The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  She closed her eyes. So he knew about Ivanna. Of course he would. The Okhrana knows everything, as Ilya had put it.

  “Do they? Then why ask me? I know nothing of bright lights and dance clubs in Petrograd,” she said.

  “I’ll ask the questions. Ivanna attends the Imperial Medical College. You did not go to the meeting last night to meet her, to try to gain her support to help you get into the program?”

  She clasped her fingers tightly behind her back. “Did you locate Ivanna? Is that what she told you?”

  “Did you go to meet her last night?”

  She turned away to straighten the books on the shelf, unable to face him. “No.”

  “Did Ilya Jilinsky or anyone in your family attend the meeting?”

  “No.”

  “Did you hear about any friends or neighbors who attended?”

  She thought of Anna. “No.”

  “Are you aware of any persons in your family or among friends who wish to overthrow the Romanovs?”

  “No,” she said, straightening her back.

  She was afraid and infuriated at the same moment. He had her lined up against the wall, and all the time she had a growing feeling he knew she was not speaking truthfully, yet he was going along with what she said, accepting her answers. Where was this leading?

  “Where were you last night between six o’clock and ten?”

  She whirled to face him. He watched her with affected indifference. She knew she must be showing emotions of misery and defiance all at once. She lifted her chin and folded her arms. Now she had him.

  “Why, I was with Dr. Dmitri Zinnovy. He’s returned to St. Petersburg, but he can testify to my whereabouts and will do so when you ask him. He brought me home around nine o’clock in his coach. There are witnesses.” She turned her mouth into a little smile. “The gendarmes themselves stopped us on the road but then permitted us to go on. Policeman Leonovich was in charge. In fact, Colonel, you could ask Leonovich now, if he’s still in the kitchen, dropping sugary crumbs all over the floor.”

  The silence was painful. He watched her. She felt the flush warm her cheeks. Her gaze slid aside, and she stood, angrily walked over to the desk, and stacked Uncle Matvey’s books neatly together.

  “Very nice, yes. Very well done, Miss Peshkova,” he said smoothly. “So then, Dr. Zinnovy, the czar’s family physician, is your alibi. Congratulations. I admit I’m relieved. You had me in quandary, for the last thing I wish is your arrest.”

  She looked at him.

  “I should say you will be quite safe now, for a time,” he said. “Unless you permit yourself to foolishly attend such an unlawful meeting again.”

  Again? She met his gaze.

  “Then you are sure you don’t recall the names or faces of any peasants who were also at that meeting?” he asked silkily.

  “No—” She stopped. She stared at him. Peasants … Peasant! One particular peasant, a very comely one, with dark hair—

  She narrowed her lashes and looked him over with keen observation. Alex was the peasant who’d been watching her at the meeting! The man with the hat pulled low, who had lit the cigarette—who had stood right next to Dr. Zinnovy … and who had seen her there! It was Aleksandr Kronstadt!

  “You—,” she whispered.

  Karena’s knees almost went out from under her. The trap he had set for her seemed perfect. He could prove she had lied to most everything he had asked her. And he could even prove Dr. Zinnovy had been at the meeting.

  He straightened and snapped his leather notebook closed. The sound all but convinced her that she was doomed.

  He seemed about to say something when there came a terrible pounding on the front door. Karena tensed and moved toward the hall.

  She heard Grandmother Jilinsky hurrying to answer, followed by the voice of Ilya in the kitchen.

  Karena sank to a chair. It was over for her. Alex was witness to her and Sergei’s presence at the rally when Grinevich was assaulted. What would Durnov do if Alex informed him? He would need to release Papa Josef and arrest her and Sergei instead. Kronstadt had expertly baited his trap. Her feelings toward him were a poisonous mixture of attraction and aversion.

  She heard an anxious voice from the porch asking for her by name. It was a woman’s voice. Natalia? She listened, trying to make out who was there.

  “Oh, Madame Jilinsky, where is Karena? I must find her now! It is most urgent. Oh please, is she here?”

  Karena then recognized the frightened voice of Elena Lavrushsky, Anna’s sister-in-law. Forcing aside all other worries, Karena went to the doorway that faced the little hall.

  Elena stood on the porch, looking past Grandmother Jilinsky who held open the front door. Ilya came from the kitchen, concern on his face.

  “Elena, what’s wrong?” Karena asked.

  The young woman crossed herself. “It’s Anna. She’s gone into early labor. I fear for her life! I went straight to the manor house, but Madame Yeva was not there, and no one knew where I could find her. Your sister told me I’d find you here. Please, come and do what you can!”

  Karena caught her scarf from the hook in the hall and turned toward Alex, who was leaning in the doorway. Their gazes locked. For a moment she did not move; then, not knowing whether he’d reach out and stop her or not, she turned from him and hurried out the open front door after Elena.

  Anna needed her. That was all that mattered at the moment. Seven months! Could the baby live? She’d read about a baby who’d survived a six-month pregnancy. The child was a little slow mentally but lived a normal, happy life.

  Would Alex send a soldier to guard the Lavrushsky bungalow and bring her back? He’d known all along she’d been at the meeting. He’d been toying with her like a cat with a mouse. Who knew what would befall them now? Papa Josef’s self-sacrifice for Sergei might prove to be in vain. Sergei could yet be imprisoned.

  The sun was setting on the horizon, spilling a golden pink over the distant wheat fields.

  Karena sent Elena rushing to the manor house to retrieve Madame Yeva’s medical bag and to see if she was there.

  If not, I shall deliver this baby—entirely on my own.

  SEVENTEEN

  New Life

  The oil lamps cast shadows on the walls of the peasant bungalow. As Karena entered the room to see Anna, she tried to show the same confidence that Madame Yeva displayed with her patients. Her mother had told her, “The woman about to give birth looks to the midwife for courage and confidence. If you are timid and nervous, the woman will also become so. Show confidence and calmness.”

  One look at Anna, however, and Karena felt her insides tense. The girl looked to be in anguish. Her large brown eyes were apprehensive, and sweat dotted her face. She clutched at the bedcover with both hands, plucking it nervously.

  “Karena,” she whimpered, trying to sit up, “are the secret police coming? Where is Sergei? I must see Sergei! It’s his baby. I swear it is! There was no other—”

  Karena soothed her with gentle hushing sounds, smiling kindly, and picked up the towel to blot her young face. How tragic when a young girl like this stumbled so soon in life. What would become of her? Karena doubted that Sergei was in love with her but rather had been playing around selfishly with no thought of anyone except himself. Anna was a pretty girl, willing to be deceived by his false attention.

  “Sergei is well,” Karena told her. “There is nothing to fear. He is going back to the university to become a lawyer. And the police have decided to leave also. We are all safe,” she said untruthfully. But if I tell her the truth, she will panic, Karena excused herself, talking to her conscience rather than to God.

  Karena noticed that after reading about the Messiah from Uncle Matvey’s work, the pinprick of conviction felt sharper.

  Anna’s head fell back against the pillow. “Sergei will not be arrested?”

  “No, of course not. Josef made him promise to finish his schooling. Forget Sergei now. We must think of you and your baby.
When did the pains start?”

  “Hours ago. I—was frightened, in a hurry, I tripped.”

  Karena masked her dismay. “Any spotting of blood?”

  “Yes—yes!”

  Karena struggled to keep her calm face. Mother, where are you?

  “I will need to examine you,” Karena told her. “Elena will return in a few minutes with Madame Yeva’s birthing kit. My mother isn’t here right now, but she will be back soon. Meanwhile, I know what to do. Try to relax, breathe calmly, relax your muscles … that’s fine.”

  Anna reached out and grasped her hand. “Please, Karena. I must see Sergei, if only for a minute. I must!”

  Karena tightened her mouth. Sergei. Where was he? That scoundrel. She was furious. He was to blame for everything. Where had he gone after he’d left Uncle Matvey? Could he still be somewhere on the farm?

  Wagon wheels creaked slowly outside the bungalow. Karena went to the window. It was Elena driving the oxcart, but Madame Yeva was not with her. In the back of the wagon were several boxes that she knew contained birthing equipment, medicines, sheets, the clean apron Karena was to wear, and a special soap that Madame Yeva had bought from a Jewish herbalist in Warsaw years earlier. She always used the soap on her hands and arms, to supposedly reduce birthing sicknesses. Yeva had emphasized this for the health of her patients when she read about Florence Nightingale, who had campaigned diligently for cleanliness in the hospitals of London and on the battlefields of the Crimean War.

  Karena left Anna and went outside to help Elena with the boxes and to set up the birthing station.

  “Where is Yuri?” she asked Elena.

  “He was working in the field with Sergei earlier.” She plucked at her sleeve. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Elena, I’m sorry to keep you running about, but could you see if you can find Sergei or Ilya? If we could have Sergei here, it would help Anna. He should know the child he’s responsible for is about to be born. Anna wishes to see him before he leaves for St. Petersburg.”

  Elena pushed her windblown hair from her forehead and nodded, scowling. “She’s been very upset. I know it would help if Sergei would come and talk to her, even for a few minutes. Yuri was going to talk to him, but …” She shrugged helplessly. “He is so angry about his little sister.”

  “He has just cause,” Karena said with weariness.

  “Then I will look. It will take me time to find Yuri. He may be on the far side of the field.”

  “Try. Or if you see Ilya, he will do. You will need to hurry, Elena. Oh—did you ask Natalia where Madame Yeva went?”

  “Natalia said she went with Master Josef and the policeman into town to the gendarme station. She will be back tonight.”

  Then Papa Josef was already arrested. He would likely be held in the town jail until the Okhrana officers left in the morning for St. Petersburg.

  Karena’s anger simmered on coals of indignation. Could they not even leave him to sleep in his own bed for the night? What did they think? That he might flee Kiev? If he’d wanted to flee from them, he would never have confessed so openly.

  Karena suspected that Sergei had already slipped away to Kazan to travel to St. Petersburg to the Roskovs. Most likely, Sergei was bringing Uncle Viktor a letter from Josef explaining what he was facing and asking for his help in protecting Sergei and in reinstating him in the St. Petersburg University.

  Elena left to search the fields, and Karena returned to Anna’s side. The sweltering afternoon inched by. The wind always came up in the late afternoon and blew incessantly here near the fields. The gusts would strike the bungalow with a force that convinced Karena the wall could come down.

  Another wave of contractions hit Anna, and Karena placed a cloth between her teeth. Anna gripped the cloth tightly, biting into it as Karena spoke words of courage and confidence that she hardly felt within herself.

  She washed the sweat from Anna’s face and neck between contractions. The girl’s delicate white skin had taken on a puffiness that worried her, and the dark circles beneath her eyes showed how her suffering had dragged on since the night after returning from the meeting.

  The afternoon wore on until evening approached. Karena sat on the low stool below the bed, and despite the heat of the day, water boiled on the stove. Beside her on the table there were yards of boiled, white cloth.

  Anna arched as another powerful birthing pang caused her to scream. The process was not going normally. Anna had been dilating for almost two hours, and Karena was convinced that the baby was in the wrong position to enter the birthing canal. Fear such as she had never known assailed her. Now what? A breech baby! Oh, God, what shall I do? Bring Mother! Oh, where is she?

  For a time she froze. Anna was weeping and in agony, but also crying out in fear.

  Karena tried to soothe her, all the while searching her mind for what Yeva had told her about the delivery of a breech baby.

  “You must try to turn the baby. It is the only way.”

  Elena had not yet returned. She must be searching everywhere for the men. The only way was to tell Anna the truth.

  “Anna, you must be brave and help me. I must work to turn the baby, to direct the head into the birth canal. This is not going to be easy, but we can do it if we work together.”

  “Yes … yes,” she murmured weakly.

  Karena ran to the front door and stepped out onto the porch; a gust of wind shoved her backward. The moon was up, big and yellow, and she could see some distance down the wagon road, but there was no sign of Elena coming in the wagon with Madame Yeva or the men bringing Sergei. She hurried back inside.

  Karena tried to recall everything her mother had said about moving a baby in the womb. “It’s most important to discover the baby’s position in the womb as early as possible.” Why did I not see this earlier? she chided herself.

  Karena gravely remembered that the prognosis for such cases was not good. Success depended on whether or not the baby could be righted.

  She must attempt external manipulation to turn the baby into the right position, and if that failed, there was only the drastic internal manipulation, which would be exceedingly painful for Anna.

  “Any sign … Sergei?” Anna rasped.

  “Not yet. Anna, it is crucial that we gently turn your baby’s head down. I want you to take a deep breath and try to relax.”

  With a prayer on her lips, Karena laid her left palm over the right part of Anna’s abdomen and felt the baby’s head. She used her other hand to clasp the mound that would be the infant’s bottom. Then, slowly, between Anna’s agonizing contractions and gasps, Karena pushed and stroked and manipulated the baby’s small head downward. Anna’s birth pangs were now coming less than a minute apart, and growing more agonizing. With each small victory of manipulation, Karena kept the baby in position during the contractions and was almost certain she could feel the baby’s head moving down into the pelvis.

  “The baby’s coming. It’s going to be all right, Anna! You are being brave. Keep trying.”

  Karena had Madame Yeva’s forceps, but her mother lectured against their use when at all possible. Babies died from head injuries, and mothers were often cut or torn and suffered from infection or excessive blood loss.

  Karena was sweating as profusely as Anna, who was drenched and panting.

  “Ah!” Karena cried. “The baby’s moving! Soon now, Anna,” she said with the first genuine confidence she had felt in hours.

  Sweat mingled with Anna’s tears, and anguish furrowed her brow.

  “Karena.,” Anna’s ragged whisper came. “Not good … I …”

  “Soon, Anna, soon.” But something new frightened her, and she wondered if she had the right to reassure her. There was too much blood.

  Anna’s body tensed in another push to free the tiny baby.

  Karena could see the infant’s head and then its bloody face looking downward while emerging. The little one’s eyes were sealed with creamy vernix.

  “Poor baby,�
�� Karena whispered. “Poor little sweetheart. Welcome to the dreadful world.” She used her two fingers to tenderly wipe the mucus from its button nose and cleaned inside its tiny mouth to start clearing and draining the air passages.

  “Almost here,” Karena cried to Anna.

  Karena eased out one shoulder and then the other one to victory, and then, with gentle pulling and one last push, the new child was free of its womb.

  “A daughter, Anna,” she said happily.

  She gave a quick wipe to the baby and held her over some clean towels, letting the lungs drain, the umbilical cord remaining uncut for the moment.

  Anna watched, crying, unable to speak.

  Karena wiped the baby’s eyes, face, and nose again, and the baby sucked in its very first breath, followed by a cry. Karena was jubilant. She held the baby high enough for Anna to see.

  “May God bless you and guide you on the long, difficult pathway of life,” Karena whispered.

  Karena worked quickly now with brown cord, a boiled knife, and an odd assortment of ointments. The main work for this third-stage delivery was almost done, though aftercare was to follow.

  As she worked, she hardly heard the sounds outside the bungalow give way to wagon wheels, horses, and voices.

  A moment later, Madame Yeva rushed into the gornitsa and looked around, gave a nod of apparent satisfaction, and caressed Karena’s shoulder in a display of pride over her success. Their gazes met, and smiles were exchanged.

  “Good, Karena, very good.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But only seven and a half months …” She frowned.

  “The infant looks perfectly healthy, Mother. I can see nothing wrong.”

  “We will hope. I will also examine her—and Anna.” Yeva went to the bedside and spoke to Anna, laying a palm on her forehead. She frowned. “Do you have a fever?”

  Anna gave a quiet, exhausted sound.

  “First, let me have a look at your new baby.” Yeva took the infant over to a table.

  A minute later, Karena could not silence her own gasp. “Mother!”