The Midwife of St. Petersburg (14 page)

“Yes, Papa,
safeguarding the supreme right of autocratic rule
,” Sergei said sarcastically. “To preserve sovereignty for his son. Patience, you say. Patience for what? to await the autocratic reign of his young son!”

Debate didn’t flourish just in the Peshkov home, it was everywhere and growing, though reserved for the inner rooms of Russian homes. It was plain to see the nation was divided. Perhaps they were already in civil war—a war of ideas, a cultural war that was as real as any battle, yet without bullets.

“Already my head is aching, and the day, how long and hot it will be,” Aunt Marta said. “Can we not eat in peace at least?”

“Peace, peace,” Sergei teased, “when there is no peace.” He looked at Karena. “Another verse from Uncle Matvey. He’s becoming quite a reader of the Scriptures. There can be no such peace, my sweet aunt. Not as long as the despot keeps us in chains.” He looked at Josef. “Papa, you think that ignoring Russia’s condition will make it better?” He shook his head slowly, with marked determination. “Remember when we were children, Karena? Natalia?” He looked at his sisters. “Both of you would cover your heads with a blanket when you were afraid a ghost might come into the room at night.”

Karena smiled at Natalia.

“You thought you were safe under the blanket. A true ghost would rip the blanket from your hiding place and get you.” He cracked his knuckles. Natalia jumped, Sergei grinned, and she picked up a piece of bread as if to throw it at him. A warning look from Madame Yeva stayed her hand.

Aunt Marta moaned, shaking her head. “There are no manners in this house, none. Tatiana puts you all to shame.”

Sergei began to mock Tatiana, picking up a glass with his little finger extended, dabbing his napkin against his pursed lips, and twittering.

Natalia laughed at her brother. “Ah, but what beautiful gowns she wears to the opera,” she said with a sigh. “And what a dashing colonel is committed to her in Aleksandr Kronstadt.”

“Colonel Kronstadt is not committed to her,” Karena said flatly. “He’s becoming engaged to her to please Uncle Viktor.”

“Oh, don’t even suggest such a thing, dear,” Aunt Marta said.

“Yes, Karena,” Madame Yeva said quietly. “You don’t want to start a chain of gossip. Words can sometimes do more evil than an outright attack.”

“Gowns,” Sergei said loftily, hand at heart, “will turn to ashes, my charming ladies, but politics is the mother’s milk of change! We may
think we can go on living our lives without becoming involved, without making a decision about whose side we are on for Russia’s future, but we are wrong. More bloodshed will come.”

“I forbid you to keep company with Lenski,” Josef said.

Karena knew that Josef had forbidden this many times over.

“Papa, be logical. Whether you want a revolution or not, it will come. Even if I never see Lenski again, it must come. The time is ripe. The autocratic rule of the czar is coming to an end. His actions against the people of Russia must face the sword of ideas.”

“Talk of peace, Sergei, dear,” Aunt Marta said. “The more we speak words of peace, the more we reinforce the good that is all around us until, eventually, good will prevail.”

“Pardon my saying so, and I love you dearly, Aunt Marta, but I have never heard such rot. Try speaking good words to the stinkweeds in your herb garden and see if they’re choked out by your sage and peppermint. The stinkweeds will take over if you don’t attack them—tear them out by the roots.”

Aunt Marta shrugged in surrender and turned to Natalia to discuss her day at the college. When no one responded to Sergei’s words, he smiled triumphantly and returned to his food.

Karena caught her father’s gaze upon her. He leaned toward her across the table. It was his way to come close when he wished to speak seriously, as though by leaning forward he could hold her attention.

“Daughter Karena, you must be very strong this morning.”

The table became silent. She gripped her fork.

“I seem to disappoint Sergei with my lack of boldness. Now I must also deliver news that will disappoint you.”

Karena felt the gaze of those at the table. Papa Josef took an envelope from his black frock coat pocket and held it for a moment before setting it on the table with a tap of his finger.

She caught several of the words on the envelope: “St. Petersburg … Medicine and Midwifery …” Her heart turned to mush.

He cleared his throat. “Daughter, you will not be attending the Imperial College of Medicine this year. I know you have been hoping all summer to do so.”

Silence tightened around the table. Sergei stopped eating and looked quickly in her direction. Aunt Marta plucked at her collar. Natalia took an oversized bite of cheese, and Madame Yeva looked down at her plate.

Karena did not move. None of them yet knew that Dr. Zinnovy had agreed to come to her aid. She managed a smile.

“Something wonderful has happened, however,” she said. “I met Dr. Dmitri Zinnovy yesterday in town, and he’s assured me that he’ll work with Dr. Lenski to make my enrollment possible.”

Madame Yeva dropped her spoon with a clatter and stared at her. “What is this, Karena?”

She began describing Dr. Zinnovy’s visit to check on Anna’s condition, avoiding mention of the fact that Karena had ridden home in his carriage, as well as the reason Anna had ridden a horse. “… and when he finished with Anna, he wrote about a doctor he recommends for her.” She reached into her skirt pocket for the folded paper and passed it to her mother.

Madame Yeva was tense and silent. Karena took her alertness for concern for her patient Anna.

Sergei stared into his coffee cup.

Papa Josef cleared his throat. He smoothed his mustache with one finger, looking troubled. “That is all very fine, Karena. If Dr. Zinnovy can use his influence to help your admission to the medical school, that is good news. However,” he said and glanced at Madame Yeva who sat stiff and silent, “I’m afraid there are serious things happening now. War is breaking out between Russia and Germany, and Czar Nicholas has promised military help to France. These are dangerous days, and we cannot have you in St. Petersburg.”

Sergei started to argue, but Josef laid a hand on his arm for silence.

“But, Papa,” Karena protested, “St. Petersburg will be safe. And I shall be staying part of the time with Uncle Matvey. Cousin Tatiana also wrote last month that Aunt Zofia and General Viktor will spend the coming year in St. Petersburg. I can visit them and shall have all the care I need. If anything, I shall have too much care and not enough independence.”

“Independence?” Madame Yeva raised her golden brows, concern in her eyes.

“Mama, you know what I mean,” Karena hastened. “War or no war, I shall fare well enough.”

“War with Germany—a stupid mistake,” Sergei said, anger in his voice.

“Papa, I am not afraid of war,” Karena interrupted her brother.

“Not afraid of war! Then you have much to learn, Daughter.”

“I mean, it does not make me afraid to go to St. Petersburg.”

Professor Josef held up a palm and looked at her sternly. Karena knew that look and stilled her tongue. Even Sergei’s fork stopped, and Natalia held her glass of milk midway to her lips, looking at Karena with sympathy.

“There is always next year, Karena,” Josef said.

Next year. If I hear “next year” one more time, I think I shall scream. For three years now, I have been told next year, next year
—

“And there are, well, other reasons.” Josef cleared his throat. “Our financial situation has not been the best this year. What money we can spare now for higher learning must go to Sergei, as firstborn son. He will be returning for his third year at the university.”

“Do not place the blame on me, Papa,” Sergei argued, lowering his fork. He shook his head. “I do not want to be a lawyer. I have said so many times.”

“Too many times,” Josef stated. “You talk so convincingly, my son, that you are well fitted to be the best of lawyers.”

Natalia gave a short laugh, then ceased as both Josef and Sergei fixed their gazes upon her.

“Let Karena go to the medical school if Zinnovy can arrange it—” Sergei began.

“Do not contradict your papa.”

Josef turned calmly again to Karena. She sat rigid in the hard-backed chair, sickened by disappointment.

Professor Josef removed his spectacles from his pocket. He breathed moisture on each round lens and polished them thoughtfully with a napkin, before pressing them in place. “Perhaps next year.” Then more confidently, “Next year, there will be money enough. Dr. Zinnovy may be able to reserve a place for you.” He smiled, but as he glanced about the table at the fallen faces, the smile faded. “We shall see … we shall see.” He picked up his cup of coffee and finished it.

Karena looked at her mother. Madame Yeva had been unusually silent all morning. She kept her eyes on her breakfast plate. Karena understood now why she had been so quiet. She must have known about the letter. Her mother, better than anyone else, understood and shared her crushing disappointment. And now! She’d come so close, with even Dr. Zinnovy on her side.

Next September, she was sure she would hear similar arguments once more. There seemed no options except to settle down and marry Ilya.

She felt a lump lodged in her throat. She reached for her glass of goat’s milk. Her stomach churned with nausea. She stood up, pushing her chair back, feeling her face grow warm. She exited the room quickly.

Karena rushed out the front door. Madame Yeva turned toward her husband. She reached over and laid her hand upon his black coat sleeve.

“Josef,” she urged, “is there nothing to be done?”

“There is nothing, my dear.”

Sergei pushed back his chair noisily and stood to his feet. “War or no war, I have to work in the fields today with Ilya.” He looked down at his father as if to say something more, but turned and left. A moment later, the back kitchen door gave a decided bang.

Josef sat in aggrieved silence. Yeva sighed.

Natalia stared at her fork as though she wondered what it was. Aunt Marta was looking at her brother Josef with sympathy. Yeva lifted her cup of tea and drank; it was now lukewarm. She would talk to Karena later. Her daughter already knew much about birthing, and she could teach her still more. There was no reason why Karena could not take over the medical work here on the land. There was certainly enough sickness to keep anyone busy these dreadful days!

Natalia slid from her chair. “I must go into town, Papa. I am to help Madame Olga with her shopping before classes. She wants to get it all done and be back home before it gets too hot. She’s promised to pay me today.”

Josef nodded. Natalia came over to him and bent to kiss his bearded face.

“You be a good girl today,” he said.

“Papa, Boris will be conscripted soon. If we can’t marry, at least let us seal our engagement!”

He patted her hand. “We’ll see, Daughter, we’ll discuss it with your mother later.”

Aunt Marta began to clear the table. “Don’t forget to bring Madame Olga the loaf of bread I baked for her,” she told Natalia. “It’s wrapped and sitting on the table by the door. She owes me for the other loaves too. Be sure you collect my kopecks. I want to order new yarn.”

“Yes, Aunt Marta.”

Madame Yeva spoke up. “And tell her I will call on her tomorrow
morning if her new supply of cough medicine arrives by post. On second thought, tell her I will call on her regardless.”

“Yes, Mama, because if you don’t, she will complain you are neglecting her aches and pains. She is always complaining of something.”

“That is not for you to say. She is old and needs your sympathy. Go now, so you will not be late.”

Natalia kissed her cheek and hurried off. Madame Yeva remained at the table, troubled. She tried to concentrate on her own difficulties to mask the pain she felt for Karena’s.

Czar Nicholas II was soon expected to declare war with Germany and her allies, including Turkey, which bordered Russia. For now, life went on normally in the Peshkov household, but already she was concerned about her medical supplies. With war coming, would she still receive shipments? The breeze coming through the open window stirred the curtains. “It will be most warm today,” Yeva commented.

“The cabbage must be picked before it begins flowering,” Aunt Marta told Josef. “I will need to do preserving all week. Tell Sergei to help me clear out the storage room.”

“Sergei is busy in the fields, Marta. He’s also preparing for his return to the university. And, Sister, Sergei does not like to do women’s work. Ask one of the young peasant boys to help you.”

“Women’s work,” Marta snorted. “If you saw how I break my back from dawn to dusk, cooking and slaving for the family, you would have more respect for my work.”

“A job of great importance,” Yeva spoke up in a soothing voice. Sometimes her husband infuriated her. She looked at him. “Is that not so, Josef?”

“Yes, yes, by all means, Marta. The food this morning was most wholesome.” He pushed back his chair. “I must go, or I will be late to teach the summer class.”

After Josef left, Marta went off to her domain, the awesome kitchen and the great Peshkov vegetable garden. Yeva went her own way to organize her medical duties for the day. She would need to call on Anna this morning to see how she was feeling. She must write the recommended doctor in Kiev, though who would pay for his services? Anna Lavrushsky had little money.