head. “I asked her if she wanted to come tonight, but she said she had other plans. She’s got a bee in her bonnet about getting more distinguished customers into the shop,” she said, and the two friends laughed loudly at that bit of lunacy. “Flora is currently going around visiting one distinguished shop after the other, and she went out again tonight, too. She’s been to the parfumerie, the glovemaker’s, and even to the hat shop beside the Palais Hamilton. Everyone knows that the saleswomen in those shops think they’re better than us just because of where they work.”