The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “Where is Ivanna?” Her voice broke with low urgency.

  Sergei glanced about the group on the green. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Karena read a shadow of disappointment that flicked across his face. “I don’t see her yet.”

  “Sergei! You are certain she is coming?”

  “How can I be certain of anything?” he hissed.

  “You usually are.” She smiled wryly.

  “She was supposed to be here. I’ve no reason to trick you.”

  Karena, however, knew he was always trying to talk her into joining his revolutionary friends.

  “In his letter, Lenski said Ivanna was coming with him from St. Petersburg. Maybe she’s just late—you know women. She may have decided to remain at the house where they’re staying, with a headache or something. We’ll just need to wait and ask Lenski after his talk.”

  Karena swallowed a lump of disappointment. She was not interested in Lenski’s harangue against the czar. Perhaps Ivanna had not come to Kiev after all. Her plans might have changed.

  Despite her deflated mood, Karena surveyed the crowd hoping to see a woman whom Sergei earlier described as having auburn hair and a sophisticated demeanor. If Ivanna were here, though, she should have noticed Sergei and joined him.

  Karena looked at her brother. His broad, handsome face, tanned by long days in the family wheat fields, glistened with perspiration. His gaze was fixed on Lenski, whose rhetoric boiled with volcanic intensity.

  Worried, she began looking about to see who was here and whether they posed any danger. She discovered the usual people she’d gone to school with, plus a few strangers, probably from the more populous districts of Kiev. The throng contained mostly men, though at least a dozen women were scattered among them, many Karena’s age. Many of these women would soon be leaving the farming village to work in the large factories of Moscow and St. Petersburg.

  The young men stood with their arms folded across sweat-stained bushka shirts, nodding in agreement with Lenski. Several older men from the Odessa region were scowling; one formed a calloused fist and smashed it against his other palm. Sometimes they looked at one another in agreement as a babble of voices broke out in anger.

  “That’s right,” Sergei called out.

  “Yes, yes,” another shouted.

  Karena grew more uncomfortable, though no one appeared to notice her, their attention riveted on the speaker. She tried to think of something else and noticed the young woman, Anna.

  Anna lived with her brother and his wife in a peasant bungalow on Peshkov land and worked with the other women in the fields. Did her brother know she was here alone at the protest? It was a well-known secret that Sergei had been seeing Anna all summer, despite his more serious interest in Ivanna. Anna did not appear to notice Karena, or was it that she had eyes only for Sergei?

  Karena did not recall Anna ever displaying interest in revolutionary ideas, but perhaps she came tonight with the hope of impressing Sergei with her new show of intellectualism.

  Karena worried about Anna. She was well into her pregnancy, and though Sergei denied he was the father, Karena was not convinced. Papa Josef did not know, but Madame Yeva did, though no decision as yet had been made concerning Anna’s future or the child’s.

  As she looked back toward Lenski, Karena’s gaze tumbled upon a man standing in the shadows on the outer edge of the crowd. Had he been watching her? She did not recognize him; the hat tipped low on his forehead obscured his face.

  He turned away, reaching inside his battered bushka. He took out a cigarette, turned his shoulder toward her, and struck a match, cupping it in his hand.

  Karena looked around. Lenski’s verbal blows grew muffled and distant as her mind took shelter from the raw and harsh and focused on the awe-inspiring expanse of night sky. For a curious moment, the full moon appeared to be suspended above the cross on the Russian Orthodox Church of St. Andrew across the street. It captured her emotions and, for a reason she could not explain, suggested rest and peace, yet both were out of her reach. Sadness drenched her soul as she recalled holy days spent with her family at that church. She’d found little there that revealed God.

  Karena checked to see if the stranger was still there. He was. She noticed something vaguely curious about the way he stood. It seemed he might be a soldier, but that could hardly be—unless he dared to show up at a meeting such as this. Of course, he could not show up here in uniform. He’d be placed before a firing squad. Unless he was supposed to be here—but that was silly. Her imagination was running away with her. Sergei had sworn the authorities knew nothing of this meeting, so there could not be any soldiers here.

  He turned his head in her direction again; she looked away.

  Is he one of the friends who came with Lenski from St. Petersburg?

  Just then, another latecomer walked up from the street. He looked older, sober faced, with a mustache and short beard—

  Dr. Dmitri Zinnovy. What was he doing here?

  He was the last person she would have suspected of collaboration with the Bolsheviks. Why would someone of his prominence risk an appearance here tonight when his medical reputation had come to the favorable attention of the czarina?

  He was known to take long evening walks. Perhaps he’d merely wandered here out of curiosity after noticing the torches and gathered group. That he was in Kiev was not unusual, for he came each year on a work of medical charity, but she’d never seen him before in the village. Through the years, he’d developed a special program with medical practitioners who lacked a full medical degree and worked among the peasants. He held lectures and arranged for medical supplies to be brought to the wilderness regions of Siberia.

  Once a year, Madame Yeva sent Karena on the half-day trip to Kiev to the Zinnovy warehouse for supplies, granted because of her past studies at the Imperial College of Medicine and her work in the village.

  On one of those visits, Karena had seen the renowned doctor with several practitioners from the frozen regions of Siberia. Dr. Zinnovy was a handsome man, always wearing a black frock coat, a white shirt, and round, rimless spectacles. He would watch the supplies being loaded onto the wagons of those eligible, but he did not speak. She remembered he had an excellent memory, for he knew who she was.

  Had he seen her now? Would he recognize her? If he did, what would it mean, if anything?

  Lenski’s voice cracked like thunder—“Ten years at a work camp in the Urals was not enough to satisfy the czar! Professor Chertkov was hanged, yes, hanged!”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. “Our Professor Chertkov, hanged?”

  “Yes,” Lenski shouted, “that gentle and decent elderly intellectual was murdered by the czar and his henchmen. And during the professor’s agony, no doubt the czarina—that foreigner, that German—entertained Rasputin, a debauched drinker of spirits and adulterer, in her gold and satin parlor, eating dainties. She cares nothing for the ordinary Russian people! And what was the professor’s crime? He called for justice for the factory workers in St. Petersburg. Men and women just like you labor eighteen hours a day for mere coins! While she hand-feeds Rasputin with sweets, the workers can barely afford to buy a loaf of bread for their children. But the czarina entertains her lapdog Rasputin with German chocolates.”

  The crowd’s murmur swelled like a wave of the sea.

  Those trying to get closer to Lenski jostled Karena. For one of the few times in their lives, they were hearing someone voice their frustrations—their growing anger with the Imperial autocracy.

  Karena shot a glance at her brother. Sergei’s face revealed his intense concentration. His eyes sparked and alarmed her. Karena could see how this flood of enraged speech shared by hundreds of thousands of Russians could become a tidal wave, drowning the land in violence.

  Sergei unbuttoned his shirt collar, tossed his bushka over his shoulder, and raised a fist of support to Lenski.

  The wind rushed through the trees on the college square and whipped her long red and
white skirt about her ankles.

  “Down with Policeman Grinevich!” snarled a voice from the throng. “He’s the one to blame for the professor’s arrest.”

  “Grinevich is a murderer!” another voice shouted.

  “Yes! A murderer who hides behind a gendarme’s uniform!”

  “Down with Grinevich! Down with the czar!”

  Sergei pushed forward toward the platform, and Karena caught his sleeve to stop him, but it slipped through her desperate fingers.

  “No, Sergei,” she cried.

  Sergei leaped up onto the wooden harvest boxes beside his friend. Lenski laughed, slapped him on the back, and beckoned him to speak.

  Karena’s nails dug into her palms.

  “It is Grinevich who has terrorized us in this town,” Sergei called. “How many of your friends have been beaten senseless by his thugs? How many accused of crimes they did not commit?”

  “Too many!”

  Karena saw angry, flushed faces all about her now. Rage was like an epidemic, and it did not take many words to spread the hatred until all were infected.

  She looked across the lawn to see how the stranger was reacting. He was gone. She skimmed her gaze along the perimeter and saw that Dr. Zinnovy had also slipped away.

  “What of old Pavel?” someone called. “Did not Grinevich accuse him of stealing horses? Where is Pavel now, after the beating?”

  “Dead,” the voices called back. “Pavel is dead.”

  “There are too many dead Pavels. Too many dead Professor Chertkovs,” Sergei called back. “Dead because of Grinevich the bribe-taker, Grinevich the thief, Grinevich the murderer!”

  “Down with the swine!”

  Karena pushed her way closer toward the wooden box platform. “Sergei!—”

  But as the throng surged forward, she was squeezed out and pushed back toward the outer edge of the crowd.

  “Lower your voices!” someone called out.

  “Oy!” someone shouted. “Police! Run!”

  Confusion spread quickly, and Karena was overwhelmed by the retreating crowd. “Sergei!”

  “Look! It’s the murderer. Get him! Get him!”

  “Karena! Run!” Sergei’s shout came to her from somewhere ahead.

  People fled into the night, swallowed by inky shadows. Others held their ground and then surged forward, straight for Policeman Grinevich. In the darkness and confusion, it looked to Karena as though Grinevich’s own police had abandoned him to the attackers.

  Karena sought for Sergei but could not see him. Had he escaped?

  Then she saw a group of men surround Grinevich. Though a big man, he was wrestled down to the grass. Fists smashed into him with vengeance. Booted feet kicked. The night breezes carried the sounds of grunts and thuds.

  Karena turned her head, sickened at the sounds. She reacted blindly to the horror, starting toward those who were beating Grinevich, but strong fingers caught hold of her arm and pulled her back across the lawn toward the shadows. She whirled to confront her captor.

  Small, round spectacles gleamed in the moonlight.

  “Dr. Zinnovy!” she gasped.

  “Run into the trees at once, hurry,” he commanded and then disappeared.

  SEVEN

  The Black Carriage

  Dazed, Karena fled into the darkness as police whistles shrieked in the night.

  I should have listened to Ilya. The police would know she’d been present at the gathering tonight. Sergei would not escape detection this time, as he had in St. Petersburg. They could both be detained in Peter and Paul prison.

  She dashed back to the trees where Sergei had tied the horse—

  It was gone. She whirled, scanning the area. Had Sergei escaped and left her?

  No, not Sergei. Her brother was reckless at times, but he’d not leave her in danger.

  She made a quick search in case the horse had wandered, but she knew Sergei would have tied the reins securely.

  She ran back to the road and looked in both directions. Except for the crackling of dry leaves in the little bursts of wind, there was nothing.

  Then, farther down the road came the sound of approaching hoofbeats and the rush of carriage wheels. She stepped back in caution. A moment later, a black carriage stormed into view, the driver in a red cap with a short, dark cloak floating behind. The passenger thrust his head out the window, peering along the road. As the carriage came closer, she saw with a burst of relief that it was Dr. Zinnovy. She stepped to the roadside and lifted her hand. He told the driver to stop and swung open the carriage door. “Quickly, inside.”

  Karena put her foot on the carriage step prepared to climb to safety when policemen burst from the darkened trees.

  “Halt! In the name of the czar!”

  Karena turned her head. Her spirits crashed to the dust. Men she recognized from the local gendarmes bolted toward the carriage.

  She stood still. The horses snorted, and her heart thumped in her ears.

  Leonovich, Policeman Grinevich’s second in command, strode up. His lecherous gaze betrayed his thoughts. “Eh? Well now. So it’s you, Miss Peshkova?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Is there any trouble? If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m in a hurry—”

  “Hold on there, miss. I thought I was chasing down that girlfriend of your troublemaking brother.”

  “Anna? I haven’t seen her since she was working our fields this morning, just as she always does. I’m most certain she’s home with her brother and his wife, eating supper.”

  Dr. Zinnovy leaned out with great bluster. “What is the meaning of this delay, Constable?”

  “Uh, good evening, Dr. Zinnovy, sir. I didn’t know it was you. Mind telling me where you’ve come from?”

  “Certainly not. From my hotel. What’s all this about? A robbery?”

  “There’s been another Bolshie meeting on the college square. Gendarme Grinevich was attacked and beaten. We must question everyone in the vicinity.”

  “Surely I am excluded as a revolutionary,” came the warning voice. “Recently I’ve been called to Tsarskoe Selo to take up residence as a physician to the royal Romanov family.”

  There came a startled hesitancy. “Just so, sir, just so. I plead your pardon. But this young woman was at the meeting. She was seen by one of our policemen.”

  “Surely there’s an error. Miss Peshkova’s been with me, reporting on the medical supervision of the peasants on the Peshkov lands. She left to walk home not more than fifteen minutes ago, but hearing police whistles I rushed here to make sure she was safe. I intend to bring her home to her parents without further delay.”

  “She was with you, Dr. Zinnovy?”

  “She was indeed. Do get in, Miss Peshkova. Schoolmaster Josef will be expecting you.” He leaned out the door and held his hand toward her.

  Karena stepped into the coach, aware the policeman was unable to resist Dr. Zinnovy’s relationship with the Romanovs, at least for the present.

  “Good night, gentlemen. I wish you good fortune in your hunt for the disorderly Bolsheviks.”

  “Yes—Dr. Zinnovy, sir. A good night to you, sir. And to you, Miss Peshkova.”

  “Thank you,” she said, surprised by her own calm.

  The coach door closed after she was securely inside, the horses pulled forward, and in a few minutes, she had left the nightmare behind on the dusty road.

  Karena looked across the seat at Dr. Zinnovy’s grave expression. She heard a breath pass through his lips as he sank back into the coach seat. He removed his spectacles and wiped them with a handkerchief.

  “Unwise, very unwise, Miss Peshkova.”

  “I don’t understand why you helped me, Dr. Zinnovy, but if not for you, I would have been arrested. I am in your debt.”

  He shook his head. “You owe me nothing.”

  She looked at him more astutely. His eyes were blue beneath graying black brows. Twenty years ago, he would have been a very handsome man. He placed his spectacles back on the bridge of h
is nose.

  “You were foolish to go there tonight.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, too polite to mention he’d been there as well.

  “Mr. Lenski is wanted by the secret police. Any connection with him will place you and your family under the highest suspicion.”

  “Yes, I—realize that. However, sir, I am not a Bolshevik.”

  “You would have a most difficult time convincing them. Your brother is reckless. It was most foolish of him to mount the box as he did and begin verbally attacking Policeman Grinevich. What if there’d been a spy in the crowd? Your brother could be arrested and sent to a labor camp.”

  “Which is his argument, Dr. Zinnovy—men should be respected for freedom of speech.”

  “I do not disagree. I mean only to warn you that the Okhrana is aware of him. If you were noticed tonight, despite my bluff with the policeman just now, they will be aware of you also.”

  Has Sergei escaped or is he even now under arrest? And what of Lenski?

  The doctor straightened his glasses. “I do not mean to sound as if I’m intruding, but will you tell me why you were at the assembly tonight?”

  Dr. Zinnovy was a strong, fatherly figure, and she liked him at once. This was her opportunity—if not to ask for his intervention with the Imperial College of Medicine, then at least to show him how much she desired to attend.

  “I went to meet Dr. Lenski’s daughter, Ivanna, a student at your medical college. I believe Dr. Lenski is a friendly colleague of yours. My brother knows Ivanna quite well, having met her in St. Petersburg. I’d written Dr. Lenski asking for her help in gaining admittance to the medical program and thought Ivanna might be bringing me a letter tonight from her mother. Ivanna did not show up. For her sake, I’m relieved she did not.”

  He appeared thoughtful behind his light blue eyes. “Yes, Dr. Lenski and her daughter Ivanna, of course. I know Dr. Lenski well. She was one of my students.”

  Karena smiled. “My mother was as well. In fact, she and Dr. Lenski shared a room at the college. Do you remember my mother, sir? Her name then was Yeva Menkin.”

  He frowned, removing his spectacles and staring at them. Again, he polished them. “Menkin, Menkin … Perhaps … Yes, she was an excellent student. So you wish to follow in her steps, do you?”