Enough! Flora was already several steps past the pretentious shop when their needling finally became too much. She wheeled around.
“You want to know what we’re planning for winter?” She glared angrily at the young women from behind her armful of fir sprigs. “I can tell you this: Great things! Things the likes of which Baden-Baden has never seen before! Our customers’ eyes will be as big as dinner plates. They’ll be breaking down our door, and you and your forced roses will be roundly snubbed in favor of our marvels!”
Flora enjoyed the look of confusion on their faces; then she turned on her heel and stalked off triumphantly, smiling broadly to herself.
She’d shown them! They’d spend ages wondering what might be behind her claims of “great things” and “things the likes of which Baden-Baden has never seen before.” But Flora’s high spirits evaporated as quickly as they had appeared, and left no more than a bitter aftertaste. The only “novelty” would be that, beginning Monday, she would no longer be there.
Because the first of October fell on a Sunday, Flora’s departure was planned for the following day, the second.
On Saturday evening, Sabine accompanied her on her final stroll through their quarter of the city, a neighborhood she had grown very fond of. They visited Semmel, the butcher, who gave her a few sausages as a going-away present, and said farewell to the proprietress of The Gilded Rose and many others she had come to know. Even Sabine, usually so brisk and self-assured, was dejected, and Flora was relieved when they got back to the house.
She spent Sunday packing and digging over the flower bed, now empty, in the backyard. Although she kept looking for Friedrich, he did not show his face at all in the afternoon. He was probably on duty at the Trinkhalle, thought Flora, and she could not protect herself from the feelings of disappointment that weighed on her like a heavy, wet coat.
That evening, a bottle of wine was opened in her honor, and the entire family drank to her health. Ernestine shed a few tears at her impending departure, and even Kuno seemed deeply moved, swallowing hard to contain his emotions. Only Friedrich sat there stonily. Flora had expected more from him, frankly: Could he not have conjured an invitation to the theater or some other memorable moment? They had become good friends in the past few months. At least, Flora assumed that they had.
But with the general mood so gloomy, she was almost happy when Monday finally came.
The light, drizzling rain that had been falling all weekend had evolved into a steady downpour by Monday morning.
“Look, even the sky is crying to see you go. Maybe we should have taken a carriage after all,” said Sabine, stomping along beside Flora.
“I still prefer to walk. I get to see the town one more time. You can go back if you want,” said Flora, switching her traveling bag from her left hand to her right.
“Nonsense!” the maid replied. “If none of the others can bring themselves to accompany you, then I’m not going to leave you in the lurch, too. I’m going to miss you, Flora, even if I find all your energy exhausting.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” Flora murmured. “Nearly half a year! It’s gone by so fast. It was wonderful here, with you.” A lump was forming in her throat again.
Sabine ducked beneath some low-hanging branches. “I was actually expecting the young master, you know . . .”
“Well, that’s what you get for all your wild speculations. So much for Friedrich being madly in love with me.” Flora could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. She could understand Kuno not wanting to close the shop to go with her to the station, and also that a farewell on the platform would have been far too upsetting for Ernestine. But that Friedrich would not see it as appropriate to accompany her to her train and say a proper goodbye, well . . . she would not have thought that of him at all.
The two women walked on in silence.
Around them, the streets were empty. None of the businesses along the Promenade had opened, no tables stood in front of cafés, and everything gave an impression of desolation.
Flora shivered. The mood reminded her of G?nningen. In September, or October at the latest, when the work in the fields was done, most of the seed traders went off for months at a time to visit their customers all over the world. Days before their departure, the whole village was frantically busy with preparations. Children cried more often and clutched at their mothers’ skirts, knowing well that they would soon be sent off to Grandmother or a distant aunt. But no bawling or tears made any difference. The day of departure came as it did every year, and afterward, for many weeks, G?nningen was like a ghost village.
When Flora arrived home, she knew, her father and Uncle Valentin would already have left. She hoped that her father had received the letter she had sent, in which she wished him a safe and successful trip.
The station was a confusion of spa guests, their servants, and mountains of luggage, all of it blocking the platform, stairs, and passages. Sabine and Flora were constantly being bumped in the side or pushed out of the way, and Sabine cursed loudly at their treatment.
They managed to find a spot a little away from the chaos, where they could wait for Flora’s train. From the corner of her eye, Flora noticed the tall figure of Lady Lucretia, surrounded by a profusion of luggage. The Englishwoman, too, cut a melancholy figure.
“Half the town seems to be leaving. Baden-Baden will feel quite deserted by tomorrow.” Flora pointed with her chin toward the departing visitors. “I hate goodbyes!” she suddenly said, from deep in her soul. “I always have, even when I was a child, even—” And before she could stop herself, she threw both hands over her face and began to sob.
Flora still had her face buried in her hands when she suddenly felt consoling arms embrace her. The warmth felt good, and her sobs subsided. At least Sabine had some sympathy.
“Flora . . . you can’t say goodbye. You . . . you can’t go at all!” she heard a male voice say beside her.
Only then did Flora realize that the consoling arms did not belong to Sabine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Well? What’s going on?” Ernestine whispered in Sabine’s ear.
The maid shrugged. “They’re sitting facing each other. I think the young master, I mean, your son, he’s . . . holding Flora’s hand.” She squinted through the keyhole into the front room, a task not made any easier with Ernestine leaning on her back.
Flora, of course, had pestered Friedrich all the way home in the carriage. What was the matter? Why did she have to return to the house? Was something wrong with Kuno? Had there been an accident?
And she had become furious when Friedrich would not tell her anything. She had even shouted at him because, for his sake, she had now missed her train.
Friedrich took no apparent notice of any of it. “Soon,” he had said all the way home. “We’ll talk soon.” And he had laughed as he said it.
“He’s holding her hand? But . . . that can only mean that he’s summoned up the courage after all. And at the last moment, literally—my heavens! Better late than not at all, though, right? My one-and-only . . .”
“Now he’s kneeling in front of her. How romantic!” Sabine could already picture herself telling Minka all about it. She’d been right all along thinking that Friedrich had fallen for Flora.
“He’s kneeling? Mon Dieu!” Ernestine was so animated that she broke into French, which was really not like her at all. “I can’t believe my boy had to make this all so exciting—he certainly doesn’t have that from me.”
Sabine gave her mistress a sideways look. She would never have believed that Ernestine Sonnenschein would be so thrilled about a daughter-in-law.
Sabine turned her attention back to the keyhole, and her train of thought was rudely interrupted. “Oh! Flora is shaking her head. It looks like he’s said something that she doesn’t agree with.”