The Flower Shop (The Seed Traders' Saga Book 2)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning Sabine dragged herself, grumbling and groaning, out of bed. “Six o’clock, and not even properly light yet. You’ve got it good. You can lie in like a lady while I’m off to light the stove, boil water, set the table, bring in the milk, and a whole lot more besides.” She spat on her hands and ran them through her hair, which she then began to weave into a braid.

  Flora, furrowing her brow, looked toward the window. From outside came a chorus of loud twittering. The birds seemed impatient for the sun to brighten the day.

  “Believe it or not, I’d much rather come down with you now, but I’m not supposed to show my face before breakfast.”

  “Be grateful for what you’ve got,” Sabine mumbled, her lips full of hairpins.

  “I’ll do your hair for you if you like,” said Flora, who could hardly bear to watch Sabine fumbling clumsily with her braid.

  A look of delight appeared on Sabine’s face. “Gladly, but on my day off, when we have more time. Maybe you can even weave in a flower. But now . . . enjoy your well-earned rest, young mistress!” She made an exaggerated curtsy in front of Flora, then thumped off down the steps.

  What now? thought Flora, stretching her arms and legs so far that they made an assortment of cracking noises. Should she perhaps go for a morning walk? She could cut some apple and pear blossoms for the store—she had seen several trees heavy with blooms on her way from the train station. And she would be making herself useful on her very first day in the shop.

  But perhaps Mr. Sonnenschein was up early and had already gone to get fresh flowers and branches?

  As she lay there wondering what to do, her mother’s words suddenly came back to mind. “I don’t mean to dampen your enthusiasm for a moment,” Hannah had said as she ironed her daughter’s blouses and skirts the day before Flora left Gönningen. “But don’t let it carry you away. We are used to keeping ourselves busy, and for me personally a hard worker is worth ten times any lazybones. But too much hustling and bustling can upset other people. You don’t have to always do everything differently. Many things can simply be left as they have always been.”

  “You sound like you think I’m a permanent pest. Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself,” Flora had said, feeling quite outraged at Hannah’s remark.

  “Oh, child, I just want to give you a little useful advice to take with you,” Hannah had replied. “In Reutlingen, your enthusiasm did not just make you friends. When we came to fetch you, Mrs. Gruber said she was happy she no longer had to hear a thousand ideas from you every single day.” Hannah had looked up fondly from the iron to her daughter. “There’s a difference between working hard and being a know-all. If you’re clever, you’ll take a step back and watch how the Sonnenscheins do things for a while. And even if the way they do things is not always to your taste, well, keep that to yourself. You are the newcomer, and you have to get used to your new surroundings, not the other way around. Believe me, I’ve been through it myself . . .”

  But surely her mother would have no objections if she just went out to pick a few flowers, would she?

  Flora leaped out of bed.

  At nine o’clock, with breakfast behind them, Kuno Sonnenschein and his new apprentice went into the store. Finally.

  Her new workplace! Her first day! Hannah could hardly wait to get her hands on something. She put the present she had brought with her—a parcel of flower seeds—on a shelf to one side and looked around expectantly.

  The shop was bigger than she’d imagined from seeing it from the outside on her first visit in January. While there was only one front window, it was large and divided into three panes. It was also rather dirty, and so densely plastered with handwritten notes and handbills that most of the morning sunlight was blocked.

  Flora frowned. Wouldn’t it be better to get rid of all of that and put a few flowerpots in the window?

  Beside the window was the door, also with panes of glass, over which hung a doorbell. When Kuno opened the door, the bell tinkled melodiously. How charming, Flora thought, and she smiled and breathed in deeply. With the door open, a little more light streamed in with the fresh air from outside.

  Opposite the front door and large window, the shop counter stretched across the entire breadth of the sales room. Flora ran her hand over the decades-old wood, felt its grooves, saw the stains left behind by water and flowers—it felt warm and full of life. She pushed aside a few small bulbs and leaves, no doubt left over from the day before.

  There was the long counter, two chairs behind it, a large cupboard to the right of the door that opened into the hall that connected the shop with the Sonnenscheins’ house, shelves on all the other walls, a few small tables topped by potted plants—and that was the extent of the furnishings. Most of the space was taken up by buckets all around the counter, with rhododendrons, viburnum, some green stems and foliage, carnations, and pale yellowish roses. The selection of flowers was not particularly broad, Flora thought. And it didn’t smell terribly good in there, either. She screwed up her nose and quickly located the cause of the bad odor: the cut flowers urgently needed fresh water.

  “So? Is it how you imagined it would be?” Kuno stood in the front doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, unmistakable pride in his voice. “There never used to be any flower shops like mine here. Twenty years ago, Josef Kuttner—his shop is down on the corner of the Promenade—and I were the first to take the risk. When I was young, people used to go to the farmers directly or to a nursery if they wanted flowers. Or they cut them in their own garden. But then the municipal authorities started buying the land that belonged to the nurseries and using it for shops and business buildings, and the nurseries moved out to the countryside. People didn’t want to go all the way out to the country just to buy a few flowers. That was when I saw my opportunity.”

  Flora nodded, impressed. “We don’t have a single florist at home in Gönningen. Not yet, at least. It’s so lovely here!” Flora lifted one hand, her gesture taking in the entire shop. “I like your shop much more than Maison Kuttner. When Sabine and I walked past there yesterday evening, we couldn’t see any flowers at all because of all the porcelain and silverware and whatnot. It all looked so terribly congested.” At the same time, she thought, a little more of everything certainly would not hurt this place—everything looked so sparse, somehow.

  Kuno shrugged. “Josef Kuttner’s customers seem to like all that. But the people who come here don’t have the money for that kind of thing.”

  The old man looked so dejected that Flora felt obliged to cheer him up. She trotted outside to collect what she had picked early that morning and deposited by the front door.

  Kuno gaped at the huge bundle of greenery and wildflowers that Flora laid on the counter. “You’ve already been out this morning? Well, whoever trains you in the future will be happy to have someone with that kind of enthusiasm, I’m sure.”

  Flora was puzzled. What did he mean by “whoever trains you in the future”?

  “Now don’t look so surprised. Friedrich told me about your little secret.” Kuno gave Flora’s hand a fatherly pat.

  Little secret? “What . . . what did your son say, exactly?” Flora croaked.

  “Not much, really. He said that you’re due to start a real floristry apprenticeship in Reutlingen this coming autumn. But that your parents fear that you lack the necessary, let’s say, manual dexterity, and you want to get some practice in the basics first. Of course, I’m only too happy to help, but . . .” The fleeting smile that had appeared on his face disappeared and he looked even more concerned than before. “My customers tend to buy just one or two flowers at a time. Very few of them can afford a proper bouquet. Looking at it like that, you could probably learn more at Maison Kuttner. Also, I’m a little wobbly at the knees these days—not that I’d make a big thing of it, God forbid.” He let out a hefty, sudden sneeze, dug in his pocket for a handkerchief, and dabbed at his nose and eyes.

  Slowly, Flora realized w
hat had happened. Hadn’t Friedrich mentioned in January how stubborn his old father could be? And that he accepted help only with the greatest reluctance? Apparently, Friedrich had resorted to a trick: rather than convince his father that he needed help, he had convinced him to help someone else—Flora. She had not thought that Friedrich Sonnenschein would do something like that.

  “Well, I must say I’m very grateful for the opportunity to be able to look over your shoulder a little,” she said stiffly, but then she blurted, “Oh, you have no idea how happy I am to be allowed to work here! Just to think, the first customer could come in at any moment.”

  “Well, these things take time. First things first. Let’s get what you’ve picked into some water.” He lifted the bundle from the counter. “What in the world is all this? And where did you get it?” He scrutinized the feathery-looking, branching stems of one plant in particular.

  “Don’t they smell wonderful? I thought a bouquet would smell just as lovely if we bound some of that into it . . . wouldn’t it?” Suddenly, Flora was no longer so sure of herself. The scent of the strange flowers made her nose tickle.

  And it seemed to have the same effect on Kuno, too, because he sneezed again.

  “And this one? I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Oh my, what have you brought us here?” he mumbled into his handkerchief.

  “Unusual, aren’t they?” Flora smiled as she looked over the branches with the tiny flowers that she had cut from a bush. They were quite distinctive, and had cocoon-like balls attached to the stems. Were there flowers maturing inside? “I just went for a walk through the meadows beside Lichtenthaler Allee. There are so many strange plants there. Trees with red bark, and bushes unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I really just wanted to pick a few daisies, but I soon forgot all about that.”

  Kuno smiled. “Ah, I see. Lichtenthaler Allee is like a gigantic botanical garden. In the last twenty years, Monsieur Benazét—he was the leaseholder of the casino—spent a great deal of money having exotic trees, shrubs, and flowers brought in from all over the world and planted along there. Although I’m fairly sure he did not intend for you to come along and cut them all down. Let’s hope no one saw you, or we could find ourselves in trouble.”

  Flora suddenly felt a little wobbly at her own knees. All she had wanted to do was help, and she had done it all wrong!

  Kuno placed the spoils of Flora’s plundering in a bucket of water. “Come, come. You couldn’t have known. I, for one, would be very happy to have you pick flowers for the shop in the future, too. But please, just the usual kinds. You know, when I was younger I used to go out collecting in the meadows myself. The only problem was that while I was out wandering across the fields and floodplains, the shop stayed closed. And the customers here are not the kind inclined to wait in front of a closed door.”

  “But—” Flora had been on the verge of saying that one could go out early in the morning. Or that the woman of the house could have looked after the shop. She stopped herself, though, afraid of offending him.

  Instead, she picked up the parcel of seeds she had brought with her and placed it on the counter. “My father says that in case you don’t get all your flowers from Flumm’s Nursery and you grow some of your own, then these seeds might be welcome.”

  Kuno tried to answer, but his words were lost in a bout of coughing.

  My God, the man is really not well at all, Flora thought. She looked on with concern as Kuno lowered himself onto a chair, and in a short while his coughing subsided and he was able to examine the parcel of seeds.

  “Zinnia, lobelia, poppy—so many different kinds! Your father is a generous man, and I will write him a thank-you letter today.” He looked out the window then, pondering. “Maybe I really should try my own flower beds again . . . You know, until the year before last, I had rows and rows of flowers in the garden out back. For a city garden, it’s quite large. They were beautiful to look at, and much cheaper than having them delivered. But last year I was hit by a bad cold just when I should have been pricking out my seedlings to give them more room—it was frustrating, I don’t mind telling you. Now the flower beds are overgrown with weeds.” He shrugged. “Well, Mr. Flumm has to earn a living, too. By the way, he comes every Mo . . . Monday, and . . .” His last words were swallowed by wheezing, and he whipped out his handkerchief and spat into it.

  Flora turned and looked at the various buckets of flowers. They had been delivered only the day before? They looked very tired for being only a day in the shop.

  “Heavens above, there must be something in the air today. But enough of that!” said Kuno, resolutely stuffing his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Maybe you’d be interested in helping me lay out a decent flower bed? I’m sure you’d learn quite a lot in the process.”

  Flora groaned to herself. She had not traveled to Baden-Baden to grub around in the earth again. “And what about my training here in the shop?” she asked delicately.

  “Your training, yes . . . well, why don’t we start with you just watching how I do things for a while?”

  At that, Flora nodded eagerly.

  “Before you start, make sure you have everything you need for the job at hand. The flowers, the greenery, various scissors, raffia for tying. Once you’ve started a bouquet, you won’t want to put it down just because you can’t find the scissors you need or because the binding wire is still in the drawer.” As he spoke, he began placing flowers together.

  “A bouquet has to look attractive from every side. And it is important to make sure everything is bound tightly—so better a little more greenery than too little. You start with one flower in the center, you see. Like this. And then you work around it in a circle. Of course, you have to think ahead about how you want to arrange the flowers within the bouquet.”

  Enthralled, Flora watched as Kuno combined a variety of flowers and greenery into a perfectly formed bouquet. It certainly looked different from her impulsively picked and assembled bunches.

  “Is that bouquet meant for a particular customer?”

  “Well, it could be given to someone on their birthday, but it could as easily grace a dinner table for a fine meal. It would be just as good for a young woman as for a more mature lady. Of course, there are special occasions for which a hand-tied bouquet like this really is not what you want. When . . .” Kuno furrowed his brow, as if he was having trouble thinking of a suitable example. “When a man, for example, wants to give flowers to an actress at the theater. After the show, you know? The good lady would not want to be hidden away behind a ball of flowers, of course. She’d much rather use the flowers to complement her own allure! For that, I would tie a sheaf bouquet, which can be carried over the arm.” He plucked a handful of carnations from a bucket and began to arrange them over each other in a staggered pattern. Then he trimmed off the overlong stems and laid the bouquet across the crook of Flora’s arm.

  Flora tried to catch her reflection in the window. “It’s amazing. The effect is completely different, isn’t it?”

  Kuno nodded appreciatively. “That’s the art of it. You must look at the flowers you have and see what you can do with them and what not. With carnations, you have quite a few options, but with long-stemmed flowers like roses or lilies, for example, you can’t tie them into a perfectly round bouquet. At least, not without using thirty or forty blooms. And who has the money to pay for that?” Kuno stepped in front of the counter and held his hands out toward the buckets. “Flowers for us are like fabric for a seamstress. A seamstress would not even consider sewing a headscarf out of heavy velvet, right? She’d probably choose a light linen.”

  Flora beamed at her teacher. Thank you, Mama, Papa. Thank you for letting me come here!

  But her smile quickly gave way to horror when Kuno untied the raffia around his bouquet. The flowers and greenery dropped onto the counter, and one of the carnations snapped off at the top of its stem. Why was he destroying his creation?

  Kuno pointed to the tangle
of flowers on the workbench.

  “Your turn. We want your future floristry masters in Reutlingen to be happy with your work, don’t we?”

  Chapter Eleven

  The training for the day was over by ten in the morning—and Kuno was already at the end of his strength. When Flora’s bouquet looked almost identical to his own, an achievement that seemed to take him by surprise, he opened a newspaper and told Flora to look around the shop and learn where everything was. Flora had not even opened the first drawer when Kuno was racked by an attack of coughing.

  “A glass of water,” he gurgled, “and I’ll be fine.” His face had turned as red as fire.

  Flora held out the requested glass of water to him, but all Kuno could do was hold on to the counter tightly. His knuckles were white with the strain.

  “Mr. Sonnenschein? What’s the matter?” Flora frantically opened the front door and used the newspaper to fan some fresh air over him, but he seemed to be getting worse by the second.

  Flora supported him under both arms and pulled him onto a chair.

  “I’m coming right back!” she cried, and she ran through the doorway that led into the hallway.

  Mrs. Sonnenschein. Or Sabine. They would know what to do. Or should she send for a doctor right away?

  In the hallway, she spotted a shadow on the stair landing. “Mrs. Sonnenschein, your husband! He . . . he can’t breathe—” In her excitement, Flora began to cough herself.

  Drawn by Flora’s cries, Sabine now appeared at the kitchen door. “It’s probably just the muggy weather,” she said.

  “The weather, yes,” said Ernestine, too. “I’m feeling rather queasy myself. Sabine, could you . . . ?

  Sabine wiped her hands on a small towel and sighed. “Let’s get the master into the house. Flora, can you give me a hand?”