ALSO BY PETRA DURST-BENNING
The Glassblower Trilogy
The Glassblower
The American Lady
The Paradise of Glass
The Century Trilogy
While the World Is Still Asleep
The Champagne Queen
The Queen of Beauty
The Seed Traders’ Saga
The Seed Woman
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2008 by Petra Durst-Benning and Ullstein Buchverlage GmbH
Translation copyright © 2018 by Edwin Miles
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Previously published as Das Blumenorakel by Ullstein Buchverlage GmbH in Germany in 2008, republished as Floras Traum in 2014. Translated from German by Edwin Miles. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2018.
Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503950139
ISBN-10: 1503950131
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant
Contents
The Nymph of the Pond
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Flora’s ABC of Flowers
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Translator
The Nymph of the Pond
The meadows surrounding the shimmering blue-green waters of the pond were more lush than most in the region, and a favorite among the goatherds who took their goats there to graze. The animals tugged sedately at the fragrant grasses and plants, and none were tempted to run away.
Satisfied with his choice of pasture, a young herder began to play his shawm, devoting himself to a pensive melody. But other sounds—far lovelier and finer—seemed to come from the pond itself and soon mixed with his dreamy tune.
Curious, the youth made his way down to the water’s edge, and was surprised to spy, on a rock in the small pond, a beautiful water nymph with rippling black hair and sparkling green eyes. She plucked a golden harp and sang to it in a voice as clear as well water, a song the goatherd did not know, but which captivated him instantly. The nymph, with a gentle smile on her lips, glanced at the boy just once but did not interrupt her singing.
The goatherd had neither seen nor heard anything as lovely in his life. He felt as if he could sit there forever, and only when it began to grow dark did he return to his goats. After that, he visited the pond evening after evening to listen to the enchanted sounds.
One day, the nymph revealed to the youth that her name was Merline. But she told him he must never speak to her by that name, or call it aloud if he did not find her there, for if he did, something terrible would happen.
The goatherd nodded, but he was mystified.
One day, on his way to the pond, he came across an old pitch-burner who had been traveling in the region for as long as anyone could remember. The old man warned the goatherd to be on his guard. Many a young man had found his eternal grave in that pond because he could not resist the nymph’s beguiling song.
The pitch-burner’s warning fell on deaf ears, for the young goatherd had long ago fallen for Merline’s charms. One evening, when he did not find the nymph atop her usual rock, he could do nothing other than call her name.
“Merline!”
Instead of seeing the nymph, the youth spied a blood-red rose that grew from the surface of the water and drifted to the bank. When he bent to pluck it, he tumbled into the water and was caught in the twining vines. In fear, he flailed his arms and kicked with his legs, but the pond did not release him, and instead pulled him down to its depths.
That night and the morning after, the goats bleated for their goatherd, to no avail. Then they wandered into the woods around the pond and were never seen again.
Chapter One
January 1871
“Baden-Baden! I already know I’m not going to like this place.” Flora gazed grumpily out of the train window. The black coal smoke billowing from the locomotive mixed with the silently falling snow, creating an ugly, blurry veil that made everything gray and shadowy. The few people she saw had their noses hidden inside their overcoat collars or behind handkerchiefs to protect them from the bad air.
Flora pointed beyond the station building to a huge banner hanging from a hotel window. “Bayerischer Hof—look how they go on about their food and drink!”
“Don’t worry. Our hotel is much closer to the center of town, and I can tell you now that it’s far less exclusive.” Hannah Kerner, who was sitting beside Flora, sighed. The last thing she needed was her daughter’s carping.
“Well, that’s one thing to be thankful for. Ugh! Everything looks so grim. And deserted. How are we supposed to do good business here?” Flora seemed unaware that her own countenance was at least as grim and unwelcoming as the face of Baden-Baden on that winter’s day.
Hannah also peered dubiously at the snowed-in town. There were no soldiers in sight, although she was not sure if that was a good or bad sign. France had not yet officially surrendered, and the Franco-Prussian War continued despite the newspapers’ exaggerated reports of a German victory. Apparently, King Wilhelm had had himself declared emperor just a few days earlier in the Hall of
Mirrors at the palace in Versailles, and the papers were talking about it as a gesture of “complete subjugation.” A German emperor in Versailles—that was something! Hannah’s husband, Helmut, and the other men in the village had already lifted many glasses of beer and schnapps to the new emperor.
What if the French did not feel themselves to be “completely subjugated” after all? Was France perhaps on the cusp of a counterattack? And if it was, then Baden-Baden was a particularly unsafe place to be.
Although Hannah loved the town and knew it very well from earlier visits, she had an uneasy feeling. There had been far better times to visit Baden-Baden, and there certainly would be again, which only made Hannah even more resolved to put on a confident, carefree face for Flora’s sake. She did not want fear added to her daughter’s rancor and discontent.
Before their departure, Helmut had questioned everyone he knew who had been anywhere near Baden-Baden about the political situation. None of the travelers reported any fighting or dangerous situations, so Helmut felt it would also be safe enough for his wife and daughter, and Hannah had not said anything to contradict him. What could she have said? They could not afford to sit at home and wait for better times.
And now it fell to Hannah, in these extraordinary days, to instill in her daughter a taste for travel and trade. But until then, she had not had much success.
The train stopped. It was time to see what was waiting for them.
“Stop sulking!” said Hannah, with a glance at Flora. “You take the bag with the food and gifts, and I’ll carry the seed sack and the traveling case.” As she spoke, she wrapped her warm wool shawl around her shoulders and looked critically at her reflection in the filmy window. She straightened her felt hat and was satisfied with what she saw. She knew that the dark green of the matching hat and shawl showed off her nearly black hair and eyes to best advantage. The shawl and the small hat also marked her as a Gönningen seed dealer, who earned her living from the trade in flower and vegetable seeds and tulip bulbs. Not all the women in Hannah’s village looked as good as she did in that attire: at thirty-nine, Hannah was still a very attractive woman.
Flora, too, wore Gönningen’s dark green, although she wore the shawl as if it weighed on her shoulders like a half-ton yoke.
Oh, my girl, a seed woman’s life is not so bad, Hannah thought.
A few minutes later, the two women were sitting in a coach and being driven toward the center of Baden-Baden. Hannah wanted to drop their luggage at the guesthouse before they visited their first customers.
As the coach rolled over the hard-packed snow that covered the long street, Hannah pointed out stately homes, mansions, and hotels—all residences of her esteemed Baden-Baden customers. Flora kept up her deliberately indifferent facade. Behind her sullen silence, Hannah could hear Flora loud and clear—she had no interest whatsoever in the “esteemed customers.” But instead of being upset at Flora’s behavior, Hannah felt as though her heart would break to see her daughter so unhappy.
How she loved her daughter! Of course, the twins—two years younger than Flora—were just as close to her heart. But her daughter was simply . . . her daughter.
Her Flora.
That she bore an uncanny physical resemblance to her mother was one thing. She had the same dark, wavy hair—although Hannah’s was starting to show streaks of silver—and the same strong build. Perhaps a little too tall and well built for a woman, but certainly no beanstalk to get blown over with the first decent wind. Hannah’s eyes sparkled like pebbles of coal, while Flora’s were the brown of chocolate. Hannah considered her daughter to be pretty, but knew she was no ravishing beauty. And most of the time, at least, she was also a very nice young woman.
Twenty-one years earlier, if Hannah had not been pregnant with Flora, she would never have left Nuremberg for Gönningen, at the edge of the Swabian Mountains. She would very likely have spent her entire life as a maid at her parents’ inn, or married to some Franconian grouch. Without this child, she would never have won Helmut, the man who loved her so much that it sometimes hurt. Admittedly, he had not been thrilled to see her when she first arrived in Gönningen on that cold December day, with her traveling bag in her hand, and told him the “good news.” Still, he had done what an honorable man in such a situation was supposed to: he had married her. A great love? Not at the time. That came only through their years together. Today, Hannah could not imagine life without Helmut. Nor could she imagine living any differently than as a seed trader from Gönningen. She wanted that same happiness for her daughter.
Flora, the goddess of flowers . . . yet this Flora did not want to be a seed trader; she dreamed of something else and had nothing in her head but flowers. Could that foolishness be tied to her name?
It was Helmut who had suggested her unusual name. “A child born out in the open air, surrounded by nature, must be named after the goddess of flowers,” he’d said. Hannah had not objected. In those days, she hardly had been able to form a single clear thought. Her water had broken out in the fields—to this day, she had trouble believing it! Flora’s speedy arrival aside, she had not been a difficult child. She had been charming, in fact, and everyone in the village had a kind word for the little girl with her bouquets of flowers.
Hannah smiled at the memory, but sighed again a moment later. The way Flora had been behaving lately, no one in their right mind would call her “charming.” And now she sat there with a look on her face as if she were being driven to the scaffold.
“I know you still dream of becoming a florist. Everybody has dreams. But you didn’t like it at all when you worked at the Grubers’ nursery in Reutlingen. You were no better off than a maid, slaving away for other people, while I had so much work at home that I didn’t know which way to turn. It was very generous of your father and me to let you go to Gruber’s. You wanted to learn something, and we didn’t want to stand in your way. But what came of it? You dreaded the kind of work they did, and you practically begged your father not to make you go back. Please stop the coach!” she said, suddenly addressing the driver.
“Here? Now you don’t want to go to Tausend-Seelen-Gass?” The man shook his head sourly, but he helped Hannah unload their luggage.
“That was not a proper florist’s shop. It was more like a farm. I would have learned far more about floristry somewhere else,” Flora said sulkily, scratching a hole in the snow with the toe of her shoe.
Hannah wanted nothing more than to take her daughter in her arms, but instead she said, “Be that as it may, now it’s time for you to work with us, just as your friends are doing with their parents. Not that they all have it half as good as you. Think about poor Suse, for example, going off with her mother to the south of the Black Forest. Almost all their customers are poor. But Baden-Baden! Hardly anyone can boast a Samenstrich as good as this.” Hannah hoped that Flora would become as enthusiastic as she herself was about Baden-Baden.
“Where are we going? I would have preferred to ride.”
Hannah smiled. “I want to show you a little of the town. The train trip was not so tiring that we can’t go on foot for a while.”
“If we have to.” With a sigh, Flora picked up the linen bag and the seed sack and Hannah took the traveling case, and they strode off across one of the bridges that crossed the Oos River.
“That is called the Conversationshaus,” Hannah said as she pointed to a large building. “It’s home to Baden-Baden’s famous casino, and I’ve heard that there are dance halls and a fabulous restaurant and all kinds of things.”
Flora screwed up her nose. “Bit pretentious, isn’t it?”
Hannah decided to overlook her daughter’s tone. “You’ll see. Baden-Baden has many lovely aspects. Besides, it’s a safe place to travel, and we’ll be staying in a good guesthouse with a nice hostess. What more could you want?” Hannah shook her head. She could hardly believe that she was out in the icy weather trying again to show Flora the advantages of this trip. They had had similar talks through Chr
istmas and New Year’s. Sometimes she wondered if she and Helmut were not too good-natured altogether.
When Flora did not reply, Hannah continued, “Your father bought this Samenstrich from Martin Gsell for a great deal of money, as you know. He wanted you to have a particularly good territory to sell your seeds. Most of the customers in Baden-Baden are flower growers, so it’s made for you! You can earn a very good living here. I admit that this war has made things difficult, at least for a while, but that makes it more important for us to be here this year. If we didn’t come, our customers would go and buy their seeds somewhere else, and the money we paid for this territory would be thrown away.”
Hannah shook her head.
“Flora, don’t make this so hard for me. If I’d known how horridly you were going to behave, I’d have stayed home! Then you would have had to figure everything out by yourself.” Hannah stamped her foot and involuntarily let out a groan. Although her boots had heavy leather soles, the cold had already crept into her bones. Since an accident many years before, in which her leg had gotten caught in a fox trap, she had been more vulnerable to cold weather.
Flora looked up, her face shocked and guilty.
“Oh, Mother, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me. I am grateful to you and Father, really. I only wanted—”
Hannah took her daughter in her arms.
“Your dreams. I know, my child.”
Chapter Two
Mother and daughter marched on, arm in arm. Flora had to admit to herself, if not her mother, that now that she was seeing Baden-Baden for the first time, she was quite taken with it. There was Lange Strasse, which was lined with beautiful hotels, and the Conversationshaus, and now they were on the pretty avenue called the Promenade, with one lovely little shop after another, left and right. Flora gazed in amazement at the colorful display in the window of a hatmaker’s shop. And what was that? Flora lifted her nose in the air. Lavender. In the middle of winter? The fragrance emanated from a parfumerie in which golden chandeliers illuminated thousands of small bottles, jars, and crucibles—how splendid it looked!
“They call these shops the Promenade Boutiques,” said Hannah. “I really wanted to go a little way along Lichtenthaler Allee and then turn back to the town center over one of the bridges farther down, but it is only a little longer to our guesthouse this way.”
The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2) Page 1