Oh curious one, you who toil and turn your hand in many fields, go not to the ant, but to the bee, and learn wisdom there . . . Leave not one flower to fly to another, as triflers do . . . Gather what you need from a single book, and keep it in the hive of your memory.
Hannah sniffed so loudly that Helmut had to elbow her in the ribs, and Suse and some of the other young women from the village sighed wistfully. How lovely Flora looked in her beaded dress. One could hardly see the fabric that had been added when Seraphine had let it out. And how gorgeous the bride’s bouquet was—composed from white orchids, myrtle, and white roses—and the bridal wreath, also of orchids. Kuno Sonnenschein had brought the bridal flowers with him from Baden-Baden, and the guests agreed unanimously that he certainly knew his craft.
The party that followed in The Eagle was also a success. The guests were amazed at Flora’s floral contributions, and the food, comprising both Swabian and Baden dishes, tempted both the G?nningers and their Baden-Baden visitors to have seconds. When everyone had had their fill, the proprietor of the inn, with two of the kitchen hands, carried in a triple-layered wedding cake. The expensive ingredients—marzipan, chocolate, and sugared almonds—and the sight of the cake itself drew gasps on every side. A moment later, several of the women let out little squeals of delight when small bowls of candies were distributed to every table. Helmut had brought it all back with him from Bohemia. He went around and handed each of the men a fat cigar.
So many presents! Ernestine’s eyes were the size of apples.
Silver candlesticks, fine linens, a mother-of-pearl toiletries kit with gilded handles, and even a sewing machine were on the gift table.
And the guests were all wearing their finest—Ernestine would never have suspected that a small Swabian village could dress with such style, and certainly not that their apprentice-girl’s family was so well-to-do. The thought bothered Ernestine enough that her cake lay untouched on her plate for some time.
Kuno, by contrast, dug into all the food with gusto—no doubt he would suffer for it the next morning. And he laughed and laughed, as if he had no cares in the world at all. And to think, that morning he had hardly been able to drag himself out of bed because of the weight of all the new impressions.
“Don’t you like the cake, Mother? Would you prefer a few pralines instead?” Friedrich asked in passing.
“My heavens, I feel I’m going to burst any second,” Ernestine said. “Look, you’re expected.” She pointed her son in the direction of the dance floor.
With embarrassed smiles and a little awkwardly, the bride and groom began to waltz around the dance floor. It made Ernestine dizzy just to watch. But with every turn they took, her heart grew lighter. Maybe one should simply enjoy a day like this, and not brood so much?
“Makes you want to be young again,” sighed Gretel Grün, also sitting at Ernestine’s table. She looked expectantly at her husband as she spoke, a look he studiously ignored.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your Friedrich show so much energy before,” said the pharmacist, then added, “Lovely party, too!” He drew luxuriously on his cigar.
Finally, Ernestine stabbed her fork into her slice of cake. With her lips still sticky, she smiled at Gretel. “Isn’t the chocolate just marvelous?”
“Flora’s family haven’t spared any expense at all,” said Gretel, impressed. “Chocolate in a cake . . .”
Ernestine shrugged. “Friedrich would not have entertained the notion of marrying a girl from a poor family. He knows what suits us. I mean, the girl is marrying into a thriving business, after all. That’s something we can be proud of, isn’t it, Kuno?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
If it had been up to Flora, the party would have gone on and on. One more song. One more dance. And one more toast to the bride and groom. Before the wedding, she never imagined that getting married could be so much fun.
At some point the ranks of guests began to thin—it had been a long, exciting day for everyone. “Goodbye, Mrs. Sonnenschein!” many said as they left. And every time, it took Flora by surprise.
Some could not resist an insinuating remark, and while Friedrich only grinned, Flora’s face flushed crimson. When she thought that everyone there knew what would happen later that night . . . it was embarrassing, terribly embarrassing.
When Kuno and Ernestine went up to their room, it was already two in the morning. Ernestine, with a mixture of astonishment and horror, said she had never stayed up so late in her life.
Hannah watched them depart, a wistful expression on her face. “I think I’ve had enough for one night, too,” she said to Flora. “Today of all days, my leg is especially painful. Maybe I’ve just been dancing too much.”
“Stop complaining,” said Seraphine, sitting with them at the table. “Getting married only happens once. Prost!” She raised her wineglass with a laugh.
Mother and daughter shared a look. Was that really Seraphine? They had never seen her so cheerful.
“You can laugh,” said Flora. “When I think about . . . what’s still to come, it makes my knees go weak. I wish it was already tomorrow.” She bit her bottom lip and looked over to the table where the men had taken Friedrich into their midst.
Hannah and Seraphine exchanged a knowing look. “Stay calm, child. Nothing bad will happen,” Hannah whispered. “Your Friedrich is a fine young man; just let him do what he wants. Oh, look, there’s—” Before Flora had a chance to say anything, Hannah was scurrying off toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”
“Where’s she off to?” Seraphine asked, shaking her head. Then she turned to Flora. “You lucky thing! I’d give anything to experience an all-consuming love one more time. A love so intense it hurts. A love you would die for if you can’t have it in life.”
All-consuming? Die? Flora gave her aunt a lopsided look. Did Seraphine always have to be so terribly theatrical?
She took another mouthful of wine, although it had lost its flavor long before. She felt ill and dizzy. Why had her mother run off like that? She was probably telling The Eagle’s proprietor what he was supposed to do with all the leftovers.
Flora suddenly felt lonely and tired and frightened and . . . just terrible. With all the excitement, she was finding it hard just to breathe properly. Or did that have more to do with the tight dress? On the one hand, she could hardly wait to undo the dozens of eyelets and peel herself free of the top. On the other, she could think of nothing more terrifying.
At least Hannah had had the foresight to reserve a room for her and Friedrich at The Sun, the inn run by her friend K?the. They would not have to spend the night under the same roof as Friedrich’s parents at The Eagle. Just a wall between them, and everyone able to hear what . . . Flora shuddered.
Friedrich waved to her from the table where he sat with the other men. She smiled back. He looked so happy and relaxed, her husband . . .
“By the way, something occurred to me about how you can attract those rich Russians,” said Seraphine so suddenly that it took Flora a moment to realize what she was talking about.
“What?”
“I’m talking about the advice your father gave you. The show one has to put on for one’s pampered clientele. I’ve had an idea for how you might do that . . .” Seraphine paused—clearly only to pique Flora’s interest—before going on. “It’s to do with the book about the language of flowers that you showed me last winter,” she said, when she was sure of her niece’s attention. “Have you read any more about the subject since then?”
Flora frowned. “What do you mean by more?”