Chapter Text
Lizaveta had been feeling sick lately. For the past few months, the sick had been going from place to place; her head, her stomach, her feet. But as of late, all the pain was in her lower abdomen, in that ever growing place everyone now noticed in horror and pity. She had seen what happened to her happen to other village ladies in the past, but they always seemed happy. Everyone congratulated them and smiled at them when they passed. However, when it happened to Lizaveta everyone was astir, and when they saw her, they whispered, or frowned, or looked nervous. Nobody congratulated her. Nothing to congratulate her for; she could not speak, and she did not choose what happened to her.
Lizaveta, of course, was pregnant - very much so.
It had now been nine or so months. It was almost time, many said, for her baby to arrive. Trouble was, she didn’t know quite how it would happen. Only that she was locked in a dark house until it did. A month or so earlier, some well meaning folk had taken her in. Usually, Lizaveta liked to choose the places she’d take shelter in by night. Now, this family had taken her in by their choice, and wouldn’t allow her to wander anymore, even with permission. It wasn’t entirely cruel; she was invited to every dinner and shared every luxury they could. Lizaveta liked being able to wander, though she accepted her confinement as walking became harder.
Today, her pain came in intervals, and as time passed, the intervals became shorter. It felt like the pains she had each month prior to this, but worse. It felt like she was being beaten. She whimpered uncomfortably, but made no move to tell the owner of the house. She had a suspicion about the pains, that this sudden change more than likely meant the baby was coming.
Lizaveta was cleverer than people supposed, for she always knew how to solve her own problems. This time, she reasoned, her solution to this problem was confronting the one who caused it.
***
Sofya was praying in the garden. The cool summer evening breeze washed over her like a kiss from God as she offered her praises to Him. The moonlight caused the dew on every flower to glitter in a kaleidoscope of color, and the only sound that could be heard was a chorus of crickets. She was alone save her little baby swaddled behind her. Her baby,Vanya, was a quiet one, so she knew that the cry that suddenly pierced through the night did not belong to her child.
Sofya’s hairs stood on end as she waited to see what had made the noise. It sounded like a howling cat, or perhaps a fox. The cry became louder, and it became clear that the creature was no mere forest animal, but the pinnacle of all creation.
Sofya ran as quickly as she could with her baby behind her to see who had made the noise. Below a guelder rose tree, with flowers white as the moon, lay the young Lizaveta, red with blood and flush, bringing a child into the world in anguish. The news of Lizaveta’s pregnancy had not reached her - Fyodor and his servants kept her away from the town’s gossip, and cut her off from most of the outside world - so she was shocked to see the girl who couldn’t speak for herself in the throes of a bloody labor. Sofya took Lizaveta’s hand and wiped the sweat off her brow.
“I’m sorry, little one,” she said, her eyes immediately welling up with tears. Lizaveta didn’t look the other girl in the eye, but her hand closed around the one offered to her. Sofya then looked to see if she could figure out where in labor she was. There were footsteps behind her, but only baby Vanya turned his head to look.
“Mistress! It’s late! You ought to be in bed,” a voice bellowed from behind. It was Grigori, accompanied by his wife Marfa. Both were themselves in nightgowns and had been awoken from their sleep by Lizaveta’s cries. They then stopped, realizing what was taking place. Sofya looked back at them tearfully.
“Please, the girl… she’s in pain…some cool towels, water, any herbs or comfort. The baby’s crowning.”
“Let us, mistress,” said Marfa. “We can take care of it from here.”
“This isn’t your place, mistress,” said Grigori.
“My place is here,” said Sofya resolutely. “I won’t leave her. You may help me if you wish.”
The two serfs looked at each other, and then did as they were told.
***
Around midnight, the agony ended, and the little one was born. Lizaveta was numb and shaken, backed up against the garden wall, the tiny guelder rose flowers strewn in her hair and her bloodstained gown. She had calmed down somewhat with the help that Sofya and the servants had given her, but she became tired and exhausted and confused again while they took away her hiccupping baby to clean him. She watched anxiously as they tended to her baby, who was very, very small. He had come out red and squeaking, and he already had a mop of dark curly hair, like she did. To her, he looked like an alien creature. She stared down at her dress, utterly perplexed. It was deeply strange to her how a living baby emerged from her little body, despite it just having happened to her. The sensations which plagued her now were deeply uncomfortable. If she could have crawled out of her own skin to escape the pulsing, the cold, the burning - she would have.
Sofya, by this point, had already handed off baby Vanya to Grigori, who put him to bed. Marfa was cleaning up the space and was sent to get blankets. Over and over again she had advised Sofya to take the baby alone to the servant’s quarters, as Marfa feared Lizaveta couldn’t care for him, and over and over again, Sofya refused. Sofya instead took the little one to his crying mother, who was hiccuping with tears, much like her baby was.
“Here, Mama,” said Sofya quietly. She then placed the newborn on Lizaveta’s chest, making the sign of the cross over both of their foreheads. When mother and child made contact, the sensation that the child was alien ceased; his little warm body felt exactly at home on hers. All at once a calm began to wash over the weeping. Lizaveta’s wails slowed; her jaw shuddered. Sofya sat by her as baby and mama began to calm down. Soon, they quieted. The only sound that disturbed the garden was a chorus of crickets.