The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  He walked swiftly across the gray slush and called to her. “Karena!”

  His sister turned in apparent surprise to hear his voice, but his joy in seeing her skidded to a halt when he caught sight of her face. Those bruises and scars! Where had they come from?

  “You’ve been in an accident,” he stated. “Where’s Mother?”

  There was relief in her smile over seeing him, yet caution in her eyes.

  “Sergei, I’m so glad you’re here. Mother’s sick with pleurisy, but Dr. Lenski has been treating her.”

  “Is she at Matvey’s then?”

  “Yes, we both are. I’ll be returning there at sundown.”

  “Good! I’ll go with you. It will be old times for a while. I’ll need to beg a space to sleep for a few days until my dorm opens at the university. I’m afraid I angered the Roskovs and had to move out.”

  “Oh, Sergei, no. What happened?”

  “Nothing of permanent ruin.” He smiled ruefully. “Just a wee argument about Tatiana’s foolishness over Rasputin. I went too far.”

  “Sergei,” she groaned.

  “All right, I was wrong. But I refused to kiss his jam-spread hands to show allegiance.”

  “Refused to what? It sounds absurd.”

  “It is, but never mind, Sister. It will all pass over with time. Tatiana never stays mad for more than a week.” He rubbed his cheek. “Even though she did give me a good wallop.”

  “Over Rasputin?” Her scowl of disapproval about Tatiana made him smile.

  “Well, I was a rude. I deserved it. I’ll apologize in a letter to her in a few days. She’ll forgive me. She always does. But she’s so bourgeois, so elitist. Rich, living outside reality, so ‘Marie Antoinette,’ if you know what I mean. ‘Let the peasants eat cake’ attitude. Dumb about what’s going on inside Russia.”

  Karena shook her head ruefully. “I’m sure your analysis greatly impressed her.”

  “Tell me about your accident. Say—that left eye does not look too good, Sister. There are cuts around your mouth. Think they’ll leave scars?”

  She touched her lip with her finger, and he saw the look that came into her eyes—anger or fear. Suddenly, he sensed something evil, something that gripped him.

  He took hold of her arm. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Ivanna walked up. She had taken care of the old peasant woman and sent her away.

  “Karena has a patient, Sergei. Come, I’d like something hot. That bar across the street is not too revolting this time of day, and they have decent coffee and sandwiches. Walk with me there?”

  “You have only to ask, and the world is yours,” he said lightly. “At least when it comes to my buying you a cup of coffee.” He looked at his sister.

  “I’ll tell you everything later,” Karena promised, then she turned and went into the tent to meet her first patient.

  He turned to Ivanna, holding out his arm. “Come along, Doctor Lenski. By the way, I don’t see the intern Fyodor Zinnovy anywhere about today. Does that mean you’ve discouraged his romantic intentions?”

  She did not smile. “No, he doesn’t come on until dusk.”

  When Alex arrived at the medical college, he found Dr. Zinnovy in his office bending over a stack of papers. The doctor looked up and saw him, his earnest gaze questioning Alex. Were you successful?

  Alex opened his satchel and produced the pendant. Dr. Zinnovy took it over to a light and looked it over carefully. “Yes,” he said simply.

  Dr. Zinnovy produced a bag of gold coins. “There will be more if she needs it.”

  Alex packed the bag in his satchel and went straight for his goal.

  “You’ve heard of the death of Policeman Leonovich. Durnov is out for Karena and Madame Peshkova. If he has his way, he’ll soon have them arrested and in the Peter and Paul fortress with Josef. There’s one thing that might make the difference for Karena. If you appeal to Czar Nicholas to have her absolved of any wrongdoing in his death—if you confess to him that Karena’s your daughter—he might move with grace.”

  Dr. Zinnovy sank into his chair, stunned. “Karena and Yeva? charged with murder?”

  Alex explained the truth as Professor Menkin had laid it out in the apartment. When he’d finished, Dr. Zinnovy rested his forehead on his hand.

  “This is utterly despicable.”

  “The other option is for your daughter to leave Russia for Finland as soon as possible.”

  Dr. Zinnovy leaned back in the chair as if exhausted. “I doubt Nicholas will receive me now.” He pushed himself up from the chair and walked slowly, with heavy feet, over to the window. “Something has happened over which I have no jurisdiction.”

  Alex waited, his tension growing. He could see his expectation for Karena’s pardon crumbling before his eyes.

  “I don’t understand, sir. I do know we haven’t much time. Durnov’s determined. I’m going down to the Kyovsky district now. Karena’s there with Dr. Lenski’s daughter, working in the charity tent.”

  “Yes, Dr. Lenski told me.”

  “I’ll be bringing her back to Professor Menkin’s apartment. Careful plans need to be made for them to escape across the border.”

  Dr. Zinnovy turned to look at him across the plush office. His face was gray and his eyes, morose. “I spoke harshly of Rasputin, and my words have found their way to the czarina. She’s turned against me. It’s only a matter of time before I’m dismissed from the palace staff of physicians. Any request I may make to the czar is likely to be rejected.”

  Alex’s last hope flickered. What was left now but escape to Finland?

  He nodded to Dr. Zinnovy, who returned the gesture with misery in his eyes. As Alex opened the door to leave, he heard the doctor’s quiet plea.

  “Help them.”

  I will.

  When Alex returned to the Winter Palace, he was met by an ensign.

  “Colonel! There’s a Bolshevik riot down by the bridge! You’re to ride with the Cossacks, sir!”

  Inside the tent, Karena could hear shouts from the street. Her last patient had departed minutes ago, so she hurried out of the tent to see what was responsible for the noise. People were rushing by; some were running.

  “What is wrong?” Karena called to one of the passersby.

  “The police. There’s a bread riot farther up the street.”

  The police. She must not be stopped for questioning. She turned and ran back to the tent, grabbed her things, pushing them wildly into her satchel, and fled.

  It had been snowing lightly for the last hour. She ran, walked, ducked here and there to avoid the crowds and the police, until some blocks later she saw a lineika going in her direction. She boarded, keeping her fur hood lowered over her forehead.

  The lineika moved off through the falling snow. She clutched her medical satchel, looking over her shoulder.

  Farther down the street she saw a crowd milling around, carrying red flags and shouting, “Down with the czar! End the war now! Down with the czar! End the war now!”

  The driver pulled the lineika over and ordered everyone out, waving his arms in agitation. “I cannot get through. Go, go!”

  “Oh please,” Karena cried desperately. “I need to go farther down Tverskoy Boulevard to reach my flat.”

  “This is the women’s march,” he shouted. “Their demonstration for bread and peace has shut down the factories. You’ll have to get out.”

  Ahead, there was shouting. Someone had climbed up on the nearest building and planted the red Bolshevik flag. The color red against the white snow brought tragedy to Karena’s mind.

  As she tried to go around the crowd, she looked toward the Neva River. The sight was dreadful to behold. The czar must have sent the Cossacks to end the demonstration. The feared guards on horseback were bearing down on the throng. Gunshots cracked through the cold afternoon air. People ran screaming from the gunshots, but where the bridge narrowed, they were being squeezed, unable to free themselves and escape. She saw some fa
ll, and the crowd behind them pushed forward to flee the Cossacks.

  The horses pressed close to break up the crowd, and more shots were fired. Karena saw several people down in the snow, wounded. Those behind her pushed and shoved to escape the throng coming from the bridge. There was a young woman ahead of her, trying to crawl in the snow toward the gutter and sidewalk. She’d been holding a breadbasket, and it seemed she had gotten caught in the whirlwind of destruction. She was garbed in a long black dress with a bloodied shawl and a battered gray headscarf tied beneath her chin. It was then Karena saw that she was expecting a child. She was reaching a hand for help toward the throng running by, but none stopped, so intent were they on escaping the Cossacks. Any minute now the terrified young woman would be trampled beneath a thousand pairs of running boots and clattering hooves.

  Karena, in a cleft on the bridge where she’d been clinging to the rail, left her place of refuge and began running toward the pathetic figure, who was unable, in her weakened condition, to get to her feet.

  Karena heard people running, the horses, the gunshots, and she feared at any second to feel a bullet rip through her and lay her low with several others. She reached the pregnant woman, whose fingers desperately clutched her wrist.

  “Hurry, on the count of three, use your other hand and knees to push up. Go—one, two, three—”

  Karena, never particularly strong, struggled to lift at the same time the woman gave her best effort. “I can’t! I can’t! God have mercy!”

  “Stay calm! Look, they see us, the Cossacks—they’re going around us. Look! That soldier on the horse is shouting at them to avoid us.”

  Karena stopped short. Alex Kronstadt!

  Suddenly, they were surrounded by four Cossacks, guarding them, while Alex turned his black horse with ease and rode up and through the four Cossacks. He was down from the saddle in a moment and caught hold of her as though she belonged to him. There was a determined glow in his eyes.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you! And believe me, I’ve more to say about how I feel than you’re ready to hear. But you will listen because our time together is short. I’ll start by saying Tatiana and I have mutually agreed to end any possible engagement.”

  Her eyes searched his, and even in the midst of havoc and death, she felt the same coming together of their hearts and desires. His dark hair showed wavy beneath his hat, and his black coat was blowing in the wind.

  “I am innocent of all that is laid at my feet, Colonel.”

  “Stop it. You know I’m Alex. And before this is over, that’s what you’ll call me.”

  “But this poor woman is in desperate need, and she may be going into early labor.”

  “The last time, you got away from me by delivering a peasant’s child. This time, Karena, the woman will go to the charity ward down the street, and I am bringing you to Professor Menkin’s apartment. We have much to decide and little time.”

  He held her elbow firmly while he turned and commanded the Cossacks. At once, they obeyed his orders. How wonderful it felt to see someone with authority taking command. Soon the woman was to be carried to the hospital.

  Meekly, she surrendered to his dictums as he picked up her medical bag and loaded it onto his saddle, then gestured her forward.

  “Do you mind riding with me across the bridge?”

  She shook her head no, now feeling a little shy at his attention, for he studied her with scrutiny. She must look terrible after working all day and getting caught in the riot. She saw his gaze take in her bruises, and she looked away quickly.

  He held the stirrup as she mounted and then swung up behind her, taking the reins. As his arms closed around her, her heart thundered.

  “I’ve already met with Professor Menkin,” he told her as they rode across the bridge away from the ugly scene. “I’ve also spoken to your mother, Madame Yeva. She’ll have something important to tell you when you see her.”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. Her gaze became lost in his.

  “What needs to be decided?”

  “You’ll be leaving Petrograd for Finland.”

  She gasped. “Leave! I can’t leave, and won’t—”

  “Matvey has decided you will. Your mother will agree as well. And so do I.”

  Karena wondered in utter amazement at the swift turn of events that had swept her up, carrying her away to unknown things that would alter her life. Is this what she wanted? Did she have anything to say about it?

  Later that afternoon at the flat, Alex met with Uncle Matvey, and Karena heard them quietly discussing their options. Karena saw a small bag of gold coins and heard of plans to cross the border and of trusted men who would guard them.

  When Matvey went into the bedroom to talk to Yeva about the decision, Alex came up to her and drew her aside. His gaze sought hers. His strong fingers clasped her forearms.

  “Your uncle will explain everything. There’s still a chance matters will turn out well for you and Madame Peshkova here in Petrograd, but only time will tell. Until then, Karena, your uncle wants you safe. And I want you safe. Safe, so I can find you again and tell you, show you, how I hope that one day we can plan a future together. I’ve felt something special about us from the moment I first saw you in that red hat.”

  “Oh … Alex—”

  “And I don’t want to lose you, Karena.”

  “I feel the same. I think you already know that.”

  “The times are against us. Each time we meet, something comes between us and tears us apart. For your safety you must go to Finland, and I have new orders to join the czar at the front.”

  Her heart sank. Again, separation. She reached out and took hold of him. He no longer belonged to Tatiana; he belonged to her. They must come together again—someday.

  “The front?” she whispered.

  “The czar is taking control of the army and is going to the front. I never liked working with the Okhrana. I put in a request to Czar Nicholas weeks ago to be transferred back to my old regiment in the Imperial Cavalry, but it seems that the winds of fortune, for good or ill, have also changed my future. I’ll be going as a member of his guard. I want you to know that I’ll be looking for an opportunity to speak with him about Schoolmaster Josef. The countess will also try to intervene with the czarina. I can’t promise you a quick solution, but the door is open and there’s hope. You can tell Madame Peshkova when she’s stronger. Returning your wheat lands too, that remains a possibility.”

  “Oh, Alex, thank you … I want to spend time with you, but it appears as if that opportunity will be delayed again.”

  “Delayed,” he said in a soft voice, “but not ended.”

  Karena, dazed by all that had happened, stood with her hand on his arm. She spoke her heart and heard herself saying with the same intensity, “I’ll be waiting for you, regardless of when you return, Alex. I have no intention of leaving Russia permanently, not if I have anything to do with it. We can still meet again … in the future.”

  “I was hoping you would say that. Though I hardly know you, I have learned some truths about you. I have been thinking about you since Kazan.”

  Her heart raced. “I confess, I’ve thought about you, too. So many times.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back in Petrograd. But when I can, I will write to you. There’s so much to say.”

  “Yes,” she said simply, her heart excited and yet struggling with sorrow as well.

  “It has been a bittersweet beginning, Karena. We’ll make sure of the ending. Matvey has promised to stay in touch with my stepmother, the countess.”

  Bittersweet—yes, it was that. But she would dream of the day when she would see him again and he would stay—the day the rosebud would open into a full, red rose.

  Thinking of all that had happened and was still to come, she couldn’t restrain her tears. “There is hope,” she whispered. “With God, there is always hope.”

  “Yes, what looks so dark and bleak may be the beginning of the
sunrise, if not for Russia, then perhaps for us.”

  She looked down and saw his strong hand reaching for hers and raising it to his lips. She closed her eyes, relishing a new excitement she had not experienced before.

  “Until tomorrow,” he said. “Either in Finland or here in Russia, we’ll meet again. When I ride out with Czar Nicholas, I’ll be thinking of you.”

  She tightened her fingers around his. He hesitated, and then suddenly drew her toward him. She came willingly. He paused. Then their lips met, and his love was burned into her heart, becoming a promise as wondrous and sweet as anything she’d known before.

  “Somewhere and somehow, by God’s fair favor, we’ll keep our promise, Karena.”

  “Until then,” she whispered.

  In a moment, he was gone. Karena was left with the warmth of his promise burning on her lips and in her heart. Whatever the winds of revolution and war brought their way, she would remember his words of hope in God’s care.

  She hurried to the window and looked below at the falling snow and the strangers passing by. She saw Alex—the snow beginning to sprinkle his dark greatcoat, the wind tugging at the hem—leaving. He turned and looked up as if knowing she would be there. He raised his hand, and she touched her fingertips to the window pane. “Good-bye, Alex,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  Eventually, she became aware that Uncle Matvey had come up beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder and telling her Yeva wished to speak with her alone—about a secret. Karena smiled at him, putting her hand over his, and lingered at the window for a moment longer.

  Tomorrow stretched ahead into the future. The road would wind on to spring’s flowers and summer’s bountiful harvest. Would she ever return to the manor house in Kiev? She closed her eyes and imagined the winds blowing through the wheat fields. She could see the large harvest moon in the indigo sky, smell the ripened grain, and see the smiling faces of those she loved.

  The manor would be returned. Ilya would come home to a new life, find a girl, and fall in love. Boris, too, would come home, and happy voices would sing at Natalia’s marriage. Aunt Marta would make her special wedding cake. Grandmother Jilinsky would return to her little bungalow. Papa Josef would take them to the opera again. And Sergei and Ivanna would embrace their families.