The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  He slumped and fell backward, and she stepped aside. He tumbled past her and came to a stop below the bottom stair, his bloodied head on the rug.

  Gasping, she dropped the bookend and struggled to reach her mother. Yeva’s face was still purple, but she was breathing. Her eyes opened, and her hand felt her throat, where Karena saw red bruises.

  Madame Yeva sat choking and sputtering, and then slowly, painfully, caught her breath. She grasped hold of the banister and raised herself awkwardly to her feet. Karena leaned back against the railing, her brain still dizzy, and she felt an eyelid growing puffy and beginning to swell. She touched her lip with her tongue and felt a cut and the stale taste of blood. Her heart thudded steadily like a drum.

  After a minute of recovery, Madame Yeva moved down the steps to Leonovich, passing him cautiously with her skirt pressed back. She nudged him with no response.

  Karena, looking down from where she leaned against the banister, saw the bloody mat of his hair.

  Turning his head back, Madame Yeva looked into his contorted face, raising his eyelids and peering at his pupils. She snatched one of his heavy hands, feeling for a pulse.

  After a moment, she let his wrist drop. She looked at Karena and nodded at her questioning gaze. The silence became an announcement of death.

  Karena brought a trembling hand to her eyes. I’ve killed him.

  The wind groaned, and the door flung open. Karena nearly screamed, expecting more police. It was only a gust of wind.

  Madame Yeva moved across the hall to shut and bolt the door, then the window, and drew the drapes across.

  “If anyone heard that gunshot …,” Karena whispered.

  Madame Yeva snuffed out the oil lamps. Finding a candle from under the hall table, she lit the wick, her hands shaking.

  “If anyone should come, we won’t answer,” her voice rasped. “They may think we’re asleep. They’ll check elsewhere.” She walked back to the stairs and held the candle high over the body. “We haven’t much time, Karena. If the gendarmes discover he was shot here, we will both be arrested.”

  “And hanged!”

  “Hush. We’ll get away from here.”

  “But we can’t leave him in the house.” The steadiness of her own voice surprised Karena. “They’ll hunt for us. We’ll need to get rid of his body.”

  And there’s blood on the floor where he fell.

  Madame Yeva put a hand to her forehead. “Yes, then we’ll put the body in the wagon and leave it somewhere off the road near town, as far from here as we can. We’ll wrap it in this rug—it’s already stained.”

  “But someone may recognize the rug.”

  “We’ll bring the rug with us and dispose of it once we’re out of town.”

  Madame Yeva set the candle down on the table beside the stairs and took hold of the body by its arms. Karena helped her drag the body to the rug and roll it up inside. Her throat ached with emotion. Dear God, what are we going to do? We’ve killed a man—not a man, a beast. Would the authorities see it as self-defense—or murder?

  As she pulled and dragged the body, she realized her fingers were stiff and her head throbbed. She wanted to sit down and weep. Her life was all but over.

  “All right, leave it for now,” Madame Yeva said of the rolled carpet. “We’ll need to pack a few things to take with us.”

  In Karena’s bedroom, her mother set the candle down and extinguished the oil lamp.

  “We’ve never been in such peril, Karena. The gendarmes will take the side of Leonovich’s innocence. I don’t think we can involve Matvey in this either, for his sake. He is already under suspicion because of Warsaw.”

  “Maybe we should go directly to the gendarmes and explain. Leonovich threatened to kill us both. Perhaps they will listen.”

  “Ah, Daughter, you are yet trusting. I lived through the pogrom of 1903, even as Leah lived through pogroms in Warsaw. There is no hope for us now with Josef arrested. Perhaps there are a few police who would try to be fair, but here? With Grinevich’s gendarmes?”

  “But they could see our bruises. They could not deny that.”

  “They could, and would. They will say that I had you deliberately lure Leonovich to the manor house tonight. They will charge that we planned to kill him before we were forced off the land. They are angry about Grinevich. Because we are Jewish, it will be most easy for them to hold us responsible, claiming Leonovich’s murder is in revenge for the arrest of my husband. Oh, I know how these matters work. Of course, they know it isn’t true. But I have seen it all before … oh, so many times. And after Josef has confessed his involvement with the Bolsheviks? Ah! If they can say Leonovich was murdered here by Josef’s wife and daughter … we will receive their form of justice, which will start with our immediate arrest.”

  Karena felt a wave of desperation. Her mother was right. Unless they had the right kind of help, they were in danger. They could not bring Leonovich’s body to the police station and report what had taken place. Who knew what these men, friends of Grinevich and Leonovich, would do?

  “Quickly, now. Grab a satchel and take some warm clothes. Bring every ruble you can find. Do not forget your fur coat.”

  Her mother went off to her room. Karena urged herself to hurry, but her movements seemed laboriously slow. She fumbled with swollen fingers to change into traveling clothes and refused to look in the mirror. What would people think when they saw her looking like this on the train?

  When she finished dressing, she went to the doorway of her mother’s bedroom. Madame Yeva was relocking the door to the safe. She had a small box in hand that Karena recognized: the box Natalia had brought to Kazan. She saw her mother hide it at the bottom of her satchel.

  Yeva turned and, seeing Karena standing in the doorway, went over to the table and picked up a bottle of ointment. “Clean your abrasions with this.” She handed her the bottle and a clean cloth. Then she moved toward the door. “I must bring the medical supplies from downstairs with us, or else we will never be able to work.”

  Karena winced from the sting of the ointment. Then, with as much haste as she could muster, she went back to her room, packed some warm clothes, and stuffed her winter shoes into a leather satchel. She looked at the trunk, too tired to feel the loss. She turned her back on her possessions and, with candle in hand, went down the stairs.

  Wait! Food and water. Her brain must be functioning after all. She set her bag down and went to the kitchen. Hastily, she grabbed a hunk of cheese, a loaf of bread, and an assortment of dried fruits and nuts, put them in a cloth bag, then filled a water flask from the jug on the counter.

  Madame Yeva waited in the hall, looking cautiously out the window. The shadowy environment with Leonovich’s corpse lying in the rug beside the door made Karena’s skin tingle.

  How was it possible to escape the dark, pervasive consequences of this appalling night? Where would they go? What would they do if they did not go to Uncle Matvey?

  Madame Yeva’s skin was pale, and yet her cheeks were flushed. Karena went to her. “Mother, you’re ill.”

  Madame Yeva shook her head in protest. “I’ll be all right. Hurry, we’ve no time to loiter.”

  Karena’s own dizziness had not yet abandoned her, yet she could not burden her mother with more worry at this time. Their best chance of escape was to move quickly. But even then—would they live a life of being hunted by the authorities? hiding somewhere in Moscow or St. Petersburg?

  Madame Yeva unlocked the front door. The wind grabbed at them like snatching fingers trying to thwart their escape. Karena saw the horse-drawn wagon her mother had intended to drive to see baby Anna. Now, even the baby must wait. They could not involve Elena and Yuri by going there for even a few minutes. They would have to send the money once they were safe.

  Karena firmly grasped one end of the rolled-up rug. She could hardly lift it. They struggled, mostly dragging the rug over the polished wood floor and out onto the porch.

  “Wait here. I’ll bring
the wagon close to the porch,” Madame Yeva said.

  The clouds had covered the moon, and the feel of rain was in the wind. Karena’s head was thudding with pain, and she was sure her eyelid was swelling shut. How could this horrible situation have occurred? By tomorrow, there would be discoloration on her face. She had brought her hat and a scarf, and if she kept her head low, perhaps she could avoid too much attention while on the train. She assumed they would travel by train, unless they journeyed by a hired droshky, but to travel apart from the train at this time of the year could be risky. September and October were terrible months in St. Petersburg, with rain and mud and dampness until the snow arrived in November.

  Whatever her mother’s plans were, they were hers as well, and they had best make wise choices.

  Once the wagon was in position, they resumed their gasping struggle with the rolled-up body. Karena climbed into the back and pulled while Madame Yeva lifted and pushed.

  Fear nagged Karena with every breath she sucked in, with every rustle of branch and leaf. With every stomp of the horse’s hooves, she cast glances over her shoulder. If someone were watching them, or came upon them unexpectedly …

  At last, they prevailed. The body was in the back of the wagon, their satchels stored beside it, plus one other satchel with medical supplies. They were on their way, but to where?

  Karena looked back at the manor house. Would she ever come back? Would there be a family reunion one day with Papa Josef? with baby Anna? with Ilya?

  Madame Yeva guided the horse onto the road, and Karena faced forward. She could not bear to watch her home disappear into the darkness.

  After a time, they came upon a thick line of chestnut trees growing alongside a deserted, windswept road that appeared to traverse a gully. Madame Yeva pulled over to the side and stopped. The tree branches and leaves shuddered their disapproval.

  Madame Yeva climbed down from the driving seat, wind whipping her dark scarf, and hurried around to the back. Karena forced her hurting body to follow. If only Ilya were here, or Sergei, to lend their strength and help, though into her mind walked another man who had no right to be there. She saw the face of Colonel Kronstadt and wondered, for he offered her no safe harbor; indeed, he held a damaging secret that could entangle her more deeply with the prison system in St. Petersburg. She ought to be thankful he was not here, that he’d departed weeks ago for his new post at one of the Imperial military compounds near the Winter Palace.

  “Keep a lookout,” Madame Yeva said, climbing into the rear of the wagon. “I’ll need to unroll the rug.”

  Karena’s heart thumped wildly, and her throat was dry with fear.

  All was quiet and dark as the wind raged.

  Karena watched her mother struggling to loosen the body and winced at the unpleasant sight. This must be a nightmare. I shall soon awaken from it and find everything the same as it once was.

  The rug was rolled up again to be disposed of somewhere along the road to the next town, and the body was pulled to the wagon’s edge.

  “All right now, careful. That’s it—we want to push it over the edge into the gully—there!”

  A sickening thud followed and the rustle of grasses as the body went over the side and down into the gully.

  “Quick! Away.”

  Karena climbed onto her seat, out of breath, looking back over her shoulder into the darkness as if expecting to see Leonovich’s ghost pursuing.

  Madame Yeva flicked the reins, and the horse pulled away onto the road. Karena, feeling dizzy, held on to the wagon seat while her mother snapped the reins to gain some distance between themselves and Leonovich’s corpse.

  By the time they were well on their way toward the next village, Karena felt a few drops of rain. Soon the drops were coming faster, spattering against their faces.

  As they rode, the rain grew heavier, and the wind, sometimes in savage gusts, rocked the wagon, but the horse plodded bravely forward. Karena noted with growing concern that her mother was shaking from the cold rain and wind. Was she coming down with pneumonia?

  “We’ll need to stop at a rest house, Mother. Please, you’re not well. In the morning, we’ll buy our tickets for St. Petersburg.”

  Even before they reached the next village, Madame Yeva sought meager shelter under some thick trees to keep from the worst of the downpour.

  Karena watched her mother. She hadn’t felt well for a week, long before the nightmare they’d faced tonight.

  “I’m tired is all. Don’t worry so. I’ll be all right. Your eye is swollen shut. That fiend—I’m not ashamed to say I’m glad he’s dead. He cannot hurt anyone else.”

  The rain slackened, and Yeva snapped the reins. “Move along, boy. Food and rest await you in the town. I promise to sell you to a good master tomorrow before we board the train.”

  They were back on the road again, but not for long. As the clouds opened up, the women sought another interlude beneath the trees.

  They huddled together with a blanket over their heads, but they were already soaked through. Karena felt her mother shivering. It would be a long ordeal on the train before arriving in St. Petersburg. And when they arrived, what?

  We are like two lepers. We must keep our distance from those whose company we long for.

  Perhaps they would find a small room in the peasant regions of St. Petersburg. Cold and badly bruised, Karena wondered miserably if matters could become worse.

  She felt her mother’s brow. “You’re burning with fever.”

  “I’ll … be better in … the morning.”

  Karena watched, silent and worried. She sensed her mother’s deep depression and tried to cheer her, but all she could manage was a tired smile that for some reason caused her mother’s eyes to well with tears.

  Karena threw an arm around her. “I may look dreadful, but I’ll recover. We’ll be all right. As soon as we reach town, we’ll get a bed to rest in, and then there will be a train to take us to our new life in St. Petersburg.”

  “May God help us, my daughter. Our new life, as you call it, offers little except trouble, with few, if any, to turn to for help.”

  Madame Yeva had come down with chills and was in the back of the wagon beneath what shelter Karena could piece together to try to shield her from the rainfall. Karena could have asked the family driver to bring them to the train station in the coach, except it would have involved him in their escape should it become known, or so the police would say, and put him and his family at risk. How amazing, she thought wearily, that the seemingly personal decisions we make in life could end up affecting so many, as though there were no such thing as merely personal decisions.

  Karena drove the horse and wagon slower than she would have liked, for the rain was softening the road surface and exposing rocks in some places. If anything went wrong and an axle broke …

  Karena feared her mother’s throat might be injured, for as time wore on, she could merely whisper. Karena’s own bruises ached and throbbed. She must drive the horse cautiously, for one of her eyes had swollen shut, and with both darkness and rain, it would be easy for her to tire and run off the road.

  O God of Abraham, help us!

  Karena sensed a bleak future while peering through the darkness over the winding road ahead. Henceforth, there would be a shadow cast over her: murderess. Could she ever fully justify herself and clear her name again?

  TWENTY

  The Winter Palace

  St. Petersburg

  As October dawned at the Imperial officers’ barracks at the Winter Palace, Colonel Aleksandr Kronstadt arose to a snowstorm and an unexpected message from Countess Olga Shashenka, his stepmother.

  Aleksandr, my son; it is imperative that I see you at once. I have requested of Czar Nicholas to favor me with your presence, and that of Gennady and Ivan, here at my residence in Tsarskoe Selo for a three-day leave. I shall be giving a ball here tonight, followed by a dinner party tomorrow evening. Madame Zofia and your Tatiana will be ending the festivities by ho
sting a skating party on Sunday, if weather permits.

  Did you know that two of Tatiana’s cousins from Kiev are now staying with the Roskov family here in Tsarskoe Selo?

  I am looking forward to seeing you.

  Your Matushka,

  Olga

  Alex pondered the words of his matushka, his “little mother.” He stood half-dressed at the frosty window of the room he shared with his twin cousins Gennady and Ivan Sokolov, his companions since boyhood. The three of them had remained friends through childhood and had attended the same prestigious cadet school together, although Alex had always been the most serious and had not shared their penchant for pranks and occasional maliciousness. Ivan had been the worst, open to foolish dares by his fellow cadets because of his desire to prove himself boldest in their class. Alex had rescued Ivan from several debacles at school, including a blindfolded duel. He had matured somewhat since graduation four years ago and even hoped to marry the Countess Orlova’s granddaughter, though Alex doubted Ivan would win her. Regrettably, he had turned to drinking, while Gennady was devoutly religious.

  On the surface there was nothing unusual about the letter from Countess Shashenka, unless one knew his stepmother as well as he. Though wealthy and influential, she had not sought the role of a doyenne but had worked as a spy for the czar before she’d met and married Alex’s father. Alex had not learned this until he’d been reassigned from his Imperial Cavalry regiment to the Okhrana. He’d been inclined to think that Tatiana’s mother had been a well-meaning, but meddling, offender. Now he wondered.

  His stepmother was not a proficient letter writer, nor was he, though they got on well. This was the first correspondence he’d received from her during the entire season she’d been on holiday in the Crimea. Alex hadn’t expected to hear from her until the winter festivals began with a round of dinner balls, usually around Christmas.

  None of this should have mattered until he considered that she had never met the Peshkovs of Kiev, nor would someone of her standing necessarily interact socially with a dissident Jew from Warsaw like Professor Menkin. He recalled that Menkin was involved with the cadets; his stepmother was wise not to tout this, though she shared the same political persuasion. Did it mean anything?