Flora’s arrival in Baden-Baden was so much different this time than the last.
The Hotel Bayerischer Hof, which had seemed so huge and grim to her in winter, now, in late April, had many tables and chairs set out on its expansive terrace and looked very inviting indeed. And people’s facial expressions were no longer frozen by the winter cold, but, warmed by the sunshine, were relaxed and happy.
Instead of paying for a coach from the train station, Flora marched in high spirits into town, along clean, freshly raked gravel roads lined with blooming chestnut trees. Flaky white-and-pink petals rained down from overhead and landed on Flora’s hair and shoulders. The air smelled of lilac and the first roses, and the sun sparkled through the trees along Lichtenthaler Allee—it was like walking beneath a miraculously lit green canopy.
Magnificent coaches rolled by as Flora walked along. Their gold fittings and beautiful paintwork were matched by the colors of the horses’ harnesses.
The Conversationshaus was a hive of activity compared with how it had been in winter, and there, too, white-painted tables and chairs stood before its entrance. Many of the guests seemed to know each other, waving and calling out greetings to each other in languages that Flora did not understand. It was all so exciting!
Flora tried the door of the flower shop, but it did not open. “We’ll Be Right Back,” said a sign dangling at an angle from the door handle. No one came when she knocked, either. The shop was closed? In the middle of the day?
Flora tried to peer in through the window, which was covered by a gray film, probably dust and grime from the nearby construction. There was no sign of the shopkeeper. Was the old man so unwell that he could not be there to meet her?
With an uneasy feeling in her stomach, Flora picked up her luggage again. Then she walked around the side of the building, looking for the entrance to the Sonnenscheins’ house.
Mrs. Sonnenschein sighed deeply. “My goodness, I really have no idea where my husband has gotten off to. There’s always so much to do in one’s own business. There are never enough hours in the day, are there?” Red flecks appeared on her cheeks, and she poked nervously at a few strands of hair that had worked their way loose, trying to push them back into her pinned-up hair.
“The master has retired to his bedroom. He was not feeling well,” the maid said.
“Well, then . . .” Smiling helplessly, Mrs. Sonnenschein handed two hairpins—they had worked their way completely out of her hair—to the maid, then turned away from Flora so that the maid could pin it back up.
“From now on, you have me. I will certainly be able to take over some of the tasks your husband normally does.” Flora tried to curtsy, but the lady of the house could not see the attempt because she still had her back turned.
“Finished,” said the maid, patting Mrs. Sonnenschein once on the shoulder as if in confirmation. But the maid had pinned the hair back so carelessly, and not even in the right place! Still, Mrs. Sonnenschein’s hair was not very neat at all, so the misplaced strands barely showed. Flora reached up reflexively to her own hair, artfully braided and pinned.
“Let me show you your room first. No doubt you would like to rest a little after your journey,” said Mrs. Sonnenschein as she slowly climbed the narrow staircase.
“Rest? My mother would have more than a few words for me if I put my feet up on my first day here.” Flora laughed as she turned to follow Mrs. Sonnenschein. “No, no. I’ll just drop my things, and then I would very much like to see the shop . . . if I may.”
“Sabine,” said Mrs. Sonnenschein.
“Oh, no, really. I can carry my things myself.” But before Flora could stop her, the maid, with a morose look on her face, picked up Flora’s traveling bag and led Flora up the stairs.
Breathing heavily, the lady of the house finally pushed open a door on the right side of the landing at the top. “Here we are. You and Sabine will be sharing a room.”
Flora looked first at the room—which was not large but looked brightly lit and clean—and then at Sabine, who did not look particularly pleased to have a roommate.
“I am so happy to be here! It’s such a beautiful city. Is there a lovelier city than Baden-Baden anywhere in the empire?” Flora said to Sabine as she unpacked her things into the section of the wardrobe that Mrs. Sonnenschein had allocated to her.
“When the sun shines, it’s a pretty sight wherever you look,” Sabine replied. “But when it rains, it’s as if the town dies, because all the fine ladykins strolling along Lichtenthaler Allee or riding in their fine carriages vanish into their fine salons, which the likes of us heat for them. And another thing,” she added with a scowl. “Don’t think I’m going to make your bed for you just because you’ll be sitting at madam’s table.”
“Fine with me,” Flora said, and she took the sheets that Sabine was holding. “I don’t need a nursemaid.” She sighed aloud. “What am I supposed to do now? I can’t just sit here in the room for hours.”
Dinner would be at half past six, at which time Flora would be expected in the sitting room, Mrs. Sonnenschein had said before retiring for her afternoon nap. Not a word about when her husband might be back on his feet. Not a word about the florist’s shop, either, let alone about her duties, her working hours, or anything of that sort.
“My first day at work in the nursery in Reutlingen was completely different,” said Flora, and she told Sabine about how she had pricked out hundreds of kohlrabi seedlings, turned over the compost heap, and rolled humus by the barrow load into the greenhouses.
Sabine giggled. “Before you die of boredom here, you can certainly help me in the kitchen.” She took the pillowcase back from Flora and stuffed the pillow into it.
Flora glanced at her gratefully. “Am I mistaken, or are you also from Württemberg? Your accent . . .”
Sabine confirmed Flora’s guess—she was from Leonberg and was the oldest of six siblings, all of whom envied her the position in the Sonnenschein household, she said.
“I get paid a few kreuzer plus board and lodging, and Mrs. Sonnenschein puts it aside for me. If I ever need a trousseau, I can use that money for it, she says.” Then she screwed up her face. “If I ever need a trousseau . . . fingers crossed.”
Flora sat down on her bed. “How long have you been here?” She patted the space beside her.
“A year,” said Sabine, sitting next to Flora. “Ever since they shipped Miss Sonnenschein off to the nunnery. I heard Mrs. Sonnenschein say, “She’s not pretty and not particularly bright—what else were we supposed to do with her?” while Sybille—that’s the daughter—was standing right there. She looked terribly miserable.”
A crease crossed Flora’s brow. “I thought Miss Sonnenschein chose to go to the convent herself?”
Sabine shrugged.
“What about the son?” Flora asked curiously.
“Friedrich. We hardly see him. He leaves the house before breakfast. He works at the Trinkhalle, and usually doesn’t get home till long after dinner’s finished.” There was a trace of regret in Sabine’s voice. “He talks and talks, very serious, like the others, and he’s a sturdy enough fellow. But he has no eye for the likes of us.” Sabine sighed so deeply that Flora had to laugh.
“Well, life here can’t be all miserable, can it?”
“Hmm . . .”