The Midwife of St. Petersburg

Part One
 

“For I know the plans I have for you …”

J
EREMIAH 29:11, NIV

June 1914, Kazan

N
ewly promoted Colonel Aleksandr Kronstadt stood on the terrace of the Roskov summerhouse holding his crystal glass and watching yellow, blue, and purple painted boats ply up and down the waterway of Kazan. The sight offended his disciplined nature. Whoever heard of a purple boat? Who would want one? He supposed the same citizens of Kazan who painted their houses red with green roofs.

Alex smiled to himself and looked toward the slopes of the high western bank and saw the twilight veil of indigo shadow. All in all, his holiday in Kazan with the Roskovs was pleasant enough, but if the truth were known, he’d much rather be in St. Petersburg with his regiment. He’d captained one of the most elite Imperial Cavalry groups in the czar’s special military forces. And now …

He frowned and drummed his fingers on the terrace rail.

The summer night was clear, the stars like diamonds, as bright and glittering as the diamonds in Tatiana’s blue-black hair—diamonds he could not afford, even if he was the adopted son of the renowned Countess Olga
Shashenka, who had married his father. He looked across the terrace toward Tatiana, General Roskov’s daughter. He and many others considered her a beautiful woman, and tonight, seeing her with her hair pinned up, diamonds glimmering, and gowned in cream satin tulle for the grand musical to be presented later, he should be content. In all likelihood, she would become his wife. He refused a frown that tested his brow. He raised his glass and tasted the drink. Like everything in the Roskov household, it was exceptional. He ought to be content. He watched Tatiana. She stood across from him, chatting and smiling with several of her guests, yet one more thing in his life that contradicted who he really was.

His restless gaze swept the river. Everything about Kazan, including his two-week stay with the Roskovs, seemed a gaudy display that threatened to overwhelm him as surely as the mist would soon engulf the misfit boats when it settled over the waterway.

Alex was not especially troubled about Tatiana, although it seemed to him that she had changed recently. Or had he? The change in Tatiana that irritated him most happened to be a religious one—but he wouldn’t think about that now. He did not care to grow angry.

Issues other than the general’s daughter hounded him. He had received a letter that morning from his Kronstadt cousin in New York. Mikhail, or rather
Michael
, since his cousin had chosen the American spelling, had left the Russian Orthodox Church to enroll in an independent Bible seminary.
Independent—an interesting word
. Alex repeated it to himself. The letters Michael wrote to him—more like journals, Alex thought—discussed Christ and biblical doctrines and declared how pleased Michael was to be an
independent
American, free to study the Bible as never before.

Alex was surprised to find himself somewhat envious of his cousin’s confidence in his relationship with God, as well as his new citizenship. Michael had tried to talk him into leaving Russia with him three years ago, but Alex had refused, feeling responsible for his twin Sokolov cousins and
the countess, to whom he owed much. She had asked him to remain loyal to Imperial Russia, and he had. Even so, there were times, such as tonight, when he felt smothered by expectations not his own and wished he could transport himself into Michael’s New York flat.

Independent. Yes, a very intriguing word
.

Just an hour ago, he’d learned from his future father-in-law, General Viktor Roskov, that he had been promoted, forced from his prized elite command in order to serve in a special unit of the czar’s secret police, the
Okhrana
. All against his will.

He blamed Tatiana and her mother, Madame Zofia, for meddling to further his career. Instead of joining his regiment at the front, he would be stationed in St. Petersburg at the Winter Palace. With war certain to erupt any day, leaving his cavalry regiment for dull police activity felt like a betrayal. Despite his feelings on the matter, there seemed little he could do to change the general’s mind, unless he could convince the countess to exert her influence. The countess, however, remained at her summer retreat in the Crimea. He planned to see her later in the year at her winter residence in St. Petersburg, but by then, his regiment would already have ridden into Poland with a new commander.

“Well,
Colonel
Kronstadt, congratulations.”

Alex turned from his view of the misty, moonlit river to find Captain Karl Yevgenyev standing a few feet away. He wore a dress uniform much like Alex’s, the white uniform coat ablaze with shiny buttons, the trousers black with a thin white stripe down each leg.

Yevgenyev was tall, slim, and dangerous. His blond hair was wavy, closely clipped on the sides, and he carried himself with strict military bearing. Tonight, Yevgenyev looked as if he was on a hunt for trouble and smelled blood.

This is all I need
. Alex’s irritation made him tense. He disliked the ambitious officer, the spoiled son of an Okhrana official, and the feeling was mutual. They had been competitors since cadet school. Unfortunately,
Yevgenyev’s father commanded Major-General Durnov, to whom Alex would now report.

Yevgenyev’s gaze burned. He was undoubtedly jealous of Alex’s promotion, as well as the news of his impending engagement to Tatiana.

Alex felt Tatiana appear at his side, looping her arm through his. She, too, must have recognized Yevgenyev’s bitter mood.

The sight of Tatiana holding possessively to Alex’s arm only heightened Yevgenyev’s anger. Alex could easily read the cold rage in his light eyes.

“A mere landowner’s son is unworthy of the honor given you, Kronstadt.” Yevgenyev’s voice was thick with his favorite drink, vodka.

Tatiana gasped.

Alex smiled and challenged his gaze. “You use the term ‘landowner’s son’ as if you consider it an insult. I consider it an honor, for it is the middle-class merchant growers of Russia who feed the czar’s soldiers while the titled feed their egos by dueling and having their fathers safeguard them from justified courts-martial.”

Yevgenyev flushed. He had fought many duels in St. Petersburg and been protected from reprimand by his father. He took a step toward Alex, arm raised, and Alex swiftly grabbed his wrist.

“You’ve been drinking, Karl. And your foolish behavior in front of Miss Roskova is quite boring. If you were as smart as you think you are, you’d go home to bed.”

Yevgenyev jerked his arm free, his eyes coldly furious as he confronted Tatiana. “What you see in this merchant-planter’s son is beyond understanding. My father will speak to yours, and you will come to see that Kronstadt does not deserve you.”