The 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?”
“Yes, most interesting, Dr. Lenski. I’ve studied my mother’s medical books and the biography of Florence Nightingale. She, too, was insistent on scrubbing everything with hot soapy water. It proved to save many lives.”
Dr. Lenski smiled at her and nodded approvingly. “You will do very well here, Karena. We must get you enrolled.”
Karena’s heart sang.
“I’m quite sure the contagions thrive more because of dust catchers in the well-furnished Elizabeth Ward. What else could it be? Countess Vasiliy wished to leave many of her furnishings for the nobility, so we have many of the original tapestries, beds, and carpets. Do you know what happens to the women who birth and recover for a month in the Elizabeth Ward? We have a higher rate of puerperal infection. In addition, the official explanation for the different mortality rates in the two wings is that there are differences between noblewomen and peasants. The noblewomen are frailer, they argue, while the peasant women are a hard-wearing breed. Have you ever heard such a thing? Poppycock, as the British would say!”
Karena smiled. She remembered the two midwives in Egypt had made up a similar excuse about stronger and weaker constitutions when Pharaoh demanded to know why the Hebrew newborns were surviving after his order that all the boys should be thrown into the Nile. The midwives claimed that the Hebrew women were more robust than the Egyptian women and gave birth before the midwives could arrive to carry out Pharaoh’s order.
“Your reasoning seems sound to me, Dr. Lenski. I recall my mother saying that the charity babies have less exposure to sickness. She told me that they remained with their mothers near the bed so that each mother could feed and care for her own child. But the Elizabeth Ward nobility mothers often wouldn’t want to nurse their babies, which were kept in a central nursery.”
“Yes, and with staff wet nurses suckling more than one infant at a time, we have outbreaks of all kinds that seem to get passed from one baby to another. In addition, Elizabeth mothers stay here for more than a month before going home, but Anastasia charity mothers are sent away as quickly as possible to provide empty beds. It is all clear, is it not? But just attempt to explain this to the staff doctors. They will not listen. Only Dr. Zinnovy listens and agrees. He’s asked me to write a paper on the subject, sending my proofs and beliefs for possible college publication. Unfortunately, I’ve not the time. Perhaps one day soon I’ll try.”
Karena looked at her quickly. “I’m helping Professor Menkin with his research for a book to be published in New York.”
Dr. Lenski looked at her intently. “Interesting. Perhaps we could get together on this project as soon as you are free. I will pay you well, of course. It might help toward your tuition.”
“I would be thrilled to be involved in such a project, Doctor. Is Dr. Zinnovy the director of the midwife program as well?” Karena asked.
“No no. He was when Yeva was here.” She looked at her again with a scrutiny that was frank and even sympathetic. “I must apply a new ointment on those bruises after I see Yeva. As I was saying, no, Dr. Zinnovy now teaches and practices at the Pavlov State Medical University. We are an independent school now, though at one time the schools were one.”
At the end of the corridor, Karena took her leave of Dr. Lenski, thanking her, and went outdoors to wait on the steps. The snow was floating lightly down again as the afternoon wore on. But inside she felt warm. Except for the circumstances centered around the death of Leonovich, Karena’s life was opening like a flower. She looked up at the gray sky and smiled. Thank you, God. I want to know you. I’ve so much to learn about you and the Bible.
A short time later, Dr. Lenski came out the front door in a rush, bundled in a heavy fur coat and carrying a dark medical satchel. “This way,” she called, marching on. Karena hurried to catch up.
A private coach came around from the side of the west-wing parking area, and the driver helped them inside. Soon they were on their way through the white wonderland.
When they arrived at the apartment, Matvey had not yet returned. Karena hadn’t expected him to be there yet, but she’d hoped to introduce them.
Karena went to the hall and opened the bedroom door. Madame Yeva stirred and turned her head on the pillow. The sound of her troubled breathing disturbed Karena. She walked up beside the bed.
“Mother, I’ve brought Dr. Lenski.”
“Fayina?”
Dr. Lenski came up, setting her case down on the table. “Ah, Yeva, to see you again—but in such condition.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“Nonsense. You should have called me sooner,” she scolded in a friendly tone. “How long have you been ill like this?”
“Not long … a few days … but feeling ill at the manor for weeks … all …”
Dr. Lenski took Yeva’s temperature, counted her pulse while watching her timepiece, and listened to her heart and breathing through her stethoscope. She asked quick questions, looked in her eyes, ears, and throat, and pushed aside her gray-gold braids from her neck to notice with a sudden frown the bruise marks on her neck.
I had forgotten. Karena tensed. She glanced at Dr. Lenski’s face to see her reaction, but her expression did not alter. Madame Yeva considered Dr. Fayina Lenski a longtime friend, but had she intended all along to tell her about Leonovich? If she trusted her, why the displeasure when Karena had wanted to write her after returning from Kazan?
Now what? Karena wondered, looking at her mother to see if she was aware the doctor had noticed the marks. Her mother looked too ill to be concerned. Surely Dr. Lenski would ask about them, even as she had asked about the marks and bruises on Karena’s own face. A doctor would recognize they were finger marks on her mother’s throat.
Dr. Lenski, however, asked no questions about the marks on her throat. A sign in itself she knew they were suspicious.
Perhaps thirty minutes later, after writing her diagnosis in a black book, Dr. Lenski placed it in her satchel and wrote some instructions for Karena on a sheet of paper. She also made Karena swallow some small square pills, then provided a bottle of medicine for Yeva, setting it on the bedside table by the pink-shaded lamp.
“Two teaspoons every four hours.” She looked over at Karena. “She ought to be in the hospital, Karena.”
“No, Fayina,” Madame Yeva whispered.
“I’m her nurse,” Karena said. “She could find no one more committed.”
“I can’t argue that. Give her a second and even a third pillow to keep her elevated. It may help her to breathe with a little more comfort.”
Karena walked with Fayina into Uncle Matvey’s living room, where she dispensed extra medications and ointments.
“Your help is invaluable, Dr. Lenski. I do not know how to thank or repay you. As soon as I get a job—”
Dr. Lenski waved a hand. She peered at her, arms folded across her middle while she leaned against the tall divan back, ankles crossed. “This accident that bruised your face, are you claiming that is also how Yeva received those bruises on her throat?”
Karena tried to sidestep the direct questioning that seemed typical of Dr. Lenski. “Much has happened recently. She has lost a husband and we have lost a father to the Peter and Paul prison. We have also lost our home where we all grew up from childhood, and the wheat lands have been confiscated by the czar. Our money was stolen somewhere on the train when we were forced to ride in the boxcar after paying perfectly good rubles for our seats. My sister’s fiancé is on the front lines fighting the Germans—and now my mother is desperately ill with pleurisy.”
“The times,” Dr. Lenski said wearily, “are most trying. I might as well clear the air, Karena. I know about the Bolshevik meeting gone awry at Kiev—oh yes, I know about it. I should, since my own son Petrov was the speaker. He’s being sought this very moment by the secret police. Yes, I know of these things. If I didn’t have my work, I’d be driven to distraction. My consolation for losing my son to the revolutionaries is a belief that I am giving back to others through medicine.”
Karena noticed for the first time how tired Dr. Lenski appeared. Karena’s conscience was pricked for enumerating her woes in an attitude of complaint.
“You have Ivanna,” Karena said, trying to comfort her.
“Yes, there is my Ivanna.” Her small eyes twinkled with pride. “And I should say that I’m aware of Josef Peshkov’s arrest and what his sacrificial confession has done to Yeva. That is not what I had in mind. I was speaking of those purplish bruise marks on her throat, and the bruises on your face. Yeva was choked; I recognize the prints of a man’s thumb, a strong man. I suspect those marks on your face are from the same man’s fist. What did you do—try to defend her and get struck?”
Karena looked at her for a long silent moment. She bit her lip and looked away from the doctor’s sympathetic gaze. Karena tossed up her hands in a gesture of despair. Dr. Lenski knew. Karena realized it was unrealistic to think she and her mother could hide the physical signs from a doctor and not have them evoke questions.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Dr. Lenski asked in a professional tone.
“I don’t think I should involve you in something that can only bring trouble.”
“I am Yeva’s friend.”
Karena shook her head and turned away tiredly. “I’d rather not, Dr. Lenski. I’d feel better if I let my mother explain when she is well enough. You understand, don’t you, that I cannot take it upon myself now?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I think I can guess the facts anyway. Something happened in Kiev.”
“The help I need now, Dr. Lenski, is in finding work as a midwife.”
“I can see that, but you’ve no credentials to work at the hospital. It’s unfortunate.”
“I know that, but I’ve helped Madame Yeva since I was a child. I told you I delivered my first baby alone. What I didn’t tell you was that it was breech.”
Dr. Lenski looked alert. “How did you do?”
“The baby is alive and healthy.”
She nodded, showing satisfaction. “And the mother?”
“She died of a hemorrhage, but it was not due to any error. Madame Yeva will tell you that.”
She nodded. “I cannot give you work in the hospital, not even the charity ward.”
“I realize that. Still …”
“But I’ve heard of women who could use your services.”
“Yes?”
“Give me time to look into the matter. I may have Ivanna contact you in a few days, or I’ll do so myself. I’ll need to come and check on Yeva next week anyway.”
Karena’s mood immediately lightened. It was all she could dare hope for. “Thank you,” she said.
Dr. Lenski straightened from leaning against the back of the divan and waved her gratitude away. “My Ivanna and your stepbrother Sergei are serious about their relationship. Sergei wants to marry her, but neither Ivanna nor I want that to happen until she gets her doctorate. She has two years before she graduates. The marriage is likely to happen one day. That will connect our families.”
The front door to the apartment opened, and Uncle Matvey’s voice called, “Is that you, Karena?”
With secret relief, Karena turned toward the hall. “Yes, Uncle Matvey, I’ve brought Yeva’s friend from their medical days together, Dr. Lenski. The doctor was kind enough to come and treat her.”
Uncle Matvey walked into the living room and paused in the doorway.
After perfunctory greetings, Dr. Lenski gathered up her fur coat and medical bag.
“If she worsens, send word to me at once. This is my home address.” She wrote it down quickly and left it on the table beside the ointments and medications.
In the little hall, Karena held out her hand. “Again, thank you.”
Dr. Lenski smiled. “I’ll contact you soon about work. I suspect you’ll want to work incognito here in Petrograd.”
“That would be appreciated,” Karena said.
“I’ll tell you this,” Dr. Lenski said at the door. “The administration has decided to fund a few individuals, myself being one of them, to help certain women who have a higher mortality rate than any other group of peasant women in St. Petersburg. The women are prostitutes and have no place to go. They dwell on the streets. Many die while giving birth, and many babies freeze in the snow who should have been brought to the foundling house gate to be taken in. It is these women who need your skills.” Dr. Lenski looked at her thoughtfully. “Ivanna needs an assistant. Does the idea of working with prostitutes trouble you?”
“One needn’t agree with the decisions people make to show them mercy. If the day should come when I permit any woman to die in the cold and a newborn to freeze, I should renounce all desire for becoming a credentialed midwife.”
“Good. I believe you have what is needed. I shall tell Administration that you’ll be working under Ivanna.”
“I shall be anxious to start, Dr. Lenski.”
“Excellent.”
Dr. Lenski turned as Uncle Matvey walked into the hall, putting his coat on again. “Let me walk you to your coach, Dr. Lenski.”
“Not necessary at all, Mr. Menkin. I’m used to trudging about in the snow.”
“I must insist. The snow is coming down heavier, Madame.”
Dr. Lenski nodded and was out the door with Uncle Matvey without another glance back. Karena closed the door against the rising wind and smiled wearily to herself.
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.