The oil lamps cast shadows on the walls of the peasant bungalow. As Karena entered the room to see Anna, she tried to show the same confidence that Madame Yeva displayed with her patients. Her mother had told her, “The woman about to give birth looks to the midwife for courage and confidence. If you are timid and nervous, the woman will also become so. Show confidence and calmness.”
One look at Anna, however, and Karena felt her insides tense. The girl looked to be in anguish. Her large brown eyes were apprehensive, and sweat dotted her face. She clutched at the bedcover with both hands, plucking it nervously.
“Karena,” she whimpered, trying to sit up, “are the secret police coming? Where is Sergei? I must see Sergei! It’s his baby. I swear it is! There was no other—”
Karena soothed her with gentle hushing sounds, smiling kindly, and picked up the towel to blot her young face. How tragic when a young girl like this stumbled so soon in life. What would become of her? Karena doubted that Sergei was in love with her but rather had been playing around selfishly with no thought of anyone except himself. Anna was a pretty girl, willing to be deceived by his false attention.
“Sergei is well,” Karena told her. “There is nothing to fear. He is going back to the university to become a lawyer. And the police have decided to leave also. We are all safe,” she said untruthfully. But if I tell her the truth, she will panic, Karena excused herself, talking to her conscience rather than to God.
Karena noticed that after reading about the Messiah from Uncle Matvey’s work, the pinprick of conviction felt sharper.
Anna’s head fell back against the pillow. “Sergei will not be arrested?”
“No, of course not. Josef made him promise to finish his schooling. Forget Sergei now. We must think of you and your baby. When did the pains start?”
“Hours ago. I—was frightened, in a hurry, I tripped.”
Karena masked her dismay. “Any spotting of blood?”
“Yes—yes!”
Karena struggled to keep her calm face. Mother, where are you?
“I will need to examine you,” Karena told her. “Elena will return in a few minutes with Madame Yeva’s birthing kit. My mother isn’t here right now, but she will be back soon. Meanwhile, I know what to do. Try to relax, breathe calmly, relax your muscles … that’s fine.”
Anna reached out and grasped her hand. “Please, Karena. I must see Sergei, if only for a minute. I must!”
Karena tightened her mouth. Sergei. Where was he? That scoundrel. She was furious. He was to blame for everything. Where had he gone after he’d left Uncle Matvey? Could he still be somewhere on the farm?
Wagon wheels creaked slowly outside the bungalow. Karena went to the window. It was Elena driving the oxcart, but Madame Yeva was not with her. In the back of the wagon were several boxes that she knew contained birthing equipment, medicines, sheets, the clean apron Karena was to wear, and a special soap that Madame Yeva had bought from a Jewish herbalist in Warsaw years earlier. She always used the soap on her hands and arms, to supposedly reduce birthing sicknesses. Yeva had emphasized this for the health of her patients when she read about Florence Nightingale, who had campaigned diligently for cleanliness in the hospitals of London and on the battlefields of the Crimean War.
Karena left Anna and went outside to help Elena with the boxes and to set up the birthing station.
“Where is Yuri?” she asked Elena.
“He was working in the field with Sergei earlier.” She plucked at her sleeve. “What is it?” she asked.
“Elena, I’m sorry to keep you running about, but could you see if you can find Sergei or Ilya? If we could have Sergei here, it would help Anna. He should know the child he’s responsible for is about to be born. Anna wishes to see him before he leaves for St. Petersburg.”
Elena pushed her windblown hair from her forehead and nodded, scowling. “She’s been very upset. I know it would help if Sergei would come and talk to her, even for a few minutes. Yuri was going to talk to him, but …” She shrugged helplessly. “He is so angry about his little sister.”
“He has just cause,” Karena said with weariness.
“Then I will look. It will take me time to find Yuri. He may be on the far side of the field.”
“Try. Or if you see Ilya, he will do. You will need to hurry, Elena. Oh—did you ask Natalia where Madame Yeva went?”
“Natalia said she went with Master Josef and the policeman into town to the gendarme station. She will be back tonight.”
Then Papa Josef was already arrested. He would likely be held in the town jail until the Okhrana officers left in the morning for St. Petersburg.
Karena’s anger simmered on coals of indignation. Could they not even leave him to sleep in his own bed for the night? What did they think? That he might flee Kiev? If he’d wanted to flee from them, he would never have confessed so openly.
Karena suspected that Sergei had already slipped away to Kazan to travel to St. Petersburg to the Roskovs. Most likely, Sergei was bringing Uncle Viktor a letter from Josef explaining what he was facing and asking for his help in protecting Sergei and in reinstating him in the St. Petersburg University.
Elena left to search the fields, and Karena returned to Anna’s side. The sweltering afternoon inched by. The wind always came up in the late afternoon and blew incessantly here near the fields. The gusts would strike the bungalow with a force that convinced Karena the wall could come down.
Another wave of contractions hit Anna, and Karena placed a cloth between her teeth. Anna gripped the cloth tightly, biting into it as Karena spoke words of courage and confidence that she hardly felt within herself.
She washed the sweat from Anna’s face and neck between contractions. The girl’s delicate white skin had taken on a puffiness that worried her, and the dark circles beneath her eyes showed how her suffering had dragged on since the night after returning from the meeting.
The afternoon wore on until evening approached. Karena sat on the low stool below the bed, and despite the heat of the day, water boiled on the stove. Beside her on the table there were yards of boiled, white cloth.
Anna arched as another powerful birthing pang caused her to scream. The process was not going normally. Anna had been dilating for almost two hours, and Karena was convinced that the baby was in the wrong position to enter the birthing canal. Fear such as she had never known assailed her. Now what? A breech baby! Oh, God, what shall I do? Bring Mother! Oh, where is she?
For a time she froze. Anna was weeping and in agony, but also crying out in fear.
Karena tried to soothe her, all the while searching her mind for what Yeva had told her about the delivery of a breech baby.
“You must try to turn the baby. It is the only way.”
Elena had not yet returned. She must be searching everywhere for the men. The only way was to tell Anna the truth.
“Anna, you must be brave and help me. I must work to turn the baby, to direct the head into the birth canal. This is not going to be easy, but we can do it if we work together.”
“Yes … yes,” she murmured weakly.
Karena ran to the front door and stepped out onto the porch; a gust of wind shoved her backward. The moon was up, big and yellow, and she could see some distance down the wagon road, but there was no sign of Elena coming in the wagon with Madame Yeva or the men bringing Sergei. She hurried back inside.
Karena tried to recall everything her mother had said about moving a baby in the womb. “It’s most important to discover the baby’s position in the womb as early as possible.” Why did I not see this earlier? she chided herself.
Karena gravely remembered that the prognosis for such cases was not good. Success depended on whether or not the baby could be righted.
She must attempt external manipulation to turn the baby into the right position, and if that failed, there was only the drastic internal manipulation, which would be exceedingly painful for Anna.
“Any sign … Sergei?” Anna rasped.
“Not yet. Anna, it is crucial that we gently turn your baby’s head down. I want you to take a deep breath and try to relax.”
With a prayer on her lips, Karena laid her left palm over the right part of Anna’s abdomen and felt the baby’s head. She used her other hand to clasp the mound that would be the infant’s bottom. Then, slowly, between Anna’s agonizing contractions and gasps, Karena pushed and stroked and manipulated the baby’s small head downward. Anna’s birth pangs were now coming less than a minute apart, and growing more agonizing. With each small victory of manipulation, Karena kept the baby in position during the contractions and was almost certain she could feel the baby’s head moving down into the pelvis.
“The baby’s coming. It’s going to be all right, Anna! You are being brave. Keep trying.”
Karena had Madame Yeva’s forceps, but her mother lectured against their use when at all possible. Babies died from head injuries, and mothers were often cut or torn and suffered from infection or excessive blood loss.
Karena was sweating as profusely as Anna, who was drenched and panting.
“Ah!” Karena cried. “The baby’s moving! Soon now, Anna,” she said with the first genuine confidence she had felt in hours.
Sweat mingled with Anna’s tears, and anguish furrowed her brow.
“Karena.,” Anna’s ragged whisper came. “Not good … I …”
“Soon, Anna, soon.” But something new frightened her, and she wondered if she had the right to reassure her. There was too much blood.
Anna’s body tensed in another push to free the tiny baby.
Karena could see the infant’s head and then its bloody face looking downward while emerging. The little one’s eyes were sealed with creamy vernix.
“Poor baby,” Karena whispered. “Poor little sweetheart. Welcome to the dreadful world.” She used her two fingers to tenderly wipe the mucus from its button nose and cleaned inside its tiny mouth to start clearing and draining the air passages.
“Almost here,” Karena cried to Anna.
Karena eased out one shoulder and then the other one to victory, and then, with gentle pulling and one last push, the new child was free of its womb.
“A daughter, Anna,” she said happily.
She gave a quick wipe to the baby and held her over some clean towels, letting the lungs drain, the umbilical cord remaining uncut for the moment.
Anna watched, crying, unable to speak.
Karena wiped the baby’s eyes, face, and nose again, and the baby sucked in its very first breath, followed by a cry. Karena was jubilant. She held the baby high enough for Anna to see.
“May God bless you and guide you on the long, difficult pathway of life,” Karena whispered.
Karena worked quickly now with brown cord, a boiled knife, and an odd assortment of ointments. The main work for this third-stage delivery was almost done, though aftercare was to follow.
As she worked, she hardly heard the sounds outside the bungalow give way to wagon wheels, horses, and voices.
A moment later, Madame Yeva rushed into the gornitsa and looked around, gave a nod of apparent satisfaction, and caressed Karena’s shoulder in a display of pride over her success. Their gazes met, and smiles were exchanged.
“Good, Karena, very good.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But only seven and a half months …” She frowned.
“The infant looks perfectly healthy, Mother. I can see nothing wrong.”
“We will hope. I will also examine her—and Anna.” Yeva went to the bedside and spoke to Anna, laying a palm on her forehead. She frowned. “Do you have a fever?”
Anna gave a quiet, exhausted sound.
“First, let me have a look at your new baby.” Yeva took the infant over to a table.
A minute later, Karena could not silence her own gasp. “Mother!”
Karena stared at Anna, shocked. What had happened? A moment ago, Anna had managed a weary little smile when she saw the baby. Now—
Anna was turning a pasty color with purplish splotches beneath her eyes. The weak wails of the newborn filled the bungalow as the gusty wind shook the walls. Anna’s lips formed words, but her voice was so weak that Karena could hardly hear. “Sergei. Serg …”
“Take the baby,” Madame Yeva told Karena.
Karena laid the infant beside Anna and then wrung a wet cloth and applied it to Anna’s face and throat.
Madame Yeva hurried to examine Anna.
Karena joined her. “Did I do something wrong?” she kept whispering, but her mother was too intent to answer.
Fear clamped around Karena’s insides like iron fingers. Her eyes went to the cloths beneath Anna, staring at the area of bright crimson.
Yeva kept massaging and kneading Anna’s womb, her face tense with perspiration.
Karena could not move. The exhilaration she felt only minutes ago drained away, and horror now rushed in to take its place. Guilt shouted down upon her conscience. I must have done something wrong. I should have waited for Madame Yeva or gone for the other midwife, Marina.
Elena came in and, seeing what was happening to her young sister-in-law, let out a muffled sob.
“Karena!” Madame Yeva snapped. “Hand me more cloths.”
Karena could hardly move; her hands felt heavy and clumsy.
What did I do wrong? Unless the hemorrhaging could be halted … She fumbled in her attempts to help her mother with the blood-soaked cloths.
Elena knelt before the icon displayed on its shelf, a replica of the special icon called the Black Virgin of Kazan. She struck a match and lit the candle below the image. She brought her palms together and lifted her face. “Saints of Holy Mother Russia, come now to our aid and save Anna, my dear sister.”
Karena watched, knowing that Anna was going to die and that there was nothing she could do. She had failed her. She had come with confidence, assured that she could deliver the baby on her own. There were times in the process when she’d been almost pleased that Madame Yeva had not been here. And now …
Karena took Anna’s hand. How cold and clammy she felt. She held it between her own, as though by holding tightly, she could hold on to the girl’s life.
“Sergei … tell him … tell … Sergei … take care of … our baby.”
“I will tell him,” Karena whispered as tears flooded her eyes at last.
“Yeva.”
Madame Yeva laid a hand on Anna’s brow. “I am here, Anna.”
“Promise … baby … Sergei’s baby.”
“Yes, I promise, Anna. We will not forget it is Sergei’s child.”
Karena bent over Anna, took her limp hand, and placed it on her newborn for the last time. Anna’s fingers tried to pet the tiny body nestled beside her.
There was a banging on the front door—or was it the wind? A moment later, the door flew open, and footsteps sounded. Ilya stood in the doorway but did not enter. He turned to look back over his shoulder and gestured. Sergei came forward, tense. He looked frightened. He stared at the scene, the blood, and Anna.
Karena rushed to him, snatching his arm, urging him forward. “Quick, Sergei, she’s dying. Go to her. Tell her you love her. Promise you’ll be a good father to your daughter. Allow her a brief moment of your of love. You owe her that.”
Sergei looked grief stricken. He dropped his head against his palm and shook it in desperation.
Karena pushed him. “Go.” He seemed to rally and went to Anna’s bedside.
Karena and Madame Yeva moved back to allow them a final moment together, alone.
“Anna, Anna, I’m sorry—forgive me—I love you, Anna.”
Karena stood, devastated. Sergei was kneeling beside the bed, his dark head bent, his arms around Anna, his face on her neck. Anna’s hand came to life again and managed to reach his dark head, where she patted him.
Against the lone whine of the wind came the wail of the baby girl—a girl, so soon without a mama and with a papa who must ride away into the dark night.
Karena sat on the porch step, her head resting on the post, the wind pushing and tugging at her with brief gusts.
“I failed her,” she said in a low, dull voice.
Madame Yeva stood on the porch above her, looking down. Karena saw pain in her faded blue eyes, in the pale, damp face, as the wind mussed her golden hair touched with gray. Yeva’s lip quivered. Karena felt her mother’s hand on her head, smoothing her hair.
“You did not fail, Karena. What happened was beyond your control. It would have happened whoever delivered this baby. I could not have stopped it—not even Dr. Zinnovy.”
Karena saw a distant thought reflected in her eyes as she gazed off toward the fields.
“Such tragedy as this happens all too often in the Louisa and the Catherine wards,” she said.
Anna’s sheet-draped body was carried silently out of the bungalow. The most pathetic sound for Karena was the cry of the motherless baby.
“What did Sergei name her?” Karena asked quietly.
“Anna, of course. He could hardly do less.”
“What will become of her? Sergei must go to St. Petersburg.”
“I’ve asked Elena and her husband to care for her. After all, Yuri is her uncle. I’ve promised to pay them. Elena is not unhappy to have the baby here. They have none of their own, and she has desired a baby girl. Sergei agrees that, for the present, it seems the best solution. Elena has a cousin who recently birthed, and she will have mother’s milk enough for baby Anna.”
“If only she hadn’t gone to that meeting last night. If only Sergei had taken the matter of Anna seriously. Maybe none of this would have happened.”
“Do not speak of last night, Karena,” Madame Yeva said in a tense, hushed voice. “The decisions are made, and we must leave them and move on.”
Karena could not help thinking about it. Poor Anna, sixteen, and her life was over with a whimper. Since a very young age she had worked in some capacity in the fields with her family, and then to have fallen for a reckless young man like Sergei, who selfishly took advantage of her. If I had known sooner about what was going on, could I have stopped it from ending in this bitter harvest? I could have talked to Anna—tried to make her see that her recklessness would lead to a path of thorns and briars.
And Sergei. In one day, he had lost both his father and Anna. And the baby, if she lived, would be greatly affected by her parents’ sin.
Karena would remember baby Anna and do all she could for her as she grew up.
Ilya Jilinsky walked up from the carriage waiting on the road. His fair head shone in the moonlight.
“Sergei’s safely away now, Madame Peshkova. Shall I bring you and Karena back to the manor house? Or do you want to wait longer to see how the baby does?”
Madame Yeva lifted her scarf over her head and came down the steps. “There is nothing more we can do tonight, Ilya. The child is in capable hands with Elena’s nursing cousin. Come along, Karena, before you fall asleep leaning on the post. Thank you, Ilya, you have been a great help this night in finding Sergei for us. Where is Uncle Matvey?”
“I saw him when I was looking for Sergei. That must have been two hours ago. At that time, he was talking to Colonel Kronstadt. By now, Uncle’s probably retired to our bungalow.”
Then Aleksandr Kronstadt had not departed when the Okhrana officer Durnov brought Papa into town under arrest. Was he staying the night, prepared to ride out in the morning? Karena had, for a short time, forgotten her own dilemma, and now it all came thundering back. What awaited her with Kronstadt?