The Midwife of St. Petersburg (40 page)

She was in the kitchen, pouring hot tea into two glasses, when Uncle Matvey returned some fifteen minutes later, brushing snow from his shoulders and removing his hat. Karena felt in a lighter mood than she had been in for days. Her mother was in a warm, safe bed, medicine was available, and Karena had the promise of medical work.

“Here’s some hot sweetened tea,” she said. “It will warm you up.”

He warmed his hands at the stove as he gratefully sipped. She noticed his grave manner. His mood had not changed even with the news that Yeva was expected to recover with medicine and rest. She sat down, watching him. “You returned earlier than I expected. Weren’t you able to contact your lawyer friend from Finland?”

“We met and discussed matters. He’s not optimistic where you and Yeva are concerned. These are troubling times in Russia. Our rights are few, and we have no friend in the czar. It’s unfortunate, but reality must be faced. My friend is even more convinced than I. He advises that if Leonovich’s death is not accepted as an accident or a road robbery, you and Yeva should flee from St. Petersburg to Finland.”

Karena stared at him, speechless.
Leave Russia?
It was unthinkable. “You think Yeva and I would be convicted of murder in connection with Leonovich?”

He nodded, lifting his glass of amber tea. “Neither you nor Yeva has done anything worthy of punishment. Leonovich was the criminal. But we know, do we not, that here in Russia, such considerations will hardly matter to some in power?”

“But Finland—Uncle! I don’t want to leave my country! I am loyal to the czar.”

“If you are implicated in what will be called the murder of Policeman Leonovich, it won’t matter, Karena. You must either run away or face long, torturous years in Siberia—or even death by hanging.”

Karena sat down slowly on the chair. No, this couldn’t be happening. They were innocent.

Uncle Matvey laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke gently. “This is very difficult, I understand. We need not plan yet. God willing, my dear, we won’t need to follow through on an escape. But wisdom says we should take no chances. I think it best that I go ahead and make plans with my Finnish friend. Then, if it appears necessary, we will go to Finland to visit our distant relatives. And if matters do not deteriorate, then little is lost.”

Karena stared at her glass of tea.
Finland …

“After Leonovich’s attack, was anything left that someone could find at the house or on the train?”

Karena looked down at her fingers curling around her glass of tea. “No, nothing.” She put her hand to her forehead.

“Nothing of Leonovich’s that would incriminate you and Yeva? Nothing at all to indicate he was there when he died? or connect the two of you with his visit that night?”

“No no—nothing, unless—but no.”

“What is it, do you remember something?”

She shook her head, trying to remember the details. They seemed to be blurring, perhaps because she was so exhausted, or maybe because she wanted to forget. “No,” she repeated, “nothing.”
We got rid of the rug
.

Uncle Matvey walked over to his desk and stood for a moment looking down at his books and notes as if he did not see them.

“Dr. Lenski,” he said after a thoughtful moment. “Is she aware that her son is a Bolshevik leader wanted by the secret police?”

“Yes. She said she disapproves of what her son is doing. But she’s devoted to him and Ivanna. She mentioned how Sergei wishes to marry Ivanna.”

“Does she approve of such a union?”

“I gathered that she would approve, once her daughter becomes a doctor. Surely there will be no wedding for some time, with the war and other problems. Sergei still has his schooling. Why do you ask, Uncle? Does this have to do with Leonovich and Kiev?”

“Perhaps not. I have an uneasy notion. One I hope I’m wrong about.”

She watched him, troubled by his concerns. He looked at the various medications Dr. Lenski had left on the table.

“It may have been wiser had I gone to another doctor, a stranger to us.”

Karena shook her head firmly. “Oh, Uncle, perhaps both of us are worrying too much. Dr. Lenski and Madame Yeva have been friends and medical colleagues since before Ivanna and I were born. She’s even helping me find work as a midwife connected with the college’s charity work.”

“Yes, but regardless of her friendship, any connection with Petrov Lenski is precarious.”

“The midwife work is with the college and hospital.”

“That’s helpful. But believe me, my dear, the Okhrana have their eyes on her as Petrov Lenski’s mother.”

Karena was silent. Did he think the secret police would have followed her from the medical college to his apartment? That would account for the gravity of his countenance when he arrived to find Dr. Lenski here. Or was there something more about Dr. Lenski that made Uncle Matvey so concerned?

Karena stood wearily. “I’ll see if Mother is still asleep. I’ve made some broth for her.”

“While you do that, I’ll get supper warming. And Karena,” he said and placed an arm around her shoulder, “it grieves me if I’ve brought new
concerns to you. I want to see my niece happy, doing the medical work she is gifted by God to do. But God also expects us to walk circumspectly. We are in danger—as a people and as individuals. Our enemy is greater than we are. That is not a reason for despair, however, for in Messiah, we are accepted by God in the Beloved. Yet we still need to act with caution and not allow our hopes to overshadow our discernment.”

She nodded and tried to smile. It wasn’t until she reached her mother’s bedroom door that she stopped to consider Uncle Matvey’s words.
In Messiah, we are accepted by God in the Beloved!

Karena pushed the door open. Her mother remained in a deep sleep.

T
he next day Karena went with Ivanna to the outskirts of St. Petersburg where Dr. Lenski and a few of her colleagues had set up a medical tent to treat the poorest of the peasants.

“We could have found a building in the city, especially in this weather, which is near the Gypsy area, but we wanted something we could pack up and move wherever it was needed. It took us nearly eight months to gain approval from the czar to open the tent hospital.”

Karena was surprised. “To help Russia’s poorest? Why should professional doctors need to wait so long?”

As they left the coach, carrying medical bags across the street through slushy snow to drier ground, Ivanna turned to Karena with arched brows.

“I’ll tell you a little story Dr. Zinnovy told my mother, who was growing impatient over the delays. The widow of a respected general, upon her death, left money for four new beds for our old soldiers’ ward. But before the hospital could have the endowment, the czar had to approve it. Innumerable requests such as these occur in all areas.” She hesitated. “It’s this kind of minute control by the autocracy that infuriates Sergei. So that’s why we had to wait eight months just to set up our charity medical tent under a new name.”

Karena was thinking of the Roskovs’ appeal to the czar for a lighter sentence for Papa Josef and how long it was taking.

“Come, we’d better not sound too critical,” Ivanna said casually. “You never know who may overhear and misjudge our loyalties to the Romanovs.”

The large tent was erected in a vacant lot near nightclubs and gambling establishments. These were bleak and dirty dives with unkempt men sleeping in doorways and prostitutes walking the streets at night. She had known that most every town and village had its poor, their vodka dives, women who sold their bodies, and men who
owned
these women as chattel. It was an ugly side of life that Karena would have preferred not to see, but she had to if she was to show Christ’s mercy.

She wondered how safe it was to be here. After the horrible experience with Leonovich, she was constantly looking over her shoulder, yet she could not discuss her fears with Ivanna.

Ivanna must have noticed she was tense. “It is reasonably safe here during daylight hours. At dark, we usually close. Your brother Sergei often comes for me at evening.” She smiled. “He’s the perfect bodyguard.”

Karena, too, smiled. Yes, if only dear Sergei had been at the manor house a week ago. Leonovich would not have found her alone, and that dreadful business would not have happened.

Inside the tent, she helped Ivanna prepare equipment and medicines for nonemergency treatments.

“Do you mind working with these kinds of people? Many are alcoholics and prostitutes.”

Karena looked over at her. “If I can help any of these women, it’s worth the unpleasant environment. It’s dark places like this where we can do the most good.”

“You speak like a Christian. I thought you were Jewish.”

“My mother is Jewish. We have attended St. Basil’s in our village in Kiev, but I did not understand the Bible. Professor Menkin, my uncle, is
making a most interesting study about the Old Testament prophecies of the Christ. He’s writing a book showing that Jesus fulfilled what was written about the Messiah.”

“Matvey? Sergei is very attached to his uncle. He speaks of him often.”

Karena told her more about the work in progress, and Ivanna listened in silence.

“I’ve trusted in Christ for many years now,” Ivanna said after a time. “It’s Sergei who likes to argue about it. Sometimes I think he debates just because he’s angry on the inside. Your uncle is a great influence on him, though. Someday Sergei will change.”

Karena went on setting up her table, although receiving expectant mothers in such an environment seemed ludicrous. Even so, she was satisfied to be working with Ivanna. Ivanna appeared to be well on her way to becoming a doctor, and Sergei had best master his studies to become a lawyer if he expected to marry her.

“One of our other charities is working with the Gypsies,” Ivanna said. “Every month we go there and set up the tent, usually for two weeks. The Gypsies have a camp by the river where they live in wagons. They do not run brothels, but many are thieves, some are fortune-tellers, and others are genuine dancers and singers who perform at nightclubs. They have a hypnotic form of music. Many of Petrograd’s elite go to see the Gypsies sing, dance, and play the violin.

“The Gypsies, at first, refused to have anything to do with us,” Ivanna continued. “They have their own customs and midwives. But they will respond once you have earned their trust, which is most difficult. They are a very tight society of people and do not look favorably on outsiders. Who can blame them? While it’s true they are involved in much crime and people don’t want them near their homes, they have been treated with as much bigotry as the Jews.”

“Are they very superstitious?”

“Extremely so. No one outside their immediate family and clan is
allowed inside their wagons. I doubt very much if you will ever deliver a Gypsy baby. Your talents will be used mostly among the peasant prostitutes walking the streets and hanging around the nightclubs.

“Mother said you delivered a baby on your own at Kiev,” Ivanna continued. “Was she a peasant girl on the wheat farm? Whose child was it? The father, I mean. Do you know?”

Karena, startled, looked across the tent at Ivanna who was opening a side flap to let in more light and air, despite the snowy cold. Several small heating pots of burning coal were set about the floor, and some fresh air was necessary.

How could she tell her?

Alex arrived back in Petrograd early the next morning. He went straight to the Winter Palace and checked into his quarters, changed, and then slipped out a back entrance. He took a roundabout walk to Professor Menkin’s flat. After climbing the stairs, he found the apartment number and knocked. After a few moments, a tall figure with keen eyes and a thatch of silver hair opened the door. A startled look crossed the professor’s face, but Alex saw that he was not alarmed.

Alex held up his satchel. “I’m returning your manuscript, Professor.”

A moment later, Alex was inside the apartment, as Menkin insisted they have coffee and discuss Alex’s thoughts about his work.

Alex could see a back bedroom with the door closed. Were Karena and her mother there, or was he mistaken in thinking they’d seek refuge here?

Professor Menkin poured them each a cup. Alex sensed he wanted him there, that he had something to say and was wondering how to open the subject.

“What did you think of my manuscript, Colonel Kronstadt?”

“I have a cousin in America in a Bible seminary. He writes to me often. He would agree with you about Jesus being the Christ. He also believes the Bible teaches that, one day, the Jews will go back to Palestine in unbelief, but at some period in the future, perhaps through great tribulation, a remnant will recognize Jesus as their Messiah. Michael sent me the verse in Zechariah 13:6. I thought you’d be interested in it. I noticed you had other verses, but not that one.”

Professor Menkin handed him his Bible, watching him intently. “Can you find the verse for me, Colonel?”

Alex did so, quickly noting the parenthetical words Matvey had written in the margin beside the text. He read: “And one will say to him
(Messiah)
, ‘What are these wounds between your arms?’ Then he
(Messiah)
will answer, ‘Those with which I was wounded in the house of my friends’
(Israel)
.”