The newcomers quickly fell to trading stories, and Flora was amazed at how wholeheartedly Hannah joined in. After a day spent talking about seeds and sales, it would not have surprised Flora if her mother had been a little uncommunicative. Even for Flora, the men’s tales bordered on being too much.
All but one of the men—who introduced himself as a trader in corsets and undergarments, which sent the others at the table into fits of laughter—bought a round of beer, schnapps, or wine. And when Hannah launched into the first song of the night, Flora was the only one who didn’t sing along. She was surprised that every single one of the men knew the words.
At home, Hannah was always the first to get up to dance at the village festivals. It was a side of her personality that did not meet with everyone’s approval. Dancing was decadent, or at least more than one old G?nninger thought it was—a point of view that neither Flora nor any of her friends shared. But sometimes even Flora found her mother’s exuberance a little mortifying.
And now Hannah was singing and dancing around the restaurant to the rhythm of the song.
Once he’d done a-beating them
He took his scissors honed
And docked the devils’ tails so short
It made them yowl and moan.
Ho there, Mr. Tailor Man
Get out of our hell.
We don’t need our tails snipped off
Which is just as well.
Flora had to laugh. Then she noticed someone to her left, and she looked up. With a quick nod in her direction, a man slipped onto the end of the corner bench. Flora nodded back, returning his curt greeting. Hannah was already well into the next verse when Flora realized that the man who had just joined them was none other than Friedrich Sonnenschein, the son of the old flower seller who had collapsed. He gazed gloomily into his beer and was far away in his thoughts.
He seemed not to have recognized Flora, or he would certainly have said a few words to her—wouldn’t he?—if only for the sake of politeness. From downturned eyes, she peeked across, studying him as surreptitiously as she could.
Friedrich Sonnenschein was not endowed with any exceptional physical characteristics, except perhaps for his eyes, which were a very pale blue and looked as translucent as a shallow pool. His nose was neither crooked, nor flat, nor too big; his hair was neither particularly neat nor particularly unkempt, and neither was he especially tall or short, but of average height. If anything, he was a little on the heavier side. Flora looked at her own arms and hands, which still bore the signs of the drudgery she’d endured at the Grubers’ nursery. But wasn’t it said that the calluses on a hardworking Swabian girl’s hands were her prettiest jewels? Flora smiled to herself.
Despite his unremarkable appearance, however, there was something about Friedrich that made Flora think he was a nice man—friendlier, perhaps, and not as rough-edged as some of the other men there in the restaurant. And—
“Thank you again for helping my father.”
So he had recognized her. “How is he?” Flora asked politely.
“He’s up, but he’s limping. And when he thinks no one is looking, he rubs at his hip.” Friedrich Sonnenschein grimaced. “My father flatly refuses to admit that he’s been getting weaker and weaker over the last year. It’s as if he’s aged a decade, but so quickly, almost from one day to the next, it seems. He tires quickly, and then he has these strange dizzy spells. But what can I do? I had to go out early in the morning, not for long, and I was going to clear the snow after that, but could my dear father wait that long? Never!”
Just then, Hannah returned to the table, laughing and out of breath.
“My goodness, my feet are killing me! Ah, the florist’s son,” she said, and immediately asked, “Flora, do you need another drink, too?” She raised her beer mug and gestured toward the bar.
Flora shook her head.
“Well, you two have a good time,” said Hannah, and she grinned and danced away.
It made Flora smile to see her mother so relaxed and happy, so in her element.
Friedrich cleared his throat as if to draw her attention back to him. “You’re not from here, are you?”
Flora shook her head. “We’d only just arrived and were on our way from the train station when we walked past your father’s shop.” Then she briefly explained the reason for their journey.
“Ah, so you’re a seed dealer. There used to be an older gentleman who came to visit us—if I remember correctly, he also came from G?nningen. Back then, my father grew all his flowers himself, but he was also in much better health.” Friedrich sighed.
“You work in a Trinkhalle, don’t you? I’m sure that’s very interesting,” said Flora, to distract him from his concern for his father. Her mother had pointed out the building, which was close to the Conversationshaus. She could not begin to imagine what was inside its walls.
Friedrich looked up and replied with unexpected vehemence. “My employment means everything to me. In the last three years, I’ve worked my way up from a janitor’s position to where I am now—the custodian of the entire Trinkhalle. The grounds are also part of my charge. Every bench, every gravel path, the barriers, the gardens—I have the privilege of taking care of all of it. Now that the war is over, there are some important decisions to be made, and they affect the future of the Trinkhalle and everything it stands for. What will become of Baden-Baden now that the French are no longer coming? Who will visit our spas? I hope very much that whomever we welcome here after the French will better appreciate the fine waters we have, and that they don’t just come here for the casinos, but to try a curative bath and to take the waters. Oh, Baden-Baden has some exciting times ahead.”
Curative baths? Take the waters? Flora did not understand a word of it, but she could feel the heat from the fire burning inside Friedrich. “And you want to be part of that,” she said, hoping it was the right thing to say.
He nodded fiercely and took such a large swig of beer that some of it ran down his chin. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and looked around as if to reassure himself that no one was eavesdropping. Then he said quietly, “Until now, whoever has leased the casino has also paid for the upkeep of the Trinkhalle. Now there are rumblings about developing a completely new management for the Kurhaus complex—the Conversationshaus with the casino, and perhaps the Trinkhalle. That could be a huge boost to its significance, but it could just as easily spell its doom. Am I supposed to water flowers in my father’s shop instead of taking part in that process? That . . .” He fell silent and shook his head as if he could not even bear to think about it.
“And your sister can’t help?” Flora asked, her heart pounding. Friedrich had no idea how much she envied him. Let me help you at the shop! she wanted to scream. But the words did not come out.
“My sister would rather follow God’s call than look after our parents.” Friedrich’s voice was bitter. “When people talk about her, they talk about her ‘calling,’ and everyone is so understanding about how she has to follow it. With me, on the other hand—because I believe I can make a contribution to Baden-Baden’s development—all they talk about is an ‘obsession.’ If you ask the people here, I’d be better off taking over my parents’ business. The problem is that nobody can tell me how to get this ‘obsession’ out of my head. This is not a weed that you can just tear out by its roots!”
Unconsciously, Flora grasped Friedrich’s hand. “You have no idea how well I understand what you’re saying. They expect the same of me!” she said so loudly that several of the others at the table turned and looked at them. She felt herself blush and abruptly released Friedrich’s hand. Then, in a whisper, she continued, “I’m being forced to work in my parents’ business, too. And all I’ve dreamed of, all my life, is tying bouquets and arranging flowers. Even—”