The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Karena stared at Anna, shocked. What had happened? A moment ago, Anna had managed a weary little smile when she saw the baby. Now—

  Anna was turning a pasty color with purplish splotches beneath her eyes. The weak wails of the newborn filled the bungalow as the gusty wind shook the walls. Anna’s lips formed words, but her voice was so weak that Karena could hardly hear. “Sergei. Serg …”

  “Take the baby,” Madame Yeva told Karena.

  Karena laid the infant beside Anna and then wrung a wet cloth and applied it to Anna’s face and throat.

  Madame Yeva hurried to examine Anna.

  Karena joined her. “Did I do something wrong?” she kept whispering, but her mother was too intent to answer.

  Fear clamped around Karena’s insides like iron fingers. Her eyes went to the cloths beneath Anna, staring at the area of bright crimson.

  Yeva kept massaging and kneading Anna’s womb, her face tense with perspiration.

  Karena could not move. The exhilaration she felt only minutes ago drained away, and horror now rushed in to take its place. Guilt shouted down upon her conscience. I must have done something wrong. I should have waited for Madame Yeva or gone for the other midwife, Marina.

  Elena came in and, seeing what was happening to her young sister-in-law, let out a muffled sob.

  “Karena!” Madame Yeva snapped. “Hand me more cloths.”

  Karena could hardly move; her hands felt heavy and clumsy.

  What did I do wrong? Unless the hemorrhaging could be halted … She fumbled in her attempts to help her mother with the blood-soaked cloths.

  Elena knelt before the icon displayed on its shelf, a replica of the special icon called the Black Virgin of Kazan. She struck a match and lit the candle below the image. She brought her palms together and lifted her face. “Saints of Holy Mother Russia, come now to our aid and save Anna, my dear sister.”

  Karena watched, knowing that Anna was going to die and that there was nothing she could do. She had failed her. She had come with confidence, assured that she could deliver the baby on her own. There were times in the process when she’d been almost pleased that Madame Yeva had not been here. And now …

  Karena took Anna’s hand. How cold and clammy she felt. She held it between her own, as though by holding tightly, she could hold on to the girl’s life.

  “Sergei … tell him … tell … Sergei … take care of … our baby.”

  “I will tell him,” Karena whispered as tears flooded her eyes at last.

  “Yeva.”

  Madame Yeva laid a hand on Anna’s brow. “I am here, Anna.”

  “Promise … baby … Sergei’s baby.”

  “Yes, I promise, Anna. We will not forget it is Sergei’s child.”

  Karena bent over Anna, took her limp hand, and placed it on her newborn for the last time. Anna’s fingers tried to pet the tiny body nestled beside her.

  There was a banging on the front door—or was it the wind? A moment later, the door flew open, and footsteps sounded. Ilya stood in the doorway but did not enter. He turned to look back over his shoulder and gestured. Sergei came forward, tense. He looked frightened. He stared at the scene, the blood, and Anna.

  Karena rushed to him, snatching his arm, urging him forward. “Quick, Sergei, she’s dying. Go to her. Tell her you love her. Promise you’ll be a good father to your daughter. Allow her a brief moment of your of love. You owe her that.”

  Sergei looked grief stricken. He dropped his head against his palm and shook it in desperation.

  Karena pushed him. “Go.” He seemed to rally and went to Anna’s bedside.

  Karena and Madame Yeva moved back to allow them a final moment together, alone.

  “Anna, Anna, I’m sorry—forgive me—I love you, Anna.”

  Karena stood, devastated. Sergei was kneeling beside the bed, his dark head bent, his arms around Anna, his face on her neck. Anna’s hand came to life again and managed to reach his dark head, where she patted him.

  Against the lone whine of the wind came the wail of the baby girl—a girl, so soon without a mama and with a papa who must ride away into the dark night.

  Karena sat on the porch step, her head resting on the post, the wind pushing and tugging at her with brief gusts.

  “I failed her,” she said in a low, dull voice.

  Madame Yeva stood on the porch above her, looking down. Karena saw pain in her faded blue eyes, in the pale, damp face, as the wind mussed her golden hair touched with gray. Yeva’s lip quivered. Karena felt her mother’s hand on her head, smoothing her hair.

  “You did not fail, Karena. What happened was beyond your control. It would have happened whoever delivered this baby. I could not have stopped it—not even Dr. Zinnovy.”

  Karena saw a distant thought reflected in her eyes as she gazed off toward the fields.

  “Such tragedy as this happens all too often in the Louisa and the Catherine wards,” she said.

  Anna’s sheet-draped body was carried silently out of the bungalow. The most pathetic sound for Karena was the cry of the motherless baby.

  “What did Sergei name her?” Karena asked quietly.

  “Anna, of course. He could hardly do less.”

  “What will become of her? Sergei must go to St. Petersburg.”

  “I’ve asked Elena and her husband to care for her. After all, Yuri is her uncle. I’ve promised to pay them. Elena is not unhappy to have the baby here. They have none of their own, and she has desired a baby girl. Sergei agrees that, for the present, it seems the best solution. Elena has a cousin who recently birthed, and she will have mother’s milk enough for baby Anna.”

  “If only she hadn’t gone to that meeting last night. If only Sergei had taken the matter of Anna seriously. Maybe none of this would have happened.”

  “Do not speak of last night, Karena,” Madame Yeva said in a tense, hushed voice. “The decisions are made, and we must leave them and move on.”

  Karena could not help thinking about it. Poor Anna, sixteen, and her life was over with a whimper. Since a very young age she had worked in some capacity in the fields with her family, and then to have fallen for a reckless young man like Sergei, who selfishly took advantage of her. If I had known sooner about what was going on, could I have stopped it from ending in this bitter harvest? I could have talked to Anna—tried to make her see that her recklessness would lead to a path of thorns and briars.

  And Sergei. In one day, he had lost both his father and Anna. And the baby, if she lived, would be greatly affected by her parents’ sin.

  Karena would remember baby Anna and do all she could for her as she grew up.

  Ilya Jilinsky walked up from the carriage waiting on the road. His fair head shone in the moonlight.

  “Sergei’s safely away now, Madame Peshkova. Shall I bring you and Karena back to the manor house? Or do you want to wait longer to see how the baby does?”

  Madame Yeva lifted her scarf over her head and came down the steps. “There is nothing more we can do tonight, Ilya. The child is in capable hands with Elena’s nursing cousin. Come along, Karena, before you fall asleep leaning on the post. Thank you, Ilya, you have been a great help this night in finding Sergei for us. Where is Uncle Matvey?”

  “I saw him when I was looking for Sergei. That must have been two hours ago. At that time, he was talking to Colonel Kronstadt. By now, Uncle’s probably retired to our bungalow.”

  Then Aleksandr Kronstadt had not departed when the Okhrana officer Durnov brought Papa into town under arrest. Was he staying the night, prepared to ride out in the morning? Karena had, for a short time, forgotten her own dilemma, and now it all came thundering back. What awaited her with Kronstadt?

  EIGHTEEN

  Separation

  The next morning, on the first day of September, Karena awoke late.

  When she came down, the house was quiet and shrouded with a sense of gloom.

  Natalia met her with a sad face.

  “Any news?” Kare
na asked.

  “Mother has ridden over to see how the newborn is today. Ilya was here earlier. He said Major-General Durnov has not shown up this morning. And Colonel Kronstadt rode out early for St. Petersburg.”

  Karena looked at her sharply. “Kronstadt—has left for St. Petersburg?” What? Without me? she almost said, but caught herself. Natalia knew nothing of her visit to the political meeting, and Karena wanted to keep her younger sister uninvolved.

  “Yes, he left. Are you surprised?”

  Karena shrugged. “I expected the Okhrana to hang around longer and make our lives miserable,” she said quietly.

  Natalia’s face changed, showing her true horrors. “Poor Papa.” The tears were about to start, and Karena went to her quickly and gave her shoulders a little shake.

  “Stop, it will only weaken us. We must be strong, Sister. It is not over yet. Remember, Uncle Viktor has the ear of the czar. He may be able to do something for Papa. In the meantime, we must carry on. If we allow ourselves to weaken, we will fall like a house of cards.”

  Natalia wiped her eyes and nodded. “Boris left with the conscripts.” She swallowed hard, and Karena made a soothing sound.

  “He will come back.”

  “If he doesn’t—”

  “Don’t think that. The more you think such things, the more despondent you’ll become.” She looked down at Natalia’s left hand and acted shocked. “What is this, I ask?”

  Natalia smiled through her tears and held out her hand, showing a glimmering ring with a small pearl. “My engagement ring. Isn’t it absolutely beautiful? It’s wished on, so I can’t take it off. Boris got it from his grandmother yesterday to give me before he left for Warsaw. Mama is pleased too.”

  “And no wonder. Boris is a fine young man. I’m sure you’ll have ten children like Job and his wife—seven sons and three daughters.”

  Natalia smiled. “Ten children! Five maybe.”

  Karena had steered her away from her fears, and now Natalia was all chatter and large plans. They would stay on the land, and if Karena married Ilya, they could all be one large, happy family raising children and wheat.

  Karena kept smiling at the words “stay on the land,” but her throat tightened. Natalia did not yet know, and Karena could not bear to tell her. Madame Yeva be must the one to speak of the prospect of losing the farmland and manor house. It would not only mean leaving everything that was home but also their friends among the peasants, people they knew and cared about, like Elena and Yuri.

  Karena turned her mind back to Aleksandr Kronstadt while Natalia lost herself in discussing her dreams. Why had Kronstadt left without arresting her? Or had he left? Maybe he would come back to take her to St. Petersburg.

  “Oh, I almost forgot … Colonel Kronstadt left you a message. It’s over there on the sideboard by the coffee and pancakes.”

  Karena went at once and found the sealed envelope leaning against the vase of flowers placed by Aunt Marta. She opened it quickly. The firm black writing read simply:

  Miss Peshkova, I must report for duty at Petrograd. I am unable to continue our discussion of yesterday. I am sure this brings you much regret.

  Karena smiled faintly and read on:

  I have spoken to your uncle, Professor Menkin, about the upcoming order to abandon the land now occupied by your family. Unfortunately, I don’t have the authority to rescind such an order. I will send a report to General Roskov with the suggestion that the Peshkova women find lodging with the Roskov family. Accordingly, we are likely to meet again in Petrograd. I look forward to resuming our discourse.

  Col. Alex Kronstadt

  Alex … not merely Colonel Kronstadt, not even Aleksandr, but Alex.

  She felt the first renewal of something akin to excitement. Was this his casual way of saying her secret would remain with him?

  She was aware of Natalia’s watching her.

  “You look pleased about whatever he said,” Natalia commented with mock seriousness. “What could it be, I wonder?”

  Karena smiled ruefully and proceeded to take a plate and serve herself breakfast. The strange exhilaration continued.

  When Madame Yeva came down to the dining room, her mouth drooped and she looked pale. “I’m sorry to say I feel I’m coming down with the grippe.”

  “Sit down, Mama, and rest. I’ll get your coffee and cakes,” Karena said.

  Aunt Marta emerged from the kitchen, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Yeva, who never showed herself without her hair neatly braided and pinned, looked as though she’d merely repinned yesterday’s braids into a roll at the back of her head. Karena suspected she’d been awake most of the night. This was a crucial time for her, as well as for her daughters, for she was only as secure as her gentile husband.

  Colonel Kronstadt had been right when he upbraided Papa Josef for blindly throwing himself in the fire for Sergei and leaving Yeva and the rest of his family unprotected. Poor Papa! He must not have thought through all the consequences of his actions in his harried effort to save Sergei.

  “Matvey, Grandmother, and Ilya are coming over from the bungalow,” Yeva said. “We are to have a serious meeting this morning about our future here in Kiev.”

  Natalia exchanged glances with Karena. Aunt Marta sat down, dabbing her eyes with her white handkerchief, her black dress hinting of her funereal mood.

  “It’s not possible,” Aunt Marta murmured. “How could this have happened?”

  Uncle Matvey arrived first, while Ilya assisted his grandmother down from the carriage. With Papa Josef gone, Matvey was now head of the family, though it might be argued that it should pass to General Viktor Roskov. For Karena, it would always be Uncle Matvey.

  When the others joined them in the sunny dining room, Madame Yeva, sitting very straight in her chair with her hands in her lap, looked at her daughters and then the others.

  “I’ve been informed by the authorities that the Peshkov family is no longer in charge of the land. We must leave the manor house.”

  Aunt Marta dropped her forehead against her kerchief and shed tears. Grandmother Jilinsky clasped her hands together and murmured in Yiddish. Natalia gasped. Ilya looked at his shoes in sober silence.

  Uncle Matvey had been watching the response of the others. “I am leaving for St. Petersburg tomorrow to petition the czar and speak to General Roskov.”

  “Of what hope is that?” complained Aunt Marta through her tears. “Will the czar even hear your petition?”

  “I hardly have faith in that, my dear Marta, but that is where your brother-in-law Viktor is our ally. He will bring our petition before Czar Nicholas.”

  “Mother, where will we go if we must leave the house?” Natalia asked.

  “There is only one thing we can do, and that is perhaps the saddest part of this tragedy. I fear that, for a time, we must separate.”

  There was an intake of breath, followed by Grandmother Jilinsky’s and Aunt Marta’s quiet tears. Karena sat without moving, trying to take it all in. Separation …

  “We cannot all impose on Uncle Matvey with his little apartment in St. Petersburg, nor on Aunt Zofia, but Uncle Matvey has agreed to take me and Karena.”

  “Mother!” Natalia cried, as though betrayed. “What about me?”

  “Natalia, dear, you will be much better off with your Aunt Marta in St. Petersburg, to stay awhile with Aunt Zofia and Tatiana.”

  “But so would Karena! She’s closer to Tatiana than I am.”

  Karena’s heart beat faster. She was going to St. Petersburg. They would stay with Uncle Matvey, which she had desired ever since his arrival in early June, and she’d been asked to help him with his manuscript.

  “I’m going to St. Petersburg, dear, to seek work as a nurse,” Madame Yeva told Natalia, “and Karena is needed to help your uncle complete his manuscript.”

  And Dr. Zinnovy is nearby, Karena thought.

  Natalia appeared to accept the logic of this, but she looked depressed. “What about Grandmother Jilinsky a
nd Ilya?”

  Ilya walked over from where he’d been standing by the window and laid a tanned hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. She looked up at him and covered his hand with her own.

  “Ilya’s leaving us,” Grandmother said.

  Karena looked at him quickly. He explained, meeting Karena’s gaze. “Like Boris, I’ve been conscripted into the army. Word has come over the telegraph that war is declared.”

  “Oh, Ilya, no.”

  “I haven’t much time,” he said. “Another wave of conscripts is moving out today. The army’s been hauling men in for duty all summer.”

  Karena stood, and he walked slowly across the floor, his hands outstretched. She clasped them, and in the silence, Grandmother Jilinsky could be heard sobbing quietly.

  Karena and Ilya left the dining room, and the family meeting went on without them. Together they walked slowly out the front door and onto the porch. Karena held on to the post, gazing off toward the fields, thinking how they now took on a lonely, forlorn appearance.

  “Strange,” she said after a moment, “how things change so drastically when one least expects it.”

  “Yes. I’ve looked at those wheat fields all summer and never thought much about them. Then something happens that threatens to take them away, and now they look more precious than ever.”

  She turned and looked at him. So many of her loved ones had slipped through her fingers: Papa Josef, her brother, Anna. The family was separating, and while they anticipated the separation would not last for long, who could be certain?

  And now Ilya.

  He joined her in watching the wheat bending in the wind. His lean, tanned face looked grim and haggard for such a young man.

  She tried to ease at least one of his burdens. “Do not worry about Grandmother. I’ll not let anything happen to her if I can possibly prevent it. We’ll make room for her somewhere, somehow, even if she has to sleep in my bed.”

  “Thank you,” he said in a tight voice. “It will be all right.” But they knew, in reality, it would not be all right. Nothing would ever be right again.

  “Let’s walk,” he said.