The Midwife of St. Petersburg (38 page)

Yeva had fled the Imperial College of Medicine and Midwifery, devastated with her predicament and Dmitri’s response to the news. With tears in her eyes and a heart squeezed with pain, she packed her bags in a rush. The door opened quickly, and footsteps sounded behind her. She whirled defensively. It was not Dmitri, but her colleague and friend, Fayina Lenski, in her second year of medical studies.

“Yeva, you cannot go away.”

“But, Fayina, I must. You know the regulations.” Any woman pregnant out of wedlock was dismissed. That was not the only reason she was leaving; she was running from Dmitri and his heartless betrayal. He had recommended an abortion.

“I know this hurts and shocks you, Yeva, but it is an answer that will safeguard us both,” he had told her.

“Safeguard,” she had cried as they met secretly and walked through the falling snow down Tverskoy Boulevard. It was ten o’clock at night, and the telega was parked a block behind where they’d gotten out to talk.

“Yes, we must safeguard your life and opportunity to go on with your medical studies, even as my position as head instructor must be guarded. I cannot leave the countess, divorce, and remarry. I’ve always said that.”

Countess Katya Zinnovy of the great Rezanov family
. Yeva realized she’d been a fool. Dmitri would never leave the countess, though he’d told Yeva he did not love Katya and that Katya had an incurable disease of the kidneys that would take her life within a year. Then, she and Dmitri would marry. There had been reasons to become Dmitri’s mistress—all the wrong and selfish reasons that had seemed entirely logical and practical. She had compromised so much in the name of “love.”

She turned from Dmitri and hurried back toward the telega.

In the medical dormitory, Fayina walked up beside her bunk. “Where will you go? What will you do, Yeva?”

“I cannot go home to Warsaw.” There’d been a recent pogrom there, but she did not want to mention it. “There is an area of St. Petersburg where I can find an affordable room. I shall work among the poor peasant women. They will pay in food and commodities. I’ll not destroy my baby, no matter what.”

“You can stay with me. I have room. And if it’s work you are worried about, I know a doctor who can use you in deliveries. He works with peasants, prostitutes, and Gypsies.”

Yeva had been indebted to Fayina Lenski from that day forward. She’d moved to her inexpensive flat and was there only a week when Dr. Zinnovy unexpectedly arrived.

“Who told you I was here?”

“Fayina.”

She felt betrayed, but Dmitri said he had elicited Yeva’s whereabouts by threatening her medical studies.

“I am desperate. Forgive me, Yeva. Forgive me. No, wait. Please, let me talk.”

And talk he did, pleading with her that, if she must keep their baby, she should marry to spare herself and the baby from shame. He knew the perfect man, desperate for an arranged marriage with a wise woman. He was a gentile, but one who looked upon the seed of Jacob with favor. He was a schoolmaster and a farmer, and his family had been favored by Czar Alexander I. His wife had died, and he had a small boy named Sergei. If she would accept this marriage to Josef Peshkov, whom he knew to be a kind and decent man, Dmitri would see to everything. He then produced a bag of silver coins to tide her over. He would make sure she had a dowry in order to enter the Peshkov family with respect. And when the child became a young adult, he would pay for the education.

Madame Yeva was staring up at Karena’s lovely face, not seeing the bruises, but the past—her own struggle for love, meaning, and purpose in life. She had thought she had found it in Dr. Zinnovy, and for years afterward, she had grieved for him late at night while Josef slept beside her. Tears filled Yeva’s eyes. Now it was Josef she missed, longed for, and had so many regrets about. Josef was not the handsome man Dmitri had been, but his character made him a giant among men. She missed him and worried about his health and whether he was getting enough food.

“Josef, Josef, if only you were here.”

“Mother.” Karena bent her head and rested it a moment on her bosom. Yeva smoothed the damp hair from Karena’s neck as they cried together.

I do not regret having borne you, my dearest one. I thank God I did not get rid of you as they’d suggested—how precious you are
.

Karena raised her head. Her mother’s eyes flickered open again, tried to focus, and then closed. “Not Zinnovy. Lenski … Dr. Fayina Lenski … at the college now … go there to her …” Yeva gave a shuddering breath that sent a dart of fear through Karena. She stood, clasping her slim fingers and gazing down at her mother.

She recalled her mother’s alarm when she mentioned writing to Dr. Lenski about her admission to the medical school. It was a relief to see she knew she was in need of help, but why not Dr. Zinnovy?

Karena left the bedroom and looked back at her sleeping mother before closing the door. She stood there for a moment, thinking. She’d better understand what she was getting into. Dr. Lenski would ask about their bruises, as well as treat her mother’s illness. She would want to know what they were doing here in St. Petersburg with Yeva’s brother.

There would be no need to explain everything. Karena went to the kitchen and set the broth aside on the back of the stove.

She could explain their stay here with Uncle Matvey with little difficulty, but other questions could lead to problems, as he had warned.

She made up her mind. She had to trust her mother’s old college roommate.

She slipped into her fur coat and went to Matvey’s desk to write a note in case he returned before she did. As she was about to turn for the front door, her eyes caught sight of his Bible sitting open on his desk. While she pulled on her gloves, she leaned over and glanced at the page. Some of the words were underlined, and there were notes written along the margins. It was the book of the prophet Isaiah, chapter 53. “He
(God)
shall see the labor of His
(Messiah’s)
soul, and be satisfied.” In the margin Uncle had written:
“The
Suffering
Messiah: Jesus on the cross.”
On a sheet of paper he’d written:
“This prophecy of the promised Messiah is fulfilled, as is most of chapter 53. The sin debt is fully paid. We now have redemption through our true Passover Lamb, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Karena’s tired mind responded in simple trust and faith. Her eyes moistened.
Yes, I believe it. Jesus is my Passover Lamb. God, forgive me for what happened to Leonovich
.

She left the apartment using her key. Her feet were still weary, her mind tired, and her earthly problems remained. But a peace calmed her troubled heart with an assurance that she now possessed peace with the Holy God.

T
he first sight of the college Karena had dreamed of attending brought a smile of excitement. It was a four-story palace with a pale yellow, colonnaded front and rectangular windows trimmed in tones of pink and blue. The front of the building gazed out on what in the summer would be a grassy square surrounded by flowering shrubs and trees, but now the square was a carpet of white.

She glanced about in wonder. The topaz and gold-veined marble floors and walls were magnificent, lending dignity to those who studied and worked to serve the needs of the suffering.

In her research to learn how the palace had become a part of the medical school, she’d learned that Countess Irina Vasiliy, upon her death in 1907, had awarded the palace for the use of the college, years after Yeva and Fayina attended as students. The Lying-In Charity Hospital and midwife program, however, was a private enterprise begun by Dr. Zinnovy and now headed by Dr. Lenski.

She walked up the steps, entered a three-story rotunda, and climbed the great stairway to the second floor where the doctors’ and administrative offices were located. Karena was shown to Dr. Fayina Lenski’s comfortable
office with a window that overlooked the Neva River. Karena’s excitement died when her eyes fell upon the somber Peter and Paul prison fortress.
Papa’s in there
, she thought, sickened. She was in earnest prayer for him when she heard voices, and a door opened. Karena turned away from the window.

Two women entered, one of them carrying a stethoscope and standing several inches taller than the younger, who had auburn hair and pleasantly attractive features.
That must be Ivanna
, Karena decided.

Her guess was correct. The young woman introduced herself as Ivanna and then turned to the older doctor. “This is Dr. Lenski.”

Ivanna’s face was stoic, as though she did not know who Karena was. But she had her name and must know she was Sergei’s sister. Karena wondered how Ivanna had managed to escape Kiev. Did she know where her brother Petrov was hiding? Had the Okhrana interrogated her yet?

Dr. Lenski looked Karena over. “So you’re Yeva’s daughter. Yes, the resemblance is there. Dr. Zinnovy mentioned you are interested in medical studies.” Fayina Lenski’s curly auburn hair showed from beneath her cap.

Ivanna turned to her mother. “I’d better get back with the patient. Nice meeting you, Miss Peshkova,” she said and left the room.

Karena found herself under scrutiny. “You should be putting salve on those bruises. Were you in an accident?”

Karena had rehearsed what she would say to the inevitable inquiry. “Yes, a minor fall is all. I shall be fine in a few weeks. I did not come for myself but for Madame Yeva Peshkova.” Karena hurriedly explained that her mother was very ill and urgently needed help, and would Dr. Lenski be so kind as to come with Karena to the Sergievsky district where they were staying with her uncle?

“Yeva asked for me, did she?”

“She speaks highly of you, Dr. Lenski. Some of my earliest memories when following her around in her work as a nurse and midwife in Kiev
are frequent mentions of your name. I’d fully expected—hoped—to attend the college this past September. Alas, I was turned down for—for overcrowding.”
That was hardly the reason, but Dr. Lenski would probably know that
.

“Yes, overcrowding. An unfortunate situation. I keep hoping matters will improve. Unfortunately, I have nothing to do with admittance. I’d have helped you get in, if for no other reason than Yeva. Dr. Zinnovy wrote in his memo that your grades are excellent. Perhaps we will be able to do something.”

Karena brightened, though she knew the lack of funds would thwart her even if an opening were found for her.

“What specialty did you plan to pursue?”

“Midwifery and nursing. The thought of becoming a medical doctor is hardly conceivable. I’ve been waiting for three years just to enter the midwife course. I’ve already helped with deliveries in Kiev. I delivered my first baby alone in August.” She did not dare say who the baby’s father was, since Ivanna was seeing Sergei. Did the doctor even know about her daughter and Sergei? or that Ivanna had accompanied Petrov to Kiev? Somehow she didn’t think so. In any event, she would heartily disapprove.

Dr. Lenski nodded firmly. “Good, very good, indeed. I would have expected such from Yeva’s daughter. Naturally, you can reapply for admission next year. We’ll keep working at it. With Dr. Zinnovy on your side, your chances for admittance will be much improved.”

“At present, I’m afraid finances have foiled me.”

Dr. Lenski lifted her timepiece and considered. “Hmm. Well, this is my night in the charity ward. I have an hour before my watch, but that’s not enough time to see Yeva. Perhaps I can have Ivanna fill in for me in the ward. Let me speak with her supervisor. I’ll meet you out on the front steps. I have a coach. I’ll send for it.”

Karena thanked her, and they entered the corridor, walking briskly
along. Karena was so exhausted she could hardly keep up with the doctor’s long stride. Already she liked her. Her businesslike way and dedication to medicine inspired her.

“I would have Ivanna take you on a tour of the charity ward, as it’s my program now, but I dare not bring you in there with Yeva ill. You do not look ill yourself”—she scrutinized Karena once more—“but we must be most cautious of germs.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Karena hastened. She had forgotten about that. Perhaps she should not have entered the building at all.

“With regard to the study of germs,” Dr. Lenski said and sadly shook her head until her gray-red curls trembled, “it is
most
unfortunate that the status quo remains so strongly among those in leadership, except for Dr. Zinnovy. He’s willing to listen to new ideas about cleanliness. Take the north wing for example. It’s called the Anastasia, after the Romanov princess. The Anastasia is the charity ward where the peasant women of Petrograd receive care and help with deliveries by our midwives in training. Very seldom do our students need to call upon a doctor for help, though one is always on duty. The Anastasia ward has no beautiful heirlooms, no ancient carpets, draperies, paintings, or canopied beds left behind by the donor, the countess. The ward is all wood, with bare wooden floors—easy for the student midwives to scrub down. I’ve discovered there are fewer contagions in the charity ward than in the grand Elizabeth West Ward for the women of the nobility. Most enlightening, isn’t it?”