The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  The contractions were coming in quick succession now. Sweat poured from her face faster than Anna could wipe it away. Sophia had correctly diagnosed the trouble during the night—the child was large, probably past due, and Katrina’s womb was small. There had already been more bleeding than she liked. But the princess was holding on bravely. Anna had already washed three sets of linens and sent Misha to various of their neighbors in search of new dry ones. Notwithstanding these difficulties, the baby would probably have been born hours ago had it not been for the additional complication of its breech position. The final and most arduous stages of labor had already lasted from daybreak until now, and the loss of blood was gradually telling on Katrina’s stamina. How much more she could take, the old peasant midwife could not tell. She tried to keep her anxieties to herself, and yet knew from the way Anna sought her eyes that her daughter was worried too.

  The day was well advanced. It had to be past the midday hour. Where could the doctor be?

  Yevno had returned about dawn from Akulin, alone. He had been told the physician was nearby, attending to the broken leg of an old peasant man in a village south of Katyk. The mishap had happened when the man was nearly gored by his angry bull. Yevno rested only long enough for something to eat and a pot of fresh hot tea, then set out once more, this time taking Misha with him. If they had to search from farm to farm and door to door, two men were better than one.

  That had been four or five hours ago, and still they had not returned. In her heart Sophia feared that even should all three men come through the door this very minute, it would probably be too late.

  She glanced across the bed at her daughter, herself a grown woman now. Poor Anna was suffering as greatly as the husband or the princess’s mother would if either were here. In their absence, Anna seemed to be carrying the full weight of her noble friend’s life upon her own humble shoulders.

  Suddenly Katrina’s whole body tightened. She sucked in two quick gasps of air, then involuntarily held her breath in agonizing silence, holding herself off her back and clasping Anna’s hand to the very bone. After ten or so seconds she relaxed, but not before a mournful wail escaped her lips.

  “Anna . . . Anna,” she whimpered,” . . . I can’t—”

  But her words were cut short by another scream.

  Oh God, Anna prayed, take care of the princess . . . bring her child out quickly and safely! Comfort her . . . please, Lord!

  As her daughter was silently praying, Sophia’s heart skipped a beat from the dreadful outburst. She had watched over many births, but never one so difficult as this. She leaned forward to check closely.

  “God be praised!” she exclaimed. “The baby has turned. I see the crown of its tiny head!”

  “Does that mean it’s safe now, Mama?” Anna asked.

  “I don’t know, child. We will hope for God’s mercy.”

  “She is still screaming so hard, and looks like she has no strength left.”

  “It is the way of childbirth, Anna.”

  Before she could say more, another shriek came from the bed. A horrified look filled Anna’s eyes. The sound pierced straight through to her heart as if she were feeling every one of her mistress’s pains.

  “She is close now,” said Sophia. “Here, Princess,” she said to Katrina, “bite down on this.” She placed a rolled-up cloth next to Katrina’s mouth. Katrina opened her lips and squeezed down on it with her teeth. “It will help her bear the pain,” she added to Anna.

  Katrina was breathing hard, her face pale and clammy and wet. Her eyes were closed and a look such as Anna had never even imagined filled her face. The pains were coming almost continuously now. Again she cried out, arching halfway up in the bed, grabbing on to the hands of both her peasant nurses with all the strength she still had as she pulled herself forward.

  “Princess,” said Sophia, “you must push now.”

  “I can’t,” moaned Katrina, totally spent.

  Please, dear God, Anna prayed silently, bring this baby safely into the world.

  “Princess, you must!” exhorted Sophia as Anna wiped a wet cloth across Katrina’s brow with her free hand. “After this you will be able to rest for weeks,” added Sophia.

  Katrina moaned, then gritted her teeth together against the cloth, and bore down with all her remaining strength. Anna felt the bones in her hand grind together.

  “Yes . . . praise God! That is good, Princess!” said Sophia, tears of joy beginning to slip down her round cheek.

  The contraction lasted ten or fifteen seconds; then Katrina began to relax and lay back down, breathing deeply, her face relaxing, her jaw slackening. Slowly she opened her eyes a crack, sent a feeble smile glancing in Anna’s direction, then closed her eyes again and lay still. It was the first smile she had given in a long time. She could sense that the birth was near.

  Sophia left the bedside and went to the pot of water still standing over the fire. With a stick she lifted a fresh towel from the boiling pot and held it up to cool enough so she could wring it out, then brought it to the bed. As she pulled back the sheet and laid the towel over Katrina’s lower abdomen, a look of concern crossed her face. Katrina was still bleeding, and the flow seemed to be increasing. But there was nothing Sophia could do to stop it, and the baby had to be birthed.

  “Thank you . . . that feels good,” Katrina murmured.

  “Anna, go wring out some more cloths,” said Sophia. “We must keep the entryway warm.”

  Anna did so. Just as she returned with two fresh towels, another contraction came.

  Katrina winced, bit down, and held her breath. Then suddenly she cried out in a long exclamation of pain. She lurched forward, holding her breath again. By this time Anna had given her mother the hot cloths to apply above the birth passage, and was sitting down again. Katrina held on to her friend’s hands for dear life until the pain began to subside a minute or so later.

  On it went for some time. Between each contraction, Sophia changed the hot towels. In another twenty minutes the contractions were less than a minute apart, and the infant’s head was partially exposed.

  Two more brief pains came, then a pause. Then suddenly a fierce tightening struck Katrina’s entire frame, too ferocious for her even to let out a howl from the pain. Her body lurched forward, and every last ounce of her ebbing strength pushed downward. This time there was no relief. There would be no more contractions. The climax had come and would last as long as it took to bring forth the baby.

  Sophia grabbed the clean white blanket she had reserved for just this purpose and held it under Katrina’s legs.

  It did not take much longer . . . thirty seconds, perhaps forty. At length Katrina let out a long gasp of air as if the last bit of her life had been taken from her, and sank back prostrate in the bed, utterly exhausted and empty.

  The infant lying upon the blanket in Sophia’s hands was still and quiet. “Mama . . . ?” said Anna, not wanting to accept what this might mean.

  But Sophia did not, or perhaps could not, hear. Her entire being was concentrated upon the task at hand. She bent over the flaccid infant, ran her finger through its little mouth, turned it over—rather roughly, Anna thought. Then she slapped its bluish bottom with a strong whack.

  Anna gasped at the suddenness of her mother’s unexpected action. She had never seen Sophia strike a child so harshly.

  But just as suddenly came a tiny high-pitched whimper, the next instant a loud gasping for air, and finally a full-bodied, lusty scream. The baby’s cries were nearly drowned out by Sophia’s, followed in a few moments by Anna’s. Katrina’s baby was alive!

  Sophia cut and bound the infant’s cord, wiped away what she quickly could of the blood and birth film and water, then wrapped the child in the blanket and handed it to Anna, who was standing at her side.

  “Give the baby to your mistress, Anna,” said Sophia. “I want you to be the one to tell her the good news.”

  In awe of what she had witnessed, and in deeper awe of the tin
y life before her, Anna took the small bundle and cradled it in her arms. She could hardly take her eyes from the miniature face, its tiny lips pursed together like a flower bud, quiet now after having so firmly announced its claim to life. Her first thought was how much her nose looked like her mother’s.

  “Princess,” said Anna, “you have a daughter.”

  73

  Anna handed the bundle to Katrina and watched joyously as the princess reached up with feeble arms to take it. Her pale, weary face was radiant with happiness.

  “I am so weak,” she said. “I am afraid I will drop her.”

  “No, you won’t, Princess. I will stay here with you.”

  Anna lifted one of Katrina’s arms to hold it around the baby; and in this manner, with them both supporting the newborn together, Katrina at last beheld her daughter.

  “Oh, Anna,” she exclaimed in a soft, strained voice, “she is beautiful!”

  “Of course, Princess. She is yours. How could she be anything else?”

  “That’s not what I mean, Anna,” smiled Katrina. “Oh . . . can you believe it, Anna—I have a daughter . . . a little baby daughter!”

  “A new little princess who will grow up to be just as fine and beautiful a woman as her mother,” said Anna tenderly.

  “I wish Dmitri could be here.”

  “He will be here soon, Princess.”

  “But, Anna, what if he never received Polya’s message?”

  Above all things, Anna did not want her mistress to be anxious just now. She needed rest, in both body and mind. She tried to divert the conversation back to the baby they held in their arms.

  “Have you decided upon a name for her yet, Princess?” she asked.

  “Yes, and it is none of the silly names we used to talk about.”

  “What is it?” asked Anna excitedly.

  A faint smile flitted across Katrina’s face. “I wish to name her Mariana.”

  “It is beautiful . . . I love it already.”

  “It was a name my mother loved—my grandmother’s name. Mariana Natalia Dmitrievna Remizov.”

  “It is a good Russian name, Princess.”

  “Even my father is sure to like it, but . . .” She paused as her throat tightened momentarily. “Anna, I am so tired. Will you take Mariana?”

  “Of course, Princess. You just rest, and my mother and I will take perfect care of you both.”

  “And when I wake up, Dmitri will be here.”

  “Yes, I am certain he will be.”

  Anna lifted the infant back into her arms, then pulled the blankets and covers up around Katrina. After making her as comfortable as possible, Anna went to join her mother in the kitchen area.

  Sophia poured out two cups of tea, and the two women sat down at the table. Sophia shook her head, all her previous joy at the successful birth dimmed.

  “Anna, it is not good.”

  “What do you mean, Mama? The baby seems fine, the princess is resting . . .” Her hopeful words trailed away, replaced by a deep frown of concern as she watched her mother continue to shake her head.

  “The princess is bleeding,” said Sophia.

  “Is that not normal, Mama? There is always some blood and—”

  “Not only from the tearing of skin, Anna. She is bleeding from inside. I have never seen such a hemorrhage.”

  “Surely there is something you can do.”

  “I have seen even the doctor unable to stop such a flow.”

  “But, Mama—”

  “I think I must go after the priest.”

  “Mama!”

  “Shhh, child!”

  Sophia rose. “I will stop at Polya’s to see the children. And the baby will need a wet nurse. I have a potion here, Anna. When the princess wakes, mix it in some tea and make sure she drinks it all.”

  Anna desperately grabbed her mother’s hand.

  “Mama!”

  “I am sorry, child. I know how you love her. But all we can do for her now is pray.”

  74

  As the door closed behind her mother, Anna gazed down at the baby still nestled in the crook of her arm. She crossed the baby, then herself.

  God had spared this innocent life for its own sake, she thought, and for purposes only He knew. Such was the great mystery of life—only the Father of all knew its intricacies. But no matter what happened, this beautiful child would never be alone—not if Anna could help it.

  What am I thinking? she chided herself. Mama is surely wrong this time. The princess will sleep soundly, and all will be fine. The count will come soon to take his family home.

  The child stirred in Anna’s arms, then let out a tiny sigh. She seemed so content just for these moments, now that her battle to enter the world was behind her. Tiny Mariana was unaware of all the turmoil of life’s cares swirling around her. Several days earlier, Katrina had wondered aloud whether they would ever be happy again. Anna found herself wondering the same about this innocent infant she was holding.

  “Anna,” came a soft voice from across the room.

  Anna laid the sleeping baby in a basket of dry laundry that she and her mother had prepared as a makeshift cradle.

  Imagine, she thought to herself, the noble child’s first sleep among the poor rags of our laundry!

  She walked to her mistress’s side.

  “Anna, I am so warm . . . and wet,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “You have just had a wonderful baby, Princess,” Anna said. “A little bleeding afterward is to be expected.”

  “Are you sure, Anna? I feel so weak.”

  “Of course, Princess,” said Anna cheerily, ignoring the lump in her throat. “I will change the bedclothes so you can go back to sleep.” She stooped down, kissed the princess, then set about the task, not allowing Katrina to see the tears forming in her eyes, nor the red-soaked linens that were put outside the door after they had been replaced with fresh ones.

  As Anna worked, she noticed that the princess was breathing rapidly and shallowly, so she assumed Katrina had gone back to sleep. Five or ten minutes of silence passed. Anna was almost startled when she heard her mistress’s voice again, though it was so soft she had to go to her side and lean down to discern the words.

  “Anna,” she said feebly, “you won’t leave me, will you?”

  “Never, Princess.”

  “Anna, have I ever told you how much I love you . . . that you are more like a sister to me than a servant.”

  “You have not needed to tell me, Princess. I have known.”

  “I always wanted to have a sister, Anna.”

  “I am honored that you would think such of me, Princess.”

  “Anna, would you call me by my name? You have never done so.”

  “Of course.”

  “I want to hear my name from your lips, as if we were friends.”

  “We are friends. The best of friends . . . Katrina.”

  Katrina smiled. It sounded even more precious to her ears than she had thought it would.

  “Thank you, Anna,” she murmured, closing her eyes again. “That is what you shall call me from now on.”

  Even before the words had died out, she was again asleep.

  75

  Anna dozed in the chair next to Katrina’s bed. The baby still slept peacefully atop the laundry. The cottage was quiet.

  Anna awoke with a start when she heard the door open.

  Her mother had returned with the priest. A stab of dread smote her heart. Seeing the priest, attired in his best robes normally reserved for high feast days, brought a sudden immediacy to the reality she had not allowed herself to face. Her mother must have told him the esteemed identity of their suffering guest, accounting both for the robes and his haste in coming to the humble peasant cottage.

  The priest walked to the bed. Anna rose and curtsied respectfully. “Anna Yevnovna,” he said in greeting, with a grave nod of his head, his long gray beard brushing his chest.

  “Father Corygov,” returned Anna.


  The priest looked at the figure lying on the bed. “Ah, so young,” he said, then bowed his head, made the sign of the cross with his hand over her body, and began to chant a prayer. Lord Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon us, sinners all. Gracious Lord, forgive our sins. Most merciful God, Thy will be done, which will have all men to walk before you in holiness of soul and knowledge of the truth. Bestow now upon this, Thy servant, your grace as she . . .

  Katrina half awoke, and without moving opened her eyes slightly to take in the scene, though she did not seem to apprehend its full solemn import.

  “Anna . . .”

  “I am here, Katrina.” Anna stepped forward and took Katrina’s hand. The priest continued his ministrations, almost as if no one else were present in the room with him. Anna understood none of his unctionary words, although the awful truth had begun to dawn on her. Tears silently spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, yet she made no sound. At length Father Corygov dipped his fingers in the small jar of holy water he carried with him for the purpose, and quietly crossed Katrina’s forehead.

  “Do you wish to make a final confession, Princess Katrina Viktorovna?”

  “Yes, Father,” murmured Katrina, her voice scarcely audible.

  “Leave us, Anna,” said the priest.

  “Anna . . .” said Katrina in a tone for the first time almost fearful. With the little remaining strength she possessed, she gripped Anna’s hand in desperation.

  “She will not go far,” said Father Corygov, speaking in a tone that allowed no argument even from a princess.

  Half an hour later, the priest bade them a grim farewell, stopping for a moment before he left to bless and pray for the new baby.

  The afternoon wore on slowly. Sophia left again, returning with a woman from the village to suckle the baby. Anna changed Katrina’s bedclothes again. Alas, they were as red as those she had washed an hour before, and her heart nearly failed her with grief.