The Midwife of St. Petersburg (27 page)

“If we cannot take young Hadley’s apartment, then it may be wiser to take up residence in Moscow,” he had written, “though I understand the reason for your wish to be in St. Petersburg.”

Reason, indeed, with the medical college not far away. The days slipped by, and they waited for Uncle Matvey’s letter. Travel plans remained undecided.

One evening, Karena was in her room, struggling to decide what clothes to take. She had an unpleasant notion that new clothes would be hard to come by on her wage, and she was reluctant to leave anything behind. She was allotted only one trunk, and choosing garments was inevitable. What remained behind would be given to the peasants, unless Uncle Viktor came with wagons and helped with clothes, glassware, and indeed, all of the furnishings from the Peshkov household. Karena could see Madame Yeva’s internal agony. Her life was bound up in the manor and all it had held for the last two decades. Karena felt great loss at leaving behind favorite clothes, books, mementos, and shoes. The list was endless.

“Now I know what Mrs. Noah must have gone through,” Madame Yeva commented as she stared at two exquisite lace tablecloths. “She had to look at all the family’s belongings and decide what to bring into the ark and what she must leave to be taken away in the great flood.”

Karena glanced at her. “I’d never thought of that. But Mrs. Noah had a very large ark. Lot’s family had to flee with nothing.”

“Well, Lot’s wife didn’t want to leave. I suppose there are great spiritual lessons in these struggles.”

“Did you know Uncle Matvey thinks Jesus was the promised Messiah?”

Yeva paused thoughtfully, handling the lace tablecloths as though remembering something fond and far away. “No, I didn’t know. He’s not discussed his book with me in weeks. If he
was
the Messiah, then he still
is
. Christians believe Jesus rose from the dead.” She went on, changing the subject, “Everything left behind will remain in place. Just leave it as is, Karena. There’s still a chance this horrible situation might be overturned by Czar Nicholas. And if not, Viktor may be able to move the furniture
and draperies to Kazan. Someday,” Yeva said firmly, “we will have our own house again.”

Karena wondered where the finances for a house would come from. What if Papa Josef were sentenced to years in a slave-labor camp in Siberia? Would his health even hold up under such torturous conditions? Every winter for as far back as she could remember, they worried about his becoming ill with pneumonia.

“One of my deepest regrets is leaving baby Anna,” Madame Yeva said. “She’s come down with a slight chill, and I would feel so much better if I knew it wasn’t going to choke up her bronchial tubes. A fever can be devastating for a newborn.”

“At least Elena loves her dearly and worries about her as much as you do,” Karena said, trying to cheer her. She knew that it was a grief for her mother to leave her grandchild behind, even if the baby was not a blood relation. She and Aunt Marta both had raised Sergei, and Sergei’s baby would be tremendously important to Papa Josef when he learned of her birth.

“We promised Anna we would watch over her baby. It troubles me to leave her. And now she’s not fully well.” Madame Yeva stared down at the pile of linens with distress clearly drawn across her tired face.

“Yes, but I don’t know what we’d do if Elena didn’t want her. At least baby Anna is with her aunt and uncle until Sergei can claim his daughter.”

“I suppose you’re choosing to be practical,” Madame Yeva said, “but I hate leaving her. Especially now that the wage I promised for her upkeep cannot come as frequently as I had intended.”

“If we brought her with us, who would care for her while we’re both working?”

“I almost wish Grandmother Jilinsky had not gone to the Roskovs,” Madame Yeva said. “She is wonderful with children. Money will be scarce
too. Even so, leaving little Anna behind troubles me when I’ve no idea whether we’ll ever be permitted to return here. Elena is not in such good health herself after two miscarriages in three years. And Yuri may soon be conscripted, maimed hand or not. If the war goes badly for Russia, the czar will need every available man.”

Karena frowned. What would they do with baby Anna? “There’s only one thing we could do if the worst happens. We’ll need to come back for her. Or by then Sergei will come himself.”

Yeva gave a brief nod but did not look entirely convinced. She went on folding the linens to be stored away, and Karena continued her own packing. For years, she had longed for the day when she would pack her trunk and journey to St. Petersburg. Now that the day approached, she found the experience sad and unsatisfying.

Outside, the wind had risen, and there were creaks and groans in the manor house that had been unnoticed when the family was all at home. The various sounds put Karena on edge. She went to shut the window where the wind had pulled the curtains out. The front yard was alive with swaying silhouettes as the wind shook and bent the bushes in an uncanny dance. She drew the curtains in, closed the window, and locked it.

“Elena doesn’t want to give up baby Anna, does she?” Karena asked. “I can hardly believe it of her and Yuri.”

“Neither of them do,” Yeva answered. “Elena is sure she’ll never carry one of her own to full term. If they wished to relinquish her, I wouldn’t hesitate to take her with us, though I have no notion where we could place her. Certainly not in Matvey’s apartment. But the lack of money burdens them. I should leave them with something. It will be some time before I get a job and can send them anything.”

Karena thought of her savings earned from jobs done in the village. Uncle Matvey, too, had insisted on paying her this summer, knowing she had been saving in the hope of entering the medical college.

She went to her bureau and removed the box of money she had expected to use in St. Petersburg.

“Then we’ll share what I have with them and baby Anna. I think it will help us all sleep better.”

Madame Yeva at first refused, but when Karena kept urging her mother, she relented, cupped her face between her cool palms as though Karena were again a small girl, and kissed both of her cheeks.

“You are a good girl, Karena. You make me very proud.”

Karena, embarrassed, was nonetheless blessed by her mother’s sincere praise. “I have an interest in baby Anna too,” she said with a smile. “She’s my first delivery.”

“Ah, but she won’t be your last. You have the gift of loving babies and the poor women who carry them into this heartless world.”

Madame Yeva put the money in her pocket and picked up her scarf from the bureau.

“I feel vexed over the child’s cold. I’m going over to the bungalow to check on her. Yuri will be there. I want to put the money in his hands. And I think it wise to leave Elena some medications.”

While her mother went off to select the medicines, Karena went back to her packing, kneeling before her trunk, trying to choose. A few minutes crept by. She folded a blouse and then paused, lifting her head at the sound of the creaking stairs. Why was Madame Yeva so hesitant in going down the stairs? Karena turned her head toward the bedroom door, listening. Or was she coming up?

She placed the blouse in her trunk and stood, facing the bedroom door. There it was again, that creaking stair, heard plainly this time in the momentary lull of the blowing wind. A creaking stair under a heavy footstep, quite unlike her mother’s.

She went to her door, glanced in both directions, and then looked down the flight of stairs to the front hall. The front door stood open. The
lamps on the table below the window facing the front porch cast a golden glow of warmth.

Karena went down the stairs and across the hall to shut it.

“All alone?”

She whirled. Policeman Leonovich stood on the bottom stair, slouching against the rail with a leer on his broad face, his arms folded across his chest. He laughed silently, his shoulders shaking.

“Where have all the heroes gone, I wonder? Big heroes, eh? They went to fight the Germans. Do you miss Ilya, eh? Well, we’ll do something to cheer you up. Yes, we will. You can pretend I’m pretty boy Ilya.”

He straightened from the rail and walked toward her, his coarse smile disappearing.

Fear clutched Karena’s heart. She could see the effect of vodka in his movements as he came toward her, hands clenching. “I’ve been thinking about you for a long time.”

His eyes were bright and lustful, his hard mouth determined. She sensed at once he could not be reasoned with.

Karena, already at the front door, turned to flee. His heavy hand latched hold of her hair like a claw. He jerked it with such force that her head snapped back and she lost her footing.

“You’ll cooperate or I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Like a hungry vulture, he pounced, knocking her down to the rug. She screamed, clawing at him, her nails scraping his face, drawing blood. His foul breath met her face as his mouth smothered her. She bit hard.

God, help me! Help me! Please!
She struggled, and gaining one free hand, she grabbed a hank of his bushy hair and yanked, taking out a clump. He cursed, and she felt a fist smash her face. Her eyes saw flashes of light, and she was spiraling down into a pit. Then there was a crack of thunder, and she smelled acrid smoke and heard his shocked intake of breath. She felt his body jerk as if struck, then he was off her and on his knees.

Karena dizzily sat up, trying to crawl away. Her sight was blurred, but she could see him on his knees, looking toward the stairs.

Madame Yeva stood there with Papa Josef’s gun in her hand. Karena could see her now, her face cold and hard, her eyes blazing.

“There is no justice,” she said, her voice frighteningly soft. “No justice for Jews or anyone else, not with swine like you calling themselves policemen. How dare you put your filthy hands on my daughter!”

There was an expression of sudden sobriety on Leonovich’s sweating face. Karena saw the scarlet patch on the back of his shirt grow larger. His voice rasped.

“I’ll—kill—you—” He got to his feet, staggering toward Yeva.

“Get out of here, or I’ll shoot again.” She backed up onto the bottom steps as he lunged toward her, wrenched the gun from her grip, and tossed it upstairs.

Karena struggled to her feet, grabbing hold of the table to steady herself. She reached for the marble bookend. If she could get behind him …

Like a wounded bear fierce with rage, Leonovich grabbed at Madame Yeva’s neck. Karena watched, trying to focus, feeling as though she were paralyzed and everything was happening too quickly. She heard horrible choking sounds from her mother. He was squeezing the life from her. Karena moved toward them, hearing the struggle, the panting. Her mother fell to her knees on the stairs, and Leonovich bent over her, his hands around her throat.

Karena moved in desperation, the marble bookend clutched in both hands. She made it up to the bottom stairs until she was just behind him, and then brought it down with all her force.

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.