The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  OTHER NOVELS

  BY LINDA LEE CHAIKIN

  SILK HOUSE SERIES (FRENCH HUGUENOTS)

  Daughter of Silk

  Written on Silk

  EAST OF THE SUN SERIES (SOUTH AFRICA)

  Tomorrow’s Treasure

  Yesterday’s Promise

  Today’s Embrace

  THE MIDWIFE OF ST. PETERSBURG

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  A division of Random House Inc.

  All Scripture quotations and paraphrases, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright ©1982 by Thomas Nelson Inc. Used by permission.

  All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2007 by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Published in association with the literary agency of Janet Kobobel Grant, Books & Such, 4788 Carissa Avenue, Santa Rosa, CA 95405.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  WATERBROOK and its deer design logo are registered trademarks of WaterBrook Press, a division of Random House Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Chaikin, L. L., 1943–

  The midwife of St. Petersburg : a novel / Linda Lee Chaikin. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-49946-2

  1. Midwives—Fiction. 2. Soviet Union—History—Revolution, 1917–1921—Fiction.

  I. Title.

  PS3553.H2427M53 2007

  813′.54—dc22

  2007000454

  v3.1

  In memory of my husband’s grandparents,

  Julius and Sarah Chaikin,

  who came to New York’s Ellis Island from Russia

  at the turn of the century

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One One: The Challenge

  Two: The Promised Guest

  Three: Stolen Hearts

  Four: The Starets

  Five: Disenchantment

  Part Two Six: The Secret Meeting

  Seven: The Black Carriage

  Eight: Doctor’s Assistant

  Nine: Troubling News

  Ten: Trouble, to Be Sure

  Eleven: Winds of Change

  Twelve: Okhrana’s Arrival

  Thirteen: HaMashiach

  Fourteen: Papa Josef’s Plan

  Fifteen: Questions

  Sixteen: Cat and Mouse

  Seventeen: New Life

  Eighteen: Separation

  Nineteen: Danger!

  Twenty: The Winter Palace

  Twenty-One: Assassination

  Twenty-Two: Lost in the Crowd

  Twenty-Three: Secrets

  Twenty-Four: Lifting the Mask

  Twenty-Five: A Reconciliation

  Twenty-Six: On the Run

  Twenty-Seven: A Door Opens

  Twenty-Eight: The Charity Tent

  Twenty-Nine: Endings and Beginnings

  About the Author

  Part One

  “For I know the plans I have for you …”

  JEREMIAH 29:11, NIV

  ONE

  The Challenge

  June 1914, Kazan

  Newly promoted Colonel Aleksandr Kronstadt stood on the terrace of the Roskov summerhouse holding his crystal glass and watching yellow, blue, and purple painted boats ply up and down the waterway of Kazan. The sight offended his disciplined nature. Whoever heard of a purple boat? Who would want one? He supposed the same citizens of Kazan who painted their houses red with green roofs.

  Alex smiled to himself and looked toward the slopes of the high western bank and saw the twilight veil of indigo shadow. All in all, his holiday in Kazan with the Roskovs was pleasant enough, but if the truth were known, he’d much rather be in St. Petersburg with his regiment. He’d captained one of the most elite Imperial Cavalry groups in the czar’s special military forces. And now …

  He frowned and drummed his fingers on the terrace rail.

  The summer night was clear, the stars like diamonds, as bright and glittering as the diamonds in Tatiana’s blue-black hair—diamonds he could not afford, even if he was the adopted son of the renowned Countess Olga Shashenka, who had married his father. He looked across the terrace toward Tatiana, General Roskov’s daughter. He and many others considered her a beautiful woman, and tonight, seeing her with her hair pinned up, diamonds glimmering, and gowned in cream satin tulle for the grand musical to be presented later, he should be content. In all likelihood, she would become his wife. He refused a frown that tested his brow. He raised his glass and tasted the drink. Like everything in the Roskov household, it was exceptional. He ought to be content. He watched Tatiana. She stood across from him, chatting and smiling with several of her guests, yet one more thing in his life that contradicted who he really was.

  His restless gaze swept the river. Everything about Kazan, including his two-week stay with the Roskovs, seemed a gaudy display that threatened to overwhelm him as surely as the mist would soon engulf the misfit boats when it settled over the waterway.

  Alex was not especially troubled about Tatiana, although it seemed to him that she had changed recently. Or had he? The change in Tatiana that irritated him most happened to be a religious one—but he wouldn’t think about that now. He did not care to grow angry.

  Issues other than the general’s daughter hounded him. He had received a letter that morning from his Kronstadt cousin in New York. Mikhail, or rather Michael, since his cousin had chosen the American spelling, had left the Russian Orthodox Church to enroll in an independent Bible seminary. Independent—an interesting word. Alex repeated it to himself. The letters Michael wrote to him—more like journals, Alex thought—discussed Christ and biblical doctrines and declared how pleased Michael was to be an independent American, free to study the Bible as never before.

  Alex was surprised to find himself somewhat envious of his cousin’s confidence in his relationship with God, as well as his new citizenship. Michael had tried to talk him into leaving Russia with him three years ago, but Alex had refused, feeling responsible for his twin Sokolov cousins and the countess, to whom he owed much. She had asked him to remain loyal to Imperial Russia, and he had. Even so, there were times, such as tonight, when he felt smothered by expectations not his own and wished he could transport himself into Michael’s New York flat.

  Independent. Yes, a very intriguing word.

  Just an hour ago, he’d learned from his future father-in-law, General Viktor Roskov, that he had been promoted, forced from his prized elite command in order to serve in a special unit of the czar’s secret police, the Okhrana. All against his will.

  He blamed Tatiana and her mother, Madame Zofia, for meddling to further his career. Instead of joining his regiment at the front, he would be stationed in St. Petersburg at the Winter Palace. With war certain to erupt any day, leaving his cavalry regiment for dull police activity felt like a betrayal. Despite his feelings on the matter, there seemed little he could do to change the general’s mind, unless he could convince the countess to exert her influence. The countess, however, remained at her summer retreat in the Cr
imea. He planned to see her later in the year at her winter residence in St. Petersburg, but by then, his regiment would already have ridden into Poland with a new commander.

  “Well, Colonel Kronstadt, congratulations.”

  Alex turned from his view of the misty, moonlit river to find Captain Karl Yevgenyev standing a few feet away. He wore a dress uniform much like Alex’s, the white uniform coat ablaze with shiny buttons, the trousers black with a thin white stripe down each leg.

  Yevgenyev was tall, slim, and dangerous. His blond hair was wavy, closely clipped on the sides, and he carried himself with strict military bearing. Tonight, Yevgenyev looked as if he was on a hunt for trouble and smelled blood.

  This is all I need. Alex’s irritation made him tense. He disliked the ambitious officer, the spoiled son of an Okhrana official, and the feeling was mutual. They had been competitors since cadet school. Unfortunately, Yevgenyev’s father commanded Major-General Durnov, to whom Alex would now report.

  Yevgenyev’s gaze burned. He was undoubtedly jealous of Alex’s promotion, as well as the news of his impending engagement to Tatiana.

  Alex felt Tatiana appear at his side, looping her arm through his. She, too, must have recognized Yevgenyev’s bitter mood.

  The sight of Tatiana holding possessively to Alex’s arm only heightened Yevgenyev’s anger. Alex could easily read the cold rage in his light eyes.

  “A mere landowner’s son is unworthy of the honor given you, Kronstadt.” Yevgenyev’s voice was thick with his favorite drink, vodka.

  Tatiana gasped.

  Alex smiled and challenged his gaze. “You use the term ‘landowner’s son’ as if you consider it an insult. I consider it an honor, for it is the middle-class merchant growers of Russia who feed the czar’s soldiers while the titled feed their egos by dueling and having their fathers safeguard them from justified courts-martial.”

  Yevgenyev flushed. He had fought many duels in St. Petersburg and been protected from reprimand by his father. He took a step toward Alex, arm raised, and Alex swiftly grabbed his wrist.

  “You’ve been drinking, Karl. And your foolish behavior in front of Miss Roskova is quite boring. If you were as smart as you think you are, you’d go home to bed.”

  Yevgenyev jerked his arm free, his eyes coldly furious as he confronted Tatiana. “What you see in this merchant-planter’s son is beyond understanding. My father will speak to yours, and you will come to see that Kronstadt does not deserve you.”

  “You are making a spectacle of us both, Karl,” she hissed. “Do as Alex says and go home.”

  “I demand a duel, Kronstadt. We shall see which of us is man enough for military honors.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Karl,” Alex said.

  “You’re a coward. You see, Tatiana? He fears me. He will not duel as a gentleman must when insulted.”

  General Viktor Roskov’s bulk appeared in the ballroom entryway. “What is the difficulty?” he called.

  “I think this man is an imposter,” Captain Yevgenyev replied distinctly, his eyes on Alex. “He is not a military man of courage and honor, for he will not duel me. He is a coward.”

  General Roskov turned sharply. “Captain Yevgenyev, this is despicable and outrageous behavior—”

  A servant passed with a tray of wine glasses. Yevgenyev snatched a glass of purple wine and threw it in Alex’s face.

  Liquid ran down the collar of Alex’s uniform. He heard Tatiana’s cry and the general’s shocked intake of breath. A murmur of voices gained volume as guests came out on the terrace to see what was happening. Alex’s pristine white jacket was stained as though from a sword thrust.

  Remain calm, he told himself. His fist itched to connect with Karl’s front teeth. Remember whose house you’re in. A man can bear an insult to safeguard others. He saw Madame Zofia take her daughter’s arm and pull her behind General Roskov as though fearing a brawl.

  Alex calmly removed a white linen napkin from the nearby refreshment table and wiped his face. He folded it neatly and placed it back on the table, aware that all eyes were upon him. Beneath his calm reserve, he could have killed Karl at that moment.

  “You see?” Captain Yevgenyev said in a firm voice. “The new Colonel Kronstadt is a coward.”

  “This is contemptible, Captain Yevgenyev. You’re drunk,” the general said angrily. “Leave my premises at once. You can be assured I will speak to your father first thing in the morning.”

  Yevgenyev appeared not to hear the general. “Well, Colonel?”

  “I accept your challenge to a duel,” Alex said, “but not here and now. General Roskov speaks well; you are drunk. I will not have your father accuse me before court of taking advantage of an intoxicated man.”

  Yevgenyev gritted his teeth. “Name the day and hour.”

  “One month from this day at twelve noon in St. Petersburg.”

  Yevgenyev’s hard mouth turned into a cruel smile. He picked up another glass of wine from the tray of the astounded servant, toasted Alex with mockery, then tossed it down in a gulp. He set the glass aside, clicked his heels in a short bow, and strode from the terrace.

  A murmur of voices followed.

  Alex smothered his frustration in silence.

  General Roskov walked up to him, his face grave. “Count Yevgenyev is the one at fault. His temperament has been fully passed on to his son. I’m sorry it’s come to this. Karl is an expert dueler. I’ll speak to his father. Maybe we can stop it.”

  Alex knew nothing could stop it. “I’d better go up to my room and change.”

  General Roskov shook his head with disgust, then went into the ballroom.

  As Alex was about to leave the terrace, Tatiana came to his side and put her hand on his arm.

  “Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have invited him. I almost didn’t, but he and his family are in a high social stratum, and both Mother and I agreed we couldn’t ignore him. Oh, good—Mother’s gone to the orchestra leader and asked him to start the music early. A waltz should get everyone’s mind off what happened, at least for a short time.

  “Oh, that’s a splendid waltz, isn’t it?” Tatiana continued. “So beautiful. It comes from London. I forget the name of it.” She looked at the stain on Alex’s jacket. “Oh dear, I really can’t expect you to accompany me now, can I? That jacket looks as if you’re wounded—” Her hand went to her mouth, and her dark eyes widened. “Oh, that sounded awful.”

  They were alone on the terrace. The night had deepened, and the moon gleamed above the river. Boat lights shone in colors of blue, green, and red all along the waterway.

  Alex heard the music, the symphonic sounds meant for love, for grand themes, and for virtue. He looked at Tatiana and considered his emotions. She was beautiful, but her inability to appreciate the shame and depth of what had just occurred turned his heart as cold as the steel pistols he and Karl would aim at each other in St. Petersburg.

  Alex lifted Tatiana’s hand from his arm and held it. “I’ll be back down as soon as I’ve changed. Then we can waltz.”

  Tatiana smiled, squeezed his hand, and disappeared into the glittering ballroom.

  Alex climbed the staircase to his room, his steps heavy with his thoughts.

  As the steamer moved up the Volga River, Karena Peshkova decided that Kazan was as exotic as Cousin Tatiana had written. In Karena’s vivid imagination, the river ran like a silvery ribbon, stretching between their big steamer and the western banks. She gazed at rows of colorfully painted ships and houseboats with black hulls and yellow roofs.

  With the promise of many entertainments ringing in her ears, Karena and her sister Natalia had left Kiev for a two-week holiday at the Roskov family summer residence in the prosperous port town of Kazan. Tatiana had written that her mother planned a lavish “water ball” aboard a large ship, boasting a thousand colored lanterns and an orchestra. Karena and Natalia had brought their best gowns, dancing slippers, and jewelry, though they feared they would appear simple and plain in com
parison to Aunt Zofia and Tatiana, who were accustomed to entertaining nobility. Aunt Zofia even knew the Czarina Alexandra Romanova.

  Natalia joined Karena on deck as the steamer neared port. Karena noticed with satisfaction that her sister’s mood had improved since their departure from Kiev.

  Natalia was worried about Boris, her young man in Kiev. She had expected to marry him in the coming spring, but the growing certainty of war with Germany had put an end to their dreams. The Peshkov and Gusinsky families would not hear of their daughter and son marrying before Boris went off to the front.

  “This will be a delightful interlude,” Karena had told her sister. “For two weeks, we’re going to put aside our personal worries and enjoy ourselves.” For Karena, it was not worries over the coming war, but whether she would again be denied entry to the Imperial College of Medicine and Midwifery at St. Petersburg this September. This was her third try. If she was turned down, it could mean the end of the dream she’d nourished since she was a small girl.

  Karena was already over twenty, well past the usual age of marriage, and it would be impossible to hold off the wishes of her family any longer, should she be turned down again.

  “The coming war hasn’t dampened Tatiana’s love affair,” Natalia said, obviously comparing their cousin’s situation to her own. “She wishes to become engaged to the dashing Captain Aleksandr Kronstadt before the war begins.”

  “That doesn’t mean Aunt Zofia and Uncle Viktor will allow it,” Karena said. She remembered a photograph Tatiana had sent of herself and her beau at a winter’s skating party in St. Petersburg. Kronstadt was one of those rugged Imperial officers who looked dashing in either dress uniform or war-stained battle gear. He was in Kazan, visiting the Roskovs, so Karena and Natalia would be able to meet him.

  “Tatiana seems to think her father approves.” Natalia sighed. “Tatiana is always the lucky one. She wears diamonds, owns wardrobes created in Paris, and no doubt will have her love match with Captain Kronstadt, and his mother will give them a honeymoon in the Crimea.”