The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army, by
Margaret Vandercook
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Title: The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army
Author: Margaret Vandercook
Release Date: July 18, 2007 [EBook #22095]
Language: English
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THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY
[Illustration: BARBARA PRESENTED HIM WITH THE ELECTRIC LAMP.
(_See page 150._)]
The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army
By
MARGARET VANDERCOOK
Author of "The Ranch Girls Series," "Stories
about Camp Fire Girls Series," etc.
Illustrated
The John C. Winston Company
Philadelphia
Copyright, 1916, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A PEASANT'S HUT IN RUSSIA 7
II. A FORMER ACQUAINTANCE 23
III. GENERAL ALEXIS 37
IV. AN ENCOUNTER 53
V. OUT OF THE PAST 67
VI. THE ARREST 80
VII. A RUSSIAN CHURCH 92
VIII. ANOTHER WARNING 104
IX. THE ATTACK 118
X. MILDRED'S OPPORTUNITY 134
XI. A RUSSIAN RETREAT 148
XII. PETROGRAD 158
XIII. THE NEXT STEP 174
XIV. MILDRED'S RETURN 191
XV. THE WINTER PALACE 206
XVI. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 217
XVII. THE DEPARTURE 236
XVIII. A POEM AND A CONVERSATION 247
XIX. THE REUNION 256
CHAPTER I
_A Peasant's Hut in Russia_
In the last volume of the Red Cross series the four American girls spent
six months in tragic little Belgium. There, in an American hospital in
Brussels, devoted to the care, not of wounded soldiers, but of ill
Belgians, three of the girls lived and worked.
But Eugenia went alone to dwell in a house in the woods because the cry
of the children in Belgium made the strongest appeal to her. The house
was a lonely one, supposed to be haunted, yet in spite of this Eugenia
moved in. There the money of the girl whom her friend had once believed
"poor as a church mouse" fed and cared for her quickly acquired family.
In Eugenia's haunted house were other sojourners furnishing the mystery
of this story and endangering her liberty, almost her life. They were a
Belgian officer and his family whom the Red Cross girl kept in hiding.
Somehow the officer had managed to return to his own country from the
fighting line in Belgium. After securing the papers he desired from the
enemy, by Eugenia's aid, he was enabled to return once more to King
Albert and the Allied armies. Thus Eugenia was left alone to bear the
brunt of the German displeasure after the discovery of her misdeeds. She
was imprisoned in Brussels, and became dangerously ill. Finally, because
she was an American, Eugenia was made to leave the country, rather than
to suffer the punishment which would have been hers had she belonged to
another nationality.
But the four American Red Cross girls also had the companionship of Dick
Thornton during their stay in the once lovely capital of Belgium.
Dick had not recovered the use of his arm, but in spite of this had come
to Brussels to help with the work of the American Relief society.
Here his once friendly relation with Barbara Meade no longer existed.
Because of her change of attitude he apparently grew more attached to
Nona Davis.
However, at the close of the story, when Barbara is taking Eugenia back
to southern France, she and Dick unexpectedly meet aboard a fog-bound
ship. And in the darkness the light finally shines when Dick and Barbara
discover at last that their feeling for each other is stronger than
friendship.
Later, near "the pool of truth" not far from the "Farmhouse with the
Blue Front Door," Eugenia Peabody again meets Captain Henri Castaigne,
the young French officer whom she had once nursed back to health. A
short time afterwards he and Eugenia are married.
Later the three other American Red Cross girls decide to continue their
nursing of the wounded soldiers of the Allied armies in far-off Russia.
One cold October afternoon three American girls were standing in the
stone courtyard of a great Russian fortress near the border line of
Poland.
Situated upon a cone-shaped hill, the fort itself had been built like
the three sides of a square, with the yard as the center. Along the
fourth side ran a cement wall with a single iron gate.
Evidently the three girls were engaged in Red Cross work, for they wore
the familiar service uniforms. One of them had on a heavy coat and cap,
but the other two must have just come out of doors for a few moments.
Indeed, their first words revealed this fact.
"I really don't feel that you should be starting upon this expedition
alone, Nona," Mildred Thornton argued. She was a tall girl, with heavy,
flaxen hair and quiet, steel-gray eyes. She was gazing anxiously about
her, for Russia was a new and strange world to the three American Red
Cross nurses, who had arrived at their present headquarters only a few
weeks before.
Nearly a year had passed since the four friends separated in Belgium.
Then Mildred and Nona Davis had remained at their posts to care for the
homeless Belgian children, while Barbara Meade and Eugenia Peabody
returned to southern France.
Now at the close of Mildred Thornton's speech to Nona, Barbara Meade
frowned. She was poised on one foot as if expecting to flee at any
moment.
"I quite agree with you, Mildred," she protested. "Nona's message was
far too mysterious and vague to consider answering. We must not forget
that we are now in a country and among a people whom we don't understand
in the least. Besides, I promised both Dick and Eugenia that we would be
more careful. How I wish one or the other of them were here to advise
us!"
Shivering, Barbara, who was the youngest and smallest of the girls,
slipped her arm through Mildred's.
A few yards before them sentries were marching slowly up and down, with
their rifles resting on their shoulders, while a double row guarded a
single wide gate. Every now and then a common soldier passed on his way
to the performance of some special duty. Gray and colorless, the
afternoon had a peculiar dampness as if the wind had blown across acres
of melting snow.
Nevertheless in reply to her friends' objections Nona Davis shook her
head.
"Yes, I realize you may both be right, and yet so urgent was my message
that I feel compelled to do what was asked of me. But don't worry about
me, I have the letter with the directions safe in my pocket. Good-by."
Then before either of the other girls could find time to argue the point
a second time, the young southern girl had kissed each of them and
turned away. Later they saw her give the password at the gate and the
sentry allow her to pass out.
Before her lay a stretch of sparsely settled country divided by a wide
and much traveled road. Several miles further along a wide river crossed
the land, but near at hand there were only small farms and meagre clumps
of pine woods.
After a few more words of disapproval, Barbara Meade shrugged her
shoulders, and then she and Mildred re-entered the small curved doorway
of the Russian fort. The left wing was being used as a hospital for the
wounded, while the rest of the great fortification was crowded with
officers and soldiers.
These men were being held in reserve to await the threatened invasion of
the oncoming German hosts. Warsaw had fallen and one by one the ancient
Russian fortifications once deemed invincible had given way before the
German guns. But here at Grovno, under the command of the great General
Alexis, the Russians were to make a final stand.
However, without thinking of anything save personal matters, Nona Davis
first set out along the main traveled road. Now and then she was
compelled to step aside to let a great ox cart go past; these carts
were filled with provisions being brought into the fort. Occasionally a
covered car rattled past loaded with munitions of war, or a heavy piece
of artillery drawn on low trucks. But one would like to have seen a far
greater quantity of supplies of all kinds being brought to the old
fortress. It was an open secret that the supply of munitions was not
what it should be, and yet Grovno was expected to withstand all attacks.
But the young American girl was not reflecting upon the uncertainties of
war during her walk. Neither did she feel any nervousness because of the
newness of her surroundings, for the country in the rear of the
fortifications was chiefly inhabited by Russian women and children and a
few old men.
Nona walked on quickly and with a speed and careless grace that covered
the ground without apparent effort.
She was looking extremely well, but above all other things Nona Davis
appeared supremely interested. For some reason, still unknown to her,
she had been more stirred and excited by the coming into Russia than any
country she had yet seen. She both admired and feared the Russian
people, with their curious combination of poetry and stupidity, of
dullness and passion. Before returning to her own land she meant to try
and understand them better. For somewhere she had read that the future
art of the world was to come forth from Russia. It is the Slavic
temperament and not the Anglo-Saxon that best expresses itself in music
and literature.
Nona's errand this afternoon was a curious and puzzling one, fraught
with unnecessary mystery.
Four days before, a Russian boy about twelve years old had appeared at
the gate of the fortress at Grovno, bearing a note addressed to Miss
Nona Davis. Oddly enough, although the note was written in perfect
English, it was not signed. In spite of this it requested that the
American girl come to a small house about a mile and a half away to see
a former friend.
But who the friend could be, not one of the three girls could imagine.
Yet they scarcely talked of anything else. Nona had no acquaintances in
Russia save the people she had met in connection with her work, and
there was no one in her past whom she could possibly conceive of having
come into Russia as a tourist at such a time.
Therefore it was Mildred Thornton's and Barbara Meade's opinion that
Nona should pay not the slightest heed to such a communication.
Anonymous letters lead to nothing but evil. But in spite of their
objections, here at the first possible opportunity Nona was obeying the
behest. Probably she could not have explained why, for she was too
sensible not to appreciate that possible discomfort and even danger
might lie ahead of her. Perhaps as much as anything she was actuated by
a spirit of sheer adventure.
So it is little wonder that during her walk Nona's thoughts were now and
then engaged with her own affairs. Yet after a little her attention
wandered from the immediate future and she fell to recalling the
history of the past years' experiences, her own and her three friends.
No wonder Barbara was often lonely and homesick for Dick Thornton.
She had become engaged to him on the fog-bound trip she had made with
him in getting Eugenia safely out of Belgium. Remembering Eugenia's
escape, Nona said a short prayer of thankfulness. After her hiding of
the Belgian officer and his family from the German authorities, she
would never have been allowed to leave Belgium unpunished had she not
been an American woman. Remembering the fate of the English girl who
had committed the same crime, Nona appreciated how much they had to be
thankful for.
And now Eugenia was married to Captain Castaigne, the young French
officer. Curious that among the four of them who had come from the
United States to do Red Cross work among the Allies, Eugenia should
be the first to marry! She, a New England old maid, disapproving of
matrimony and, above all, of international marriages!
Yet the wedding had taken place in the previous spring at the little
French "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door," where the four girls had
spent the most cheerful months since their arrival in Europe for the
war nursing.
Only once had Nona and Mildred deserted their posts in Belgium, where
they had continued Eugenia's work of caring for the homeless Belgian
children. Then they had gone to attend her wedding, but had returned
to Belgium as soon as possible.
But Eugenia and Captain Castaigne had taken scarcely more time for
their own honeymoon.
Soon after the ceremony Captain Castaigne had gone to rejoin his
regiment and three days after Eugenia had become a member of the
staff of a French hospital near her husband's line of trenches.
So it turned out that Barbara Meade was left at the Chateau d'Amélie,
as Madame Castaigne's friend and companion. Dick Thornton boarded in
the village near by, so that he and Barbara had a number of happy
months together.
But Dick had finally decided that he must return to America and had
urged Barbara and his sister Mildred to return with him. Of course,
Nona had been invited to accompany them, but no special pressure had
been brought upon her.
However, Mildred did not feel that her Red Cross work in Europe was
finished, while Barbara refused to desert her friends.
But Barbara had another reason for her decision: she desired Dick to
be alone when he confessed their engagement to his mother and father.
Barbara had little fear of Judge Thornton's disapproval, but felt
reasonably convinced that Mrs. Thornton would be both disappointed
and aggrieved. Certainly she had never hesitated to announce that
she expected her son Dick to make a brilliant match. How could she
then be satisfied with a western girl of no wealth or distinction?
It happened that Dick Thornton also had a private reason for finally
agreeing to Barbara's wish. His experiences in the past two years had
given him a new point of view toward life. No longer was he willing to
be known only as his father's son and to continue being supported by
him. Before Dick married he intended making a position for himself, so
as to be able to take care of his own wife.
Nona also recalled that she was really responsible for their coming into
Russia. It had seemed to her that they must make their Red Cross work
complete by nursing in the largest of the Allied countries.
However, Nona had now to cease her reflections, for she had come to a
place in the road where she had been told to turn aside.
To make sure the girl opened her note and re-read it for probably the
tenth time. Yes, here were the three pine trees, green shadows against
the autumn sky, and here also was the narrow path that began alongside
of them.
After another fifteen minutes' walk Nona discovered that she was
approaching a hut of the poorest character. It was built of logs,
with mud roughly filling up a number of cracks.
Already Nona was learning to understand that the Russian poor are
perhaps the poorest people in the world. This hut was not so
poverty-stricken as many others she had seen; at least, there
were two windows and a front door.
Outside a hungry dog prowled about, showing not the slightest interest
in the newcomer. Yet Nona was vaguely frightened. She stopped for a
moment to reflect. Should she go in or not? The place looked ugly and
depressing and she could see no signs of human beings.
Yet perhaps there was illness inside the house and she had been sent for
to give aid. If that were true she must not hesitate.
As Nona lifted her hand to knock at the door, suddenly it occurred to
her as curious that the note she had received had been written upon
extremely fine paper and in a handwriting which revealed breeding and
education. Yet this peasant's hut suggested neither the one nor the
other.
But Nona was more mystified than fearful since her Red Cross uniform was
her protection, and these were not days when one dared think of
oneself.
She knocked quietly but firmly on the wooden door.
The next moment the heavy bar was slipped aside. Then Nona saw a woman
of about thirty-five, dressed in the costume of a Russian peasant,
standing with both hands outstretched toward her.
"My dear," she began in perfect English, "this is better fortune than I
dreamed, to find you once again, and in Russia, of all countries!"
CHAPTER II
_A Former Acquaintance_
"But," Nona began, and then hesitated, feeling extraordinarily puzzled.
The face of the woman before her was oddly familiar, although she could
not at the instant recall where or when she had known her.
Yet she remembered the deep blue-gray eyes with their perfectly penciled
dark brows and lashes, even the rather sad expression of them. However,
she must be mistaken, since she could have no acquaintance in Russia!
However, she allowed herself to be quietly led inside the hut, where the
door was immediately closed behind her. Then the girl followed the woman
inside a bare chamber, furnished with only a few chairs and a rough
table. In an upper corner hung an ikon, the Russian image of the Christ.
The face of the Christ was painted in brilliant colors set inside a
brass square and this square enclosed in a dark wooden frame.
The ikon is to the Russian who is a Greek Catholic what the crucifix is
to the Roman Catholic. No orthodox Russian home is ever without one.
But after the first glance, Nona Davis gave no further consideration to
her surroundings. Before her companion could speak the second time she
had suddenly recognized her.
"Why, Lady Dorian, what has brought you to Russia? You are the last
person I expected to see! Since our meeting on board the 'Philadelphia'
and your stay at the Sacred Heart Hospital I have so often wondered what
had become of you, and if you were well and happy. You promised to write
me."
"Then you have not forgotten me?" Before saying anything more the older
woman found a chair for her guest and another for herself.
"No, I have not written you, but I have thought of you many times and
have followed your history more closely than you dream," she returned
quietly, yet with evident earnestness. "I have been well and I suppose
as happy as most people. How can any human being be anything but
wretched during this tragic war? If only we might have peace!"
Lady Dorian's face became white and drawn and Nona felt that she had
aged a great deal since their first meeting, and indeed since the months
they had spent as fellow workers for the British soldiers at the Sacred
Heart Hospital. Nevertheless she still felt strangely attracted toward
her companion, although mingled with the attraction was a new and
uncomfortable feeling of distrust.
Lady Dorian had come to the hospital cleared of the charge made against
her on board the "Philadelphia" of being a spy. Yet she had never given
any explanation of her history. Then had followed her surprising meeting
with the British officer, Colonel Dalton, and their betrayal of a former
acquaintanceship. Although the older woman had promised to explain their
connection later, she had only said that they had once known each other
rather intimately in London. But as they were friends no longer, she
preferred not speaking of him again.
All this passed swiftly through Nona's mind while the older woman was
speaking. But the girl devoutly hoped that her face did not betray
her thoughts. For here was the most surprising situation of all! Lady
Dorian had seemed to be a woman of wealth at the beginning of their
acquaintance and certainly had given a large sum of money to the
Sacred Heart Hospital. Now to find her dressed as a peasant and
living in a peasant's hut in Russia!
Her skirt was of some cheap black material and her bodice of velveteen,
laced with black cords over a white cotton waist. She also wore a
Russian peasant's apron of brighter colors.
Yet Nona recognized the older woman's beauty and distinction in spite of
her costume, even while her present circumstances and her eccentricities
antagonized her visitor.
The woman was sitting with her level brows drawn together looking
closely at the younger girl.
"I am sorry you don't seem to feel your former faith in me, Nona," she
began unexpectedly. "Not that I blame you, for I do not know myself
whether it is wise for me to have intruded into your life again. I would
not have done so if there had not been a reason more important than you
can appreciate."
For a moment the girl's attention had been wandering, engaged by the
oddness of her surroundings, but now she tried to conceal her growing
discomfort. Lady Dorian was appearing more mysterious than ever! If she
desired to renew their acquaintance because they had formerly liked each
other, that was a sufficient reason for her summons. It was scarcely
worth while to try to produce other motives.
But Lady Dorian had gotten up and now stood facing her.
"What I am going to tell you is extraordinary, Nona, although life is
too full of strange happenings to make us wonder at anything. In the
first place, will you please cease to call me _Lady Dorian_, for that is
not my name. Nor is it remarkable for you to discover me living in
Russia, because I am a Russian by birth. I have not always made my home
in my own country, but that makes no difference, since my love and
sympathy have always been with my own people. Here I am only known as
'Sonya.' But I do not wish to speak of myself, but of you. I have a
strong reason for my interest in you, Nona, for although you may find it
hard to believe, I once knew your mother."
"Knew my mother?" The young American girl scarcely understood what was
being said. She was so many thousands of miles both in fact and in
thought from her own home and her own history. She could not believe
that her companion was telling the truth. In any case she was merely
mistaking her for some one else.
So Nona shook her head gravely. "I am sorry, but I don't think that
possible," she explained. "My mother was a southern woman, who lived
very quietly in an old-fashioned city. I can't see how your lives could
ever have touched."
Until this instant Nona had remained seated with her former friend
standing before her.
She did not realize how much she showed her resentment at this use of
her mother's name. Now she made an effort to rise from her chair.
"I am very happy to have seen you again," she protested in the formal
manner which Barbara Meade sometimes admired and at other times
resented.
But her companion was not influenced and indeed paid no attention to the
younger girl's hauteur. She merely put a restraining hand on her
shoulder, adding,
"It is not worth while for us to argue that point until you hear what I
have to say. The fact is, I know more of your mother, Nona, than you do
yourself. For one thing, your mother was also a Russian. She was older
than I, but we were together at one time in the United States. She went
to visit in New Orleans and there met your father and married. I knew
she had a daughter by your name, but curiously when I first met you on
board the steamer your name conveyed nothing to me. Perhaps the last
thing I expected was to find the daughter of your father, General Robert
Davis, serving as a Red Cross nurse. He was a conservative of the old
school, and I supposed would never have allowed you to leave home. But
after we came together again and I met you for the second time at the
Sacred Heart Hospital, I began to think of what association I had with
your name. Soon I remembered and then I endeavored to discover your
history. There was a chance that the name had no connection with the
girl I sought. But it was simple enough to make the discovery."
"Simple enough to make the discovery!" Stupidly Nona Davis repeated the
words aloud, because they puzzled her. Then it occurred to her that the
woman before her was so associated with mysteries that a family problem
must be comparatively simple. Doubtless she had been able to discover
more of Nona's mother's history than she herself had ever found out.
But Nona was by no means pleased with the thought of an association
between her own people and Lady Dorian, who had just frankly confessed
that this name had been an assumed one.
Nor did she wish to go into the subject of her family connection with so
uncomfortable a stranger. First she wished to have time to think the
situation over and to try to make it clearer to her own mind. Then she
wished to discuss it with Mildred and Barbara.
The girl glanced at the old-fashioned watch belonging to her father,
which she always wore. In the back it held her mother's picture, but not
for worlds would she have revealed this fact at the moment.
Curious that she should feel this extreme distrust of her companion,
when she had been her ardent defender in their earlier acquaintance! But
then she had never expected to be drawn into any intimacy with her.
Besides, Russia was an incomprehensible country. The class distinctions
which had so impressed her in England were as nothing to the differences
in rank here.
Russia, in truth, seemed a land of princes and paupers! To a girl of
Nona Davis' ideas and training, to find herself associated with the
lower orders of Russian society was distinctly disagreeable. She had
lived so long on the tradition of family that social position seemed of
first importance.
Now her former acquaintance was living in a peasant's house and was
dressed like a peasant woman. Some strange change must have taken place
in her life to reduce her to such a position, when previously she had
given the impression of wealth and distinction.
Nona got up hurriedly, drawing her coat about her. Later perhaps she
might be willing to hear what the other woman wished to confide, but not
today.
Yet Nona felt that she did not wish to look into her companion's eyes.
She must try not to think of her any longer as Lady Dorian, though
"Sonya" was an exquisite Russian name, it certainly gave no clue to her
identity.
However, she could not fail to see that the other woman's expression
revealed surprise and sorrow at her attitude, but was without
resentment. It was as if she had grown accustomed to distrust and
coldness.
"I am sorry you don't wish me to speak of your mother, Nona. It is true
I can give you no explanation of the change in my surroundings, but the
present need not affect the past. I know that your father has kept your
mother's story a secret from you. Yet there is nothing in it of which
you may not be proud, that is, if you have the nature which I have hoped
to find in you."
Embarrassed and yet determined not to listen any further, Nona continued
obstinately walking toward the door, with Sonya quietly following her.
"Will you wait a moment, please?" the older woman asked. "I have two
friends here in the house with me, whom I would like you to meet. When
you talk me over with Mildred and Barbara to find out their opinion of
me and of what I have tried to tell you, you can explain to them that I
am not alone. I realize that I have always been a mystifying
acquaintance and I'm sorry, but it is not possible to tell you my
history at present. Some day I may be able to explain."
Sonya's tone was half grave and half gay. Moreover, her blue eyes with
their curiously dark brows and lashes watched the younger girl with an
almost wistful affection.
The situation was more than puzzling. Yet, although she grew more
anxious each minute to be away, Nona could only agree to her companion's
request.
For a moment she was left alone in the crude, bare room. It was
cheerless and cold and she grew even more uncomfortable. Surely, Russia
was the strangest land in the world. How could her history as a young
American girl have any connection with it? Why had she so insisted upon
continuing her Red Cross nursing in Russia, when without her urging the
other Red Cross girls would have been content to remain where they were?
The next moment a very old woman and a man came into the room with
Sonya. There was no doubting they were both peasants. With them it was
not merely a matter of rough clothes. They were both heavily built,
with stupid, sad faces and they mumbled something in broken English when
they were introduced to Nona, eyeing her with suspicion. It was only
when their gaze rested upon Sonya that their faces changed. Then it was
as though a light had shone through darkness.
Sonya introduced them by name, some queer Russian name which Nona could
not grasp.
However, she was trying her best to find something civil to say in
return, which they might be able to understand, when an unexpected noise
interrupted them.
Some one had unceremoniously opened the door in the hall and was walking
toward them.
For an instant Nona thought she saw a shade of anxiety cross the faces
of her three companions, but the next instant it was gone.
Nona could scarcely swallow a gasp of surprised admiration when, soon
after, the door opened.
A young Russian soldier entered the room. He wore the uniform of a
Cossack: the high boots, the fur cap and tunic.
To Nona Davis' American eyes the young man seemed a typical Russian of
the better classes. He was extremely handsome, more than six feet tall,
with dark hair and eyes and a colorless skin.
He appeared surprised at Nona's presence, but explained that he was
stationed at the Russian fort where a number of wounded were being cared
for. He remembered having seen Nona and her two friends. They were the
only American nurses in the vicinity, so it was not strange to have
noticed them.
Michael Orlaff was the soldier's name. Sonya spoke it with distinctness,
but gave him no title. Yet evidently they knew each other very well.
A moment later and Nona finally got away. She was late and nervous about
returning to the fortifications alone. Yet as she hurried on she was
thinking over the afternoon until her head ached with the mystery of it.
Perhaps it might be wise if she could avoid meeting this particular
group of people again.
CHAPTER III
_General Alexis_
All that day Mildred Thornton had scarcely left the bedside of her
patient.
For the Russian boy was dying, and as there was no hope for him, Mildred
could only do her best to make him as comfortable as possible.
Now he seemed half asleep, so with her hands folded in her lap the girl
sat near him trying to rest, although unable to keep her mind as quiet
as her hands.
How strange her surroundings! Since her arrival in Europe as a Red Cross
nurse she had lived and worked in two other countries and certainly had
passed through remarkable experiences, yet none of them were to be
compared with these few weeks of nursing in Russia. One might have been
transferred to another planet instead of another land.
As an ordinary American tourist, Mildred had been familiar with Europe
for several years, having spent three summers abroad traveling with her
parents. But this was her first vision of the East, for Russia is
eastern, however she may count herself otherwise.
The American girl now lifted her eyes from the figure of the dying boy
and let them wander down the length of the room which sheltered them.
An immense place, it held rows on rows of other cot beds with white-clad
nurses passing about among them. When they spoke or when the patients
spoke Mildred could rarely guess what was being said, as she knew so few
words of Russian. Yet she had little difficulty with her nursing, for
the ways of the ill are universal and she had already seen so much
suffering.
Now the hospital room was in half shadow, but it was never light nor
aired as the American nurse felt it should be.
The hospital quarters were only a portion of the fortress, a great room,
like a barracks which had been hastily turned into a refuge for the
wounded.
The long stone chamber boasted only four small windows hardly larger
than portholes and some distance from the ground. These opened with
difficulty and were protected by heavy iron bars. But then in Russia in
many private houses no window is ever voluntarily opened from autumn
until Easter, as the cold is so intense and the arrangements for heating
so crude.
Today Mildred wondered if the heavy, sick-laden air was giving her
extraordinary fancies. She kept seeing dream pictures. For as she stared
about the cold chamber of sorrow she beheld with greater distinctness
the image of her own rooms at home.
This was the hour when the maid came to light her yellow-shaded electric
candles; then she would put a fresh log on the fire and stir it to
brightness, not because the added warmth was needed in their big
steam-heated house, but because of the cheerfulness. Then would follow
her mother's invitation to drink a cup of tea with her and Dick in the
library, or would she prefer having it served in her own room?
With this thought the girl's eyes clouded for a moment. Doubtless Dick
and her mother would be having tea together this afternoon and Dick
would in all probability be trying to explain why his sister was not
with him. During her work in France and Belgium her mother and father
had been more than kind, but with this suggestion of coming into Russia
to continue her nursing both her parents had protested.
It is true that they had not actually demanded her presence at home, for
she would not have disobeyed a command. But undoubtedly they had urged
her homecoming.
Her father longed for her because of the rare affection between them and
the fact that he dreaded the conditions and experiences that might await
her and her friends in Russia. For these same reasons her mother also
desired her return, yet Mildred knew that there was another motive
actuating her mother. She might be unconscious of the fact, but if her
daughter should reappear in New York society at the present time,
because of her war experiences she would become an object of unusual
interest and attention.
At this instant the smile that appeared at the corners of the girl's
mouth banished the tired expression it had previously worn. One big
thing her war experiences had done for Mildred Thornton, it had given
her a new sense of values. Now she _knew_ the things that counted.
She had learned to smile at her own failure as a society girl, even to
understand and forgive her mother's chagrin at the fact.
Yet Mildred was influenced in a measure to continue her work in Europe
by these trivial points of view.
Should she return home and re-enter society as her mother wished, sooner
or later she must prove a second disappointment. For she had no social
gifts; she could never learn to talk as her friends did. If questions
were asked of her she could only reply with facts, not because she was
lacking in sympathy or imagination, but because she had not the grace of
words. So with neither beauty nor charm, how could she ever even hope to
gratify her mother by securing the distinguished husband she so desired
for her?
But since there was a place in the world for bees as well as
butterflies, Mildred never meant to allow herself to grow unhappy
again. She had a real talent for nursing; her work had received only
praise. So here in Europe, where there seemed to be the greatest need
of her services, she meant to remain as long as possible. This, in spite
of the alluring picture of home which would thrust itself before her
consciousness.
At this instant the boy on the bed moved and sighed and at the same
instant the American girl forgot herself. He had opened his eyes and
Mildred could see that he had become dimly conscious of his own
condition and his surroundings.
But this boy could never have been more than dimly conscious of most
things in his short life, he was so stupid and could neither read nor
write; indeed, he had a vocabulary of but a few hundred words. Peter had
been a laborer on the estates of a Polish nobleman when the call came to
arms. And so often in the past week while she had been caring for him
Mildred had been reminded of some farm animal by the way the boy
endured pain, he had been so dumb and uncomplaining.
Even now he made no attempt to speak, but as she leaned over and took
his hand Mildred realized that the boy could live but a few moments
longer.
After a little tender smoothing of his cover the girl turned away. The
Russian peasant is always a devout Catholic, so Mildred realized that he
would wish a priest with him at the end.
She had walked only a few feet from the young soldier's bedside when an
unaccustomed atmosphere of excitement in the ward arrested her
attention.
It would not be necessary for her to summon a priest; some one must have
anticipated her desire. For the priest was even now approaching.
However, he was a familiar figure, passing hourly among the wounded and
their attendants; his presence would cause no excitement.
The next instant Mildred understood the priest was not alone. He was
accompanied by one of the most famous men in all Europe.
Although she had never seen him until this instant, Mildred Thornton
had not a moment's doubt of the man's identity. This was the Commander
of the fortress at Grovno, General Dmitri Alexis, at the present hour
the bulwark of many Russian hopes.
For the past few weeks the Germans had been driving the Russians farther
and farther back beyond the boundaries of Poland and near the heart of
Russia. Here at Grovno the Russian army was expected to make a
victorious stand. The faith of the Russian people was centered in
General Dmitri Alexis.
Unlike most Russian officers, he had always been devoted to the
interests of the common people, although a son of one of Russia's noble
families. But he was known to be a shy, quiet man with little to say for
himself, who had risen to his present rank by sheer ability.
To Mildred's eyes he seemed almost an old man; in fact, he must have
been about fifty. His hair was iron gray, but unlike most Russians his
eyes were a dark blue. As he wore no beard, the lines about his mouth
were so stern as to be almost forbidding.
Mildred knew that he was an intimate personal friend of the Czar and
realized just to what extent he must feel the weight of his present
responsibilities.
Therefore she was the more surprised at his appearance in the hospital
ward.
Except for a courtly inclination of his head the great man paid no
attention to the greetings that were offered him by the nurses and
doctors. Walking down the center of the room he had eyes only for the
wounded men who lined the two walls. Then his sternness relaxed and his
smile became a curious compound of pity and regret.
Mildred found herself staring without regard to good manners or
breeding. Why should this man create such an atmosphere of trust and
respect? She had seen other great generals in the armies of the Allies
before today, but never one who had made such an impression.
General Alexis and the priest paused by the bedside of the Russian boy
who was Mildred's patient.
There the great man's face softened until it became almost womanish in
its sympathy. Slowly and reverently the dying boy attempted to raise his
general's hand to his lips.
General Alexis said a few words in Russian which the young soldier
understood, but Mildred could not. For he attempted to shake his head,
to whisper a denial, then smiling dropped his arms down by his sides.
Mildred made no effort to move forward to assist him, for she did not
feel that she had a place in the little group at this moment. She merely
watched and waited, trying to see clearly through the mist in her eyes.
The boy's broad chest, strong once as a young giant's, but now with a
scarcely beating heart beneath it, quivered with what seemed a final
emotion. The same instant General Alexis leaned down and pinned against
the white cotton of his rough shirt the iron cross of all the Russias.
Afterwards he kissed him as simply as a woman might have done.
That was all! So natural and so quiet it was, Mildred Thornton herself
was hardly aware of the significance of the little scene she had just
witnessed.
Here in a country where the gulf between the rich and the poor, the
humble and the great was well nigh impassable, a single act of courage
had bridged it.
What act of valor Peter had performed Mildred never knew. She only knew
that it had called from his duties one of the greatest men in Europe,
that he might by his presence and with his own hands show homage to the
humblest of soldiers.
When the simple ceremony was over the boy lay quite still, scarcely
noticing that his general knelt down beside his bed. For his eyes were
almost closing.
Neither did Mildred dare move or speak.
Against the walls the other nurses and doctors stood quiet as wooden
figures, while the wounded were hushed to unaccustomed silences.
Then the Russian priest began to intone in words which the American
girl could not understand, but in a voice the most wonderful she had
ever heard. His tones were those of an organ deep and beautiful, of
great volume but without noise.
Ceasing, he lifted an ikon before the young soldier's dimming eyes, and
pronounced what must have been a benediction.
The next moment the great stillness had entered the hospital chamber and
the Russian boy with the iron cross above his heart lay in his final
sleep.
All at once Mildred Thornton felt extraordinarily weary. Backward and
forward she could see the big room rise and recede as though it had been
an immense wave. The dim light was turning to darkness, when
instinctively reaching out her hand touched the back of a chair. With
this she steadied herself for the moment. Until now she had not known
how tired she was from her vigil, nor how she had been moved by the
scene she had just witnessed. After a little she would go to her own
room and perhaps Nona or Barbara would be there. But she must wait until
General Alexis and the priest had gone away.
The next moment she realized that the great man had risen and was
approaching toward her.
Mildred looked wholly unlike a Russian woman. Her heavy flaxen hair,
simply braided and twisted about her head, showed a few strands
underneath her nurse's cap. Her face was almost colorless, yet her
pallor was unlike the Russian, which is of a strange olive tone. Now and
then in her nurse's costume Mildred Thornton became almost beautiful,
through her air of strength and refinement and the unusual sweetness of
her expression.
The eyes that were turned toward General Alexis were a clear blue-gray,
but there were deep circles under them, and the girl swayed a little in
spite of her effort to stand perfectly still.
For several seconds the great man regarded her in silence. Then he
stretched forth his hand.
"You are an American Red Cross nurse, I believe. May I have the honor of
shaking your hand. I have been told that three young American women are
here at our fortress at Grovno helping to care for our wounded. You have
traveled many miles for a noble cause. In the name of my Emperor and his
people may I thank you."
The little speech was made in perfect English and with such simplicity
that Mildred did not feel awed or surprised.
However, she was not certain how she replied or if she replied at all.
She only felt her cold fingers held in a hand like steel and the next
moment the great general had gone out of the room.
Immediately after Mildred found herself surrounded by a group of Russian
nurses. The Russians are amazing linguists and several of the nurses
could speak English. Evidently they were overwhelmed by the honor the
American girl had just had bestowed upon her. It had almost overshadowed
for the time the greater glory of the young soldier.
An American Red Cross nurse had been individually thanked by one of the
greatest commanders in Europe for her service and the services of her
friends to his soldiers and his country.
But there was another personal side to the situation which the Russian
hospital staff appeared to find more amazing.
General Dmitri Alexis was supposed never to speak to a woman. He was an
old bachelor and was said to greatly despise the frivolities of Russian
society women.
Incredible as it may seem, there is gossip even inside a great fortress
in time of war.
But Mildred's Russian companions had neither time nor opportunity to
reveal much to her at present. As soon as it was possible she begged
that she might be allowed to go to her own room. Although she shared
it with Nona and Barbara, neither one of them was there at the time.
But instead of lying down at once Mildred wrote a few lines to her
mother. She knew that she would be greatly pleased by the attention
that had just been paid her. Of course Mildred realized that the
General's thanks were not bestowed upon her as an individual, but
as a representative of the United States, whose sympathy and
friendliness Russia so greatly appreciated.
CHAPTER IV
_An Encounter_
Barbara had been writing a letter to Dick Thornton. She was seated on
the side of her cot bed in a tiny room high up in a tower, with only one
small window overlooking the courtyard below.
Although it was well into the twentieth century, this room was just such
an one as might have concealed the hapless Amy Robsart in the days of
Lord Leicester and Kenilworth Castle. But although Barbara had not to
suffer the thought of a faithless lover, at the present moment she was
feeling extremely sorry for herself.
Russia had no charms for her as it appeared to have for Mildred Thornton
and Nona Davis. She disliked its bleakness, its barbarity and the
strange, moody people it contained. Of course she realized that there
was another side to Russian life, before the present war its society was
one of the gayest in the world. But these days, when the Germans were
driving the Russian army backward and even further backward behind their
own frontiers, were days for work and silence, not social amusements.
Moreover, Barbara knew that she could never expect to have any part in
Russian social life when her mission lay among the wounded. So far she
had met only other Red Cross nurses, a few physicians and the soldiers
who required her care. But really Barbara was not so foolish as to
resent these conditions; she was merely homesick and anxious to see Dick
Thornton, and if not Dick, then Eugenia.
France had not seemed so far away from the United States and she had
loved France and its brave, gay people. She had understood them and
their life. Almost she had envied Eugenia her future possession of the
old chateau and the little "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door." But
then Eugenia had seemed to find France as strange and uncongenial as
Barbara now considered Russia.
Even after her marriage to Captain Castaigne, Eugenia had confessed to
the younger girl how she dreaded her own inability to become a
Frenchwoman. She still feared that she would never be equal to the
things Captain Castaigne had a right to expect of her, once the war was
over. Eugenia had merely cared too much to be willing to give him up,
but was too wise to expect that her problems would end with marriage.
So with this thought Barbara Meade finally removed a tear from the end
of her nose. It had trickled quite comfortably out of her eyes, but as
her nose was somewhat retroussé, it had hesitated there.
After all, an American marriage was best for an American girl! Barbara
tried to convince herself that she should be rejoicing instead of
lamenting. Certainly Dick was the most agreeable and to be desired
person in the entire world. But then there was another side to this!
Had he not been, perhaps she would not at this moment be missing him
so terribly and at all the moments. Letters were so infrequent!
Mrs. Thornton might positively refuse to allow her son to marry
so insignificant a person, and Dick forget all about her!
But in the midst of this last and most harrowing thought, fortunately
Nona Davis came into the room.
She looked excited, but on catching sight of her friend's face her
expression changed.
"Good heavens, Barbara!" she began. Then the next moment she walked over
and tilted the other girl's chin with her hand.
"You are just homesick, aren't you, and longing for some one who shall
be nameless? You frightened me at first; I feared you had heard dreadful
news. Come, get your coat and have a walk with me. We have both nearly
two hours of freedom and I've permission to go outside the
fortifications."
The other girl shook her head and shivered.
"It is too cold, Nona dear, and besides, I'm afraid. I know the Russians
are said to be holding the line of fortifications beyond us, but then
the Germans may break through at any time. Goodness knows, I don't see
what you and Mildred find so fascinating in Russia! I am afraid I am not
brave enough to have come with you."
While Barbara was arguing Nona had taken her coat from its hook on the
wall and was putting it about her friend.
"Yes, I know all that, but just the same you are coming for a walk. As
long as you are here you must keep strong enough to do your work. But
there, I can't scold half so well as Eugenia. I suppose if Dick belonged
to me I should be as wretched as you are without him. You are a dear to
have stuck by Mildred and me during this Russian work. But do come, I've
something really interesting to tell you. Perhaps you may feel a tiny
bit less lonely afterwards."
In the meantime Nona had put on her own coat and cap and the two girls
started. They had to walk down a narrow stone corridor and then a long
flight of winding stone steps to reach the courtyard below.
To the right the soldiers were drilling. One could hear the harsh
clatter of their heavy boots and the crash of their rifles when they
touched the frozen earth.
It had turned unexpectedly cold, and yet without a spoken word both
girls stopped and stared about them as soon as they reached the
outdoors.
Certainly the scene formed an extraordinary setting for two young
American girls!
The sky was gray, and although it was only early autumn, there were
occasional flurries of snow.
Behind them stood a long, low line of stone and iron fortifications with
enormous guns mounted at intervals along the walls. At one end was an
observation tower, where one could see miles on miles of trenches
stretching in a kind of semicircle before the fortifications. Should the
enemy destroy the trenches the Russian soldiers could then mass behind
the fort and afterwards, if necessary, accomplish their retreat. For a
small force could delay the enemy through the strength of their position
and the use of their big guns.
Sheltered behind breastworks of earth, barbed wire entanglements and a
natural protection of trees, the girls could barely discern the
aerodrome. In this place were situated the machine shops for building
and repairing aeroplanes, and also from here their flights and returns
could be made.
Yet in spite of these signs of active warfare, the place was curiously
silent. Barbara felt puzzled. Only the endless tramp, tramp of the
soldiers at drill and an occasional guttural command. The noises from
the inside of the fort never penetrated to the outside. But then these
Russians were a quiet people.
Within a few moments the two girls showed their order to the sentry and
were allowed to pass beyond the gate. They then started on their walk
along the same road which Nona had traveled alone several days before.
But actually this was the first chance the girls had for talking over
Nona's experiences together. True, they shared the same bedroom, so that
on her return Nona had given a brief report. But really they had been
too tired at night to grasp the situation.
Now naturally Barbara thought her companion meant to talk of her recent
experience. Neither one of them attempted conversation at the beginning
of their walk, for the main road was as filled with supplies of every
kind that were being hauled to the great fort, as it had been on the day
of Nona's solitary excursion. But indeed this was a daily occurrence.
So, as soon as possible, the girls got away from the road into a lane
that was lined with peasants' huts. This lay in an opposite direction
from the path Nona had previously taken. She had no desire to meet her
former acquaintance again until she had made up her mind as to her own
attitude toward her.
Neither Barbara nor Mildred had so far been able to give her any
definite advice.
Mildred really refused to consider that the older woman could have known
Nona's mother years before in their own country. Her story was too
incredible to be believed.
Barbara had not taken this same point of view. At the present moment
she was going over the situation in retrospection. In the first place,
it was absurd to think that any train of circumstances could be
impossible in such a surprising world. The woman, whom they had once
known as Lady Dorian and whom they now were to think of by another name,
had evidently once been a woman of wealth and culture, no matter what
her present condition of poverty. She seemed to have traveled everywhere
and she may of course have met Nona Davis' family. There was actually no
reason why she should not have known them, Barbara concluded in her
sensible western fashion. Doubtless when Nona allowed the older woman to
explain the situation it would not be half so mysterious as it now
appeared. The really remarkable thing was, not that the other woman
should be familiar with Nona's mother's history, but that her own
daughter should be so in ignorance.
For her part she intended to advise Nona to listen to whatever their
former friend wished to tell her. But just as Barbara opened her lips
to offer this advice, her companion spoke.
"Barbara, you have been in such a study you haven't asked for the piece
of news I have to give you. Do you remember almost quarreling with me
because I did not wish to write a note to the English fellow we once
knew when we were in Brussels, after you discovered him in prison
there?"
Barbara nodded, her mind immediately distracted from her former train of
thought.
"Lieutenant Hume? Why, do you know what has become of him?" she
inquired.
In reply Nona took a letter out of her pocket.
"I had a note from him today. You see, after your lecture I continued
writing him in prison every now and then during the year we spent in
Belgium. Just occasionally he was allowed to send me a few lines in
reply. Then a long time passed and I had almost forgotten him. Now he
writes to say that by an extraordinary freak of fortune he has been
returned home. It seems that he became very ill, so when the Germans
decided to agree on an exchange of prisoners, he and our little blind
Frenchman, Monsieur Bebé, were both sent back to their own lands.
Lieutenant Hume does not say what is the matter with him. His letter
isn't about himself. He is really tremendously anxious to hear news of
us. He has just learned of Eugenia's marriage to Henri Castaigne, and he
thinks we are pretty foolhardy to have offered our services for nursing
in Russia."
Instinctively Barbara held her companion's arm in a closer grasp.
"Far be it from me to disagree with him!" she murmured.
For her attention had just been arrested by the noise of a horse's hoofs
approaching. Both girls looked up to see a young Cossack soldier riding
toward them. He sat his horse as though he were a part of it, his feet
swinging in long stirrups and his hands barely touching the reins.
Both girls felt a stirring sense of admiration. But to their surprise,
as the horse drew near the young soldier pulled up and slid quietly to
the ground.
The next instant he came up toward Nona.
"You will pardon me," he said, speaking English, although with a
noticeable accent, "but it will not be wise for you to continue to walk
any further along this road. It is growing late and there are stragglers
coming in from several villages where a German raid is feared."
He had taken off his pointed Cossack cap of lamb's wool and held it in
his hand as though he had been a young American meeting a group of
friends upon an ordinary thoroughfare.
Barbara was struck by the incongruity of his appearance and his
behavior. He looked like a half-civilized warrior of centuries ago, and
yet his manner was the conventional one of today. However, it would not
be wise to expect him to remain conventional under unusual conditions.
Barbara could see that the young Russian officer was a son of the east,
not the west. He had a peculiar Oriental pallor and long, slanting dark
eyes, and his small black moustache scarcely concealed the thin red
lines of his lips.
Nona was frowning at him in a puzzled fashion.
But the next instant she bowed with an expression of recognition.
"Thank you, we will do as you suggest. It is odd to see you so soon
again after our unexpected meeting the other afternoon. Lieutenant
Orlaff, this is my friend, Miss Meade."
Barbara inclined her head, too surprised to do more. But as the Russian
officer continued to walk beside them with his horse following, she soon
understood where he and Nona had met each other.
"Yes, she is an old friend, Sonya Valesky. I knew her years ago and then
she went away into other countries."
The young Russian hesitated. Barbara and Nona were both watching his
face closely, so that they could see the cloud of doubt, even of
struggle, that swept over it.
"You are strangers in my country, but you have come here to help us in
our need," he protested, almost as if he were thinking aloud.
"I would not have you doubt my friend. I cannot explain to you, and
yet I wish to warn you. Do not be too intimate with Sonya Valesky.
Russia is not like other countries in times of war or peace. She has
many problems, tragedies of her own to overcome which the foreigner
cannot understand. Forgive me if I should not have spoken."
Then before either girl could fully grasp what the young man's confused
speech could mean, he had bowed, mounted his horse and ridden off.
CHAPTER V
_Out of the Past_
But circumstances afterwards made it impossible for Nona Davis to follow
the young Russian officer's advice.
A week went by at the hospital without a decision on the girl's part
and without another word from her former friend. Sonya Valesky she must
remember was her Russian name. A beautiful name and somehow it seemed
to fit the personality of the woman whom Nona at once admired and
distrusted. For the name carried with it its own suggestion of beauty
and of melancholy. What secret could Sonya Valesky be concealing that
forced even her friends to warn others against her?
Of course there could be no answer in her own consciousness to this
puzzle, yet Nona kept the problem at the back of her mind during the
following week of strenuous work. Nursing inside the bleak fortress
at Grovno was of a more difficult character than any work the three
American Red Cross girls had yet undertaken. The surroundings were so
uncomfortable, the nursing supplies so limited. Worse than anything
else, an atmosphere of almost tragic suspense hung like a palpable
cloud over every inmate of the fort.
Authentic news was difficult to obtain, yet refugees were constantly
pouring in with stories of fresh German conquests in Poland. For it
chanced that the months after the arrival of the three American girls in
Russia were among the darkest in Russia's history during the great war.
Military strategists might be able to understand why the Grand Duke
Nicholas and his army were giving way before almost every furious German
onslaught. They could explain that he was endeavoring to lead the enemy
deeper and deeper into a foreign land, so as to cut them off from their
base of supplies. Yet it was hard for the ordinary man and woman or the
common soldier to conceive of anything except fresh danger and disaster
in each defeat.
So day after day, night after night the business of strengthening the
line of fortifications at Grovno went on. The work was done with the
silence and the industry of some enormous horde of ants.
Shut off in the left wing of the fort with the ill and wounded soldiers,
the Red Cross nurses had only occasional glimpses of the warlike
preparations that were being made. Once when there was a review of the
troops in the courtyard behind the fortifications Mildred Thornton
summoned Nona and Barbara. She had already told them of her experience
with the commanding officer of the fort, but she wished the other two
girls to have a look at him. It was difficult to get a vivid impression
of a personality from a bird's-eye view out of a small upper window. Yet
the figure of General Alexis could never be anything but dominating.
There was a hush of admiration from every man or woman inside the
fortifications whenever their leader's name was mentioned. If he could
not hold the German avalanche in check, then the world must weep for
Russia. So Mildred became a kind of heroine among the nurses because
she had received a few moments of the great man's praise and attention.
Finally, at the end of a week Nona Davis had a second letter from Sonya
Valesky. It was sent by a messenger, as the other had been, and Nona was
presented with it when she first went on duty on one Saturday morning.
This communication was not merely a note, however, for the envelope was
sealed and had a bulky appearance. Yet Nona did not open it all that day
or the morning of the next as she had a premonition that the letter was
not an ordinary one. Either Madame Valesky was confiding her own
history, or she was insisting upon proving to the American girl that
she had at one time been a friend of her mother's. Really, it was this
information that Nona both expected and feared. So as she had a
particularly difficult case on hand she decided to wait for more
leisure before trying to solve the mystery.
The opportunity came when she was allowed two hours rest on Sunday
afternoon.
Nona was glad that both Mildred and Barbara were busy at the time,
because she preferred to be alone. After her letter had been read and
considered then she could decide on the degree of her confidences.
But after all, Barbara's prediction came true. The story that Sonya
Valesky had to tell of her acquaintance with Nona's mother was not half
so strange as the fact that the mother's history had been concealed from
her daughter.
The story was unique but comparatively simple. The only curious fact was
the accidental meeting between the Russian woman and the American girl.
But then just such comings together of persons with a common bond of
interest or affection is an hourly occurrence in the world. Behind such
apparent accidents is some law of nature, a like calling unto like.
The older woman explained that she had known Nona's mother many years
ago when they were both children in Russia, although she was a number of
years younger. There was as little as possible of Sonya Valesky's own
history in the letter. She stated without proof or comment that her
father had once been Russian Ambassador to the United States. Here Anna
Orlaff, Nona's mother, had made her a visit and had then gone away south
to New Orleans and soon afterwards married. For many years the younger
girl had not seen her friend again. She had received letters from her,
however, and learned that her marriage was not a success.
Sonya Valesky did her best to explain the situation to Nona. But how was
she to know how much or how little an American girl understands of life
and conditions in Russia? Was Nona aware that there were many girls and
young men, oftentimes members of noble families, who believed in a new
and different Russia?
Had Nona ever read of a great writer named Tolstoi, who wrote and
preached of the real brotherhood of man? He insisted that the words of
Christ should be interpreted literally and desired that Russia, and
indeed the world, should have no rich and poor, no Czar and slave, but
that all men and all women were to be truly equal. Nona's mother had
been a follower of Tolstoi's principles; therefore, her people had sent
her away from her own country because they feared if she continued to
live in Russia with these ideas she might be condemned to Siberia. So
Anna Orlaff had gladly left her own country, believing that in the
United States she would find the spirit of true equality.
Naturally her marriage had been a disappointment. At this point in Sonya
Valesky's letter, Nona Davis began to have a faint appreciation of the
situation. She remembered the narrow, conservative life of the old south
and that her father had lived largely upon traditions of wealth and
family, teaching her little else. What did it matter to him that there
were no titles in America, no more slaves to do his bidding, when he
continued to believe in the domination of one class over another.
Dimly at first, more vividly afterwards, Nona Davis could see the
picture of the young Russian girl, a socialist and dreamer, married into
such an environment. How disappointed and unhappy she must have been in
the conservative old city of Charleston, South Carolina! No wonder
people had never mentioned her name to her daughter, and that her father
had been so silent! A Russian socialist was little less than a criminal.
Nona was seated in a hard wooden chair in a small, cell-like room many
thousands of miles away from her own old home. Certainly something
stronger than her own wish must have drawn her to Russia, for here she
must learn to understand the story of her mother's life and to find her
own place in it.
At this point in the narrative Nona let her letter fall idly in her lap.
The girl's hands were clasped tightly together, for now her imagination
could tell her more than any words of another's.
Her father had been devoted to her, but he had not been fair, neither
had his friends nor her own. Why had they always led her to believe by
their silences that there was something to be ashamed of in her mother's
story? It was odd, of course, to be different from other people, but
there was no sin in being a dreamer.
Nona could see the picture of her mother in the white muslin dress and
the blue sash there in their old drawing room in Charleston. She had
been only a girl of about her age when she remembered her.
But then what had become of her mother? Why had she gone away?
Again the girl picked up her letter, for the last few sheets must
explain.
This portion was hardest of the story to understand, but Sonya Valesky
had tried to make it clear.
Nona's father had insisted that his young wife give up her views of
life. She was to read no books, write no letters, have nothing to do
with any human being who thought as she did. Above all, she was to make
him a written and sacred promise that she would never reveal her ideas
of life to her daughter. This Nona's mother had refused to do and so had
gone away, expecting to come back some day when her husband relented.
Within a year she had died. But here Sonya Valesky's letter ended, for
she enclosed another written by Nona's mother to her friend.
If Nona had needed proof of the truth of the other woman's statement she
could find it here. The letter was yellow with age and very short. It
merely asked that if Sonya Valesky should ever find it possible to know
her daughter, Nona Davis, would she be her friend?
Then Sonya had also enclosed another proof, if proof were needed. This
was a small picture of Nona's mother which was exactly like the one the
girl had found concealed in the back of her father's watch. It was the
same watch with the same picture that she now wore always inside her
dress.
Then for nearly an hour the young American girl sat dreaming almost
without a movement of her body.
Little by little she recalled stray memories in her life which made her
mother's history appear not so impossible as she had at first conceived.
Always she had thought of her as foreign. She had only believed her to
be French because she spoke French so perfectly and had married in New
Orleans. But then she herself was beginning to learn that educated
Russians are among the most accomplished linguists in the world. What
else was she to find out about this strange country before her work as
a nurse was over? Could she ever feel so entirely an American again?
All at once Nona Davis jumped hastily to her feet. There were hundreds
of questions she yearned to ask. Fortunately for her she was near the
one person who might be able to answer them. Sonya Valesky had never
said why she had not sought to find her friend's daughter until their
accidental meeting on shipboard. Even then she had not recognized Nona's
connection with the past. Was it because she was too engrossed in her
own life and her own mysterious mission?
Although she was at this instant engaged in putting on her coat and cap
to go to her, Nona again hesitated. How little the Russian woman had
said of herself! What was she doing here near the Russian line of
fortifications, living like a peasant with only two old peasants in
attendance upon her? And why should the young Russian officer have
warned her against his own friend?
"Michael Orlaff." Automatically Nona Davis repeated the name of her new
acquaintance. "Orlaff." The name was the same as her mother's. Was there
a chance that the young Russian lieutenant might be a possible
connection?
However, the girl recognized that she was stupid to continue to ask
herself questions. Moreover, she had now made up her mind that she must
not distrust Sonya Valesky unless she had a more definite cause.
Doubtless Sonya shared the same views of life that her mother had
cherished! But in any case it was wonderful to have found a woman who
had been her mother's friend and who might still be hers.
Nona had walked across her small room to the door, when she heard some
one knocking.
A summons had been sent for her to return to her nursing, as the two
hours of her recreation were over. How stupid she had been! Actually
Nona had forgotten what had called her to Russia, even the war tragedy
that was raging about her. Of course she could not leave the hospital!
It might be several days or more before she could hope to receive
permission to revisit Sonya.
CHAPTER VI
_The Arrest_
Five days later Nona Davis went again to the little wooden house, where,
to her surprise, she had previously discovered a former acquaintance.
But on this occasion Sonya Valesky did not open the door.
Instead it was opened by the old peasant man whom Nona had seen before.
Today he looked more wretched than stupid. His little black eyes were
red rimmed, his sallow skin more wrinkled than ever.
When Nona inquired for Sonya he shook his head disconsolately and then
motioned her toward the same room she had formerly entered.
There was now a cot in the room and on this cot lay the Russian woman.
At once Nona forgot herself and her desire to ask questions. She
remembered only her profession, yes, and one other thing. She recalled
the words that the old French peasant, François, had once spoken to her
and to Barbara.
"Have you pity only for wounded soldiers? Do girls and women never care
to help one another? This war has made wounds deeper than any bullets
can create."
Immediately Nona had seen that Sonya Valesky was very ill. Now, no
matter who she was, or what she had done, she must be restored to
health. First and last Nona must put her own emotions aside, for the
sake of her mission as a Red Cross nurse.
Yet what was she to do? Her services belonged to the soldiers in the
Russian fortress.
As quietly and quickly as possible Nona gave her orders.
She could not be sure, but Sonya's appearance indicated that she was
suffering from the terrible scourge of typhus.
This disease had been one of the most terrible results of the war.
Because of a greater lack of sanitation and cleanliness the fever had
been more widespread in Servia and in Russia than in any other
countries.
Personally Nona had never nursed a case before, yet she had heard the
disease discussed and believed she recognized the symptoms.
First she made a thorough examination of the little house. It was
cleaner than most of the peasants' huts, so far Sonya must have
prevailed, but still its conditions left much to be desired.
Without being able to speak more than a few words of their language,
Nona yet managed to give her directions.
She was beginning to guess that the old peasant couple, who at first had
seemed mysterious companions for the beautiful Russian woman, were
probably old servants. If Sonya was a follower of Tolstoi as her mother
had been, she must have refused to recognize any difference between
them.
But this was not their feeling. The American girl could see that in
spirit old Katja and Nika were the devoted slaves of the younger woman.
Sonya was not at first conscious of the seriousness of her illness.
She wore a dressing gown of some rough homespun, a curious shade of
Russian blue, the color of her own eyes. Her hair, which had turned far
whiter in the past year, was partly concealed under a small lace cap
such as the Russian peasant woman often wears. Then, although she did
not seem able to talk, she knew Nona and thanked her for coming and for
the advice she was giving the two old people.
But when Nona had finished with her orders she came and sat down near
Sonya.
"I have read your letter and I have not been able to answer it until
now. It seems like a miracle that I should have found out about my own
mother here in a strange land. But perhaps I was meant to take care of
you. You must promise to do what I tell you. I must go away now, but
I'll come back in a little while."
Nona was getting up when Sonya took hold of her skirt.
Her face was flushed and her dark blue eyes shining.
"You must not stay in this house, not for long at a time," she pleaded.
"I cannot explain to you why not, but perhaps when I am strong again I
can tell you enough to have you guess the rest. Now you must go."
Sonya took Nona's cool hands in her hot ones and held them close for a
moment.
The next moment the American girl had gone.
At the hospital inside the fortress she explained the situation, at
least so far as it could be explained. A Russian woman, who had once
been her friend, lay seriously ill at one of the nearby huts. Would one
of the hospital physicians come and see her? Also would it be possible
for her to be spared from caring for the soldiers to look after her
woman friend?
Certainly a Russian doctor would attend the case; moreover, after
certain formalities Nona was allowed a leave of absence from the
hospital demands.
Then began an experience for the young American girl that nothing in her
past two or more years of nursing had equaled.
She was living and working in a new world, amid surroundings which she
could not understand and of which she was afraid.
The little hut was crude and lonely. The two old peasants could speak no
English, but went about their tasks day after day mute and dolorous.
Sonya was too ill to recognize her nurse, and Nona could not allow
Barbara or Mildred to come near her, since her patient's illness was of
the most contagious nature.
Naturally Barbara and Mildred wholly disapproved of the risk Nona was
running and she had not time nor strength to make them see her side of
the situation. She had written them that Sonya Valesky had proved
herself to have been an old friend of her mother's. For that reason and
for several others she felt it her duty to care for her.
But strangest of all Nona's experiences were the fragments of
conversation which she heard from the lips of her ill friend.
Sonya sometimes spoke of her girlhood and then again of her life in the
United States and in England. Once or twice she even called the name of
Captain Dalton. Nona supposed that she must be recalling her meeting
with Captain Dalton at the Sacred Heart Hospital. Then she remembered
that Sonya had spoken of knowing the English officer years before.
But although her patient betrayed many facts of her past life to her
nurse, never once did Sonya explain why she was living in such an
out-of-the-way place. Neither did she give any clue to the kind of work
that must have engaged her time and energy. Surely Sonya Valesky must
have been upon some secret mission in the days of their first meeting on
board the "Philadelphia!" Even then she had papers in her possession
which she would allow no one to see.
However, Sonya was too desperately ill to permit her nurse much
opportunity for surmising. Nona would never have left her alone for a
moment except that she knew it was her duty to keep up her own strength.
Every afternoon she went for a short walk. And because no one but the
Russian physician was allowed to enter the house, now and then the
young Russian lieutenant would join Nona along the road. This could only
occur when he was able to get leave, yet Nona began to hope for his
coming. She was so depressed and lonely.
Once she asked him if he had ever heard of a member of his family named
"Anna Orlaff." Of course she gave no reason for her question. But it
made no difference, because the young soldier could recall no such
person.
In the course of one of their talks, however, he confided to Nona that
he was a younger brother, but that his family were members of the
Russian nobility.
Never once, however, did the young man betray any fact connected with
Sonya Valesky's history. He explained that their families had long known
each other and that he had always been fond of her, nothing more.
So for this reason as well as others Nona found herself attracted by the
young Russian officer. He seemed very simple, much younger than an
American of the same age. At this time Michael Orlaff must have been
about twenty-three. But Nona was wise enough to discover that he was not
so simple and direct as she had first believed him. A Russian does not
readily betray either his deeper thoughts or his deeper feelings. The
young Russian lieutenant would not even speak of the war nor his own
part in it. Yet Nona guessed from her own observation and from certain
unconscious information that he was one of the favorite younger officers
of the Russian general in command of the Grovno fortifications.
So a number of weeks passed, until now and then Nona Davis almost forgot
the war and her original reasons for being in her present strange
position. No one brought her papers; Barbara's and Mildred's letters
contained little war news. The truth was possibly being concealed from
them, or else there was no way of their discovering it.
So Nona was at least spared the anxiety of knowing that the victorious
German hosts were drawing nearer and nearer the fortress of Grovno. Like
stone houses built by children the other ancient Russian forts had
fallen before his "Excellenz von Beseler," the victor of Antwerp, who
was known as the German battering ram.
Even when Sonya opened her eyes, after weeks of an almost fatal illness,
and asked for news of the war, Nona was unable to tell her.
Then as the days of Sonya's convalescence went by she would not let her
talk of it. Always war is a more terrible thing to girls and women than
it is to boys and men. But ever since their first acquaintance Nona had
realized that the horror of it went deeper into Sonya's consciousness
than any person she had yet seen. It must be the war that had aged her
so in the past year.
So the Russian woman and the American girl spoke of everything else.
Sonya told of her own life and of Nona's mother when they were little
girls. They had both been allowed to go away to college. It was in
school that they imbibed their revolutionary ideas. No wonder that their
families never forgave them!
Sonya was dressed and sitting in her chair the day when the summons
finally came for her arrest.
It was Nona Davis in her nurse's Red Cross costume who opened the door
for the two men in uniform. They were not dressed like soldiers, and as
she could not understand what they said, she did not dream of their
errand.
But Sonya's peasant servants must have understood, for at the sight of
the strangers they dropped on their knees and held out imploring hands.
Sonya herself finally made things clear. The men were two police
officers who had been sent to bring her to Petrograd. She had been in
hiding here near Grovno for several months and had hoped to escape their
vigilance. Evidently Sonya had been arrested by the Russian authorities.
In spite of Nona's insistence that her patient was not well enough to be
moved, Sonya agreed to go with them at once.
And only at the moment of parting did she bestow any confidence upon the
younger girl.
Then she looked deep into Nona's golden brown eyes with her own
strangely glowing blue ones, and whispered:
"I have done nothing of which I am ashamed, Nona, or I should never have
asked for your friendship. It may be that I can make the Russian people
understand, but I do not feel sure. This war has made men blinder than
ever. I have only tried to be a follower of the 'Prince of Peace.'"
Then after she had walked away a few steps she came back again.
"Go back to your United States as soon as you can, Nona," she urged.
"Russia is no place for you or your friends."
Because Nona Davis dared not trust herself to speak, Sonya afterwards
went away without a word of faith or farewell from her.
CHAPTER VII
_A Russian Church_
One afternoon, after Nona had been nursing her friend, Sonya Valesky,
for some time, Mildred Thornton went alone into a little Russian church.
The church was situated behind the line of the fortifications at Grovno.
Many years before it had been erected, and now it did not occur to the
Russian officers that it stood in especial peril. Yet the church had the
golden dome of all Russian churches, glittering like a ball of fire in
the sun. Certainly it afforded an easy target for the enemy's guns, and
more than this would aid German aeroplanists in making observations of
the geography of the surrounding neighborhood. But since Grovno was
deemed invincible, apparently no one considered the possibility of the
other side to this question.
High cement walls guarded and mounted with cannon encircled the
countryside for many miles, while running out from the fortress itself
were numerous secret passages and cells, at present stored with
ammunition.
On this afternoon of Mildred's visit to the church she stood outside
for a few moments looking upward. At first she was merely admiring the
beauty of the little church. The gold of the dome seemed to be the one
appealing spot of color in all the surrounding landscape. Then she
opened the bronze doors and stole quietly inside.
Always the church was left open for prayer, but today on entering
Mildred Thornton found it empty.
A Russian church is unlike all others except the Greek, for it is filled
with brilliant colors. Instead of images such as the Roman Catholics
use, the Russians have paintings dealing with the life of Christ, almost
obscuring the ceiling and the walls. There are no pews such as we find
in our own churches, for the Russian remains standing during his
ceremony and kneels upon the stone floor in time of prayer. So one
finds only a few chairs scattered about for old persons and ill ones.
Mildred secured a stool and sat down in the shadow, gazing up toward the
high altar.
She was an Episcopalian, therefore the Russian church and its services
did not seem so unusual to her as they did to Barbara Meade. Really she
had been deeply impressed by the few services she had seen. There was no
organ and no music save the intoning of the voices of the priests, and
the words of the service she could not understand. Nevertheless the
Russians were a deeply religious people and perhaps their reverence
had influenced the American girl.
This afternoon, although alone, Mildred felt strangely at peace. Indeed,
her eyes were cast down and her hands clasped in prayer, when the noise
of some one else entering the church disturbed her reverie.
To the girl's surprise the figure was that of a man whom the next
instant she recognized as General Alexis. He had come into the church
without a member of his staff, so that evidently he too desired to be
alone for prayer.
What should she do? Mildred was too confused to decide immediately.
Feeling herself an intruder, yet she did not wish to create a stir and
draw attention to herself by hastily leaving.
General Alexis had evidently not seen her, too intent upon his own
devotions. For he had at once approached the altar and knelt reverently
before it.
Mildred kept silent, hardly conscious of her own absorption and
forgetting her meditations in her interest in the kneeling soldier.
In these days of little faith, small wonder that it struck Mildred as
inspiring to see this man of many burdens and responsibilities at the
foot of the altar.
From a western window the afternoon sun shone down upon him, revealing
the weary lines in the great soldier's face. He did not look stern or
forbidding to Mildred this afternoon, only deeply careworn and
depressed. However much his soldiers and the Russian people might
trust in his power to bring them safely through an attack at Grovno,
evidently there were hours when the distinguished general suffered like
lesser people. Mildred Thornton understood enough of human nature to
realize what General Alexis must at this moment be enduring. The fate
of a people, of a nation, almost of half the world, in a measure rested
in his hands. How inadequate any mortal must feel in the face of such a
task!
By and by Mildred's eyes dropped their lids. She felt that she was
seeing too deeply into the holy of holies of the man before her. This
would not be just to any human being, unaware of her presence. If only
she could get away without disturbing him! Doubtless on discovering her
General Alexis would be angered, or at any rate annoyed, perhaps he
might even consider her behavior as characteristic American intrusion.
Once Mildred started to her feet, but she did not try to move again, for
at almost the same instant the Russian general rose from his knees.
His face had become a little less careworn than at the moment of his
entrance; his blue eyes, which were remarkable with his other Russian
coloring, were less sombre. Since he did not appear to observe her,
Mildred was glad for this last glance at her companion.
Since their one meeting for some reason he had haunted her thoughts more
than she could explain. This was partly due to the fact that he was so
much talked of at the fortress and so idolized by his soldiers. He was
said to be without fear, or any human weakness, but after today Mildred
Thornton knew better than this.
Unconsciously the girl must have moved or made a sound of some kind at
this instant, for General Alexis, who had almost reached the door,
turned quickly around. At the same time his right hand grasped his
pistol.
Was there a spy or an assassin lurking in his church to destroy him?
There were many men of other lands who would gladly give their lives for
his.
But General Alexis' hand dropped to his side again, as soon as it had
touched the metal of his pistol. To his surprise he had discovered a
pair of blue-gray eyes staring at him earnestly, with almost wistful
sympathy.
General Alexis came back to where Mildred stood.
"You were here in church with me and I did not see you," he said as
simply and naturally as an ordinary person, "I hope I did not disturb
you."
"_Disturb me!_" Mildred stuttered a little in her surprise at his
words. "Oh, I beg your pardon, it was I who should not have been here
when you came. But I did not know, that is I did not dream you ever
left the fort, while I like to steal in here during the hours I have
for rest. I will not come again."
General Alexis shook his head. "I should be very sorry. Rather than that
this should happen I would stay away during those hours. But is there
not room enough here and peace enough for us both?"
Without replying Mildred inclined her head and began walking toward the
door, General Alexis keeping beside her.
"If you are returning to the fortress and will permit me, I should like
to go back with you?" he asked.
And again Mildred could only stammer a confused acquiescence.
In the little court before the Russian church General Alexis' guard of
soldiers was awaiting him. However, at an inclination of his head they
fell in at once, marching at a respectful distance behind their general
and his companion.
"I remember our having a short conversation a few weeks ago," the
Russian officer continued gravely, after they had gone on a few yards.
Mildred had been vainly endeavoring to make up her mind whether she
should be the one to speak. If so, what on earth should she say?
She was glad to be spared having to make up her mind.
"You were very kind," the girl returned. "I did not imagine you would
know me again, but perhaps it is because I am an American."
Just as if he had been a young man and an everyday one, General Alexis
smiled, and Mildred was no longer afraid of him.
"Oh, I may remember you, Miss Thornton, for other reasons. But to be
truthful it is because you are an American that I am taking this
opportunity to talk to you again."
This time the Russian officer hesitated.
"You will not mention what I am going to say to any persons except your
two American friends," he added, not as a request, but as a command.
"Miss Thornton, as soon as it is possible for convenient arrangements to
be made for you I want you to know that I intend having you sent back to
Petrograd. You must of course have a safe escort or I should have seen
to the matter sooner."
Ordinarily Mildred Thornton possessed unusual self-control, but the
surprise, indeed, the shock of the speech, took her unawares.
She had not dreamed that she and Barbara and Nona had been such complete
failures in their Red Cross work. Why, after their several years of war
experience they had felt themselves of perhaps unusual value in the
Russian nursing. So far as she knew there had been no complaints of
their work, only praise. But in any case how could their failures have
reached General Dmitri Alexis' ears? It seemed incredible that he should
ever be annoyed with such trifling concerns.
"Just as you wish," Mildred answered quietly, yet with greater personal
dignity than any one of the other American Red Cross girls could have
summoned. "We have done our best to help with the nursing. If we have
failed it is, of course, wisest that we should return to Petrograd.
Afterwards we can go home to the United States."
"Failed in your nursing? And it is for that reason you believe I wish to
have you sent away from my fortress?"
Actually General Alexis stopped in his walk and faced his companion,
since Mildred was, of course, obliged to stop also.
"That is folly. I know nothing of your nursing. But from your face, from
a something, a serenity and strength that your presence suggests, I feel
that you must understand and love your profession."
General Alexis was now studying Mildred Thornton with surprising
intentness, as though he were trying in this moment of their
acquaintance to pierce beneath the surface of the girl before him. This
was characteristic of the man. No human being was ever too small or too
unimportant for his consideration. He was a strange combination: a great
soldier and yet one of the gentlest of men.
"I want you to go back to Petrograd because I fear for your safety and
the safety of your friends should you remain much longer at Grovno," he
continued. "It is of this fact you are not to speak. I have reason to
know that at almost any hour in the next few days we may expect the
German attack. Grovno will resist to the uttermost. But it may be that
the old fortifications are not so invincible as we once thought them to
be. A new war has brought a new world and the old order changeth."
Once again Mildred saw beneath the outer surface of the man, but almost
at once he was again the soldier.
"You understand that I do not expect this. If I decide it may be wiser
to retreat, it will only be to form a conjunction with another part of
Grand Duke Nicholas' army. But in any case I should prefer to have you
three American nurses away from all possible danger. The Russian nurses
will share the fate of their own soldiers. Be prepared to leave within a
few days. When the necessary arrangements are made you will receive
instructions."
Then before Mildred could protest, and she had scarcely the courage for
this, they had reached the gate of the fortress.
Here General Alexis bowed and waited for his guard to come up with him.
Mildred could feel the surprise even of the sentries at the gate and the
few soldiers who chanced to be near at their unexpected appearance.
Truly it was amazing that the great commander should be concerned with
the fate of three unimportant American girls, and even more amazing that
he should actually show his consideration and friendliness to one of
them!
CHAPTER VIII
_Another Warning_
Two hours after Sonya Valesky had been taken away by the Russian police
Nona Davis started back for the Russian fortress.
Only a few moments were required to pack her own belongings, since the
little house and everything inside it had been fumigated as soon as
Sonya reached a state of convalescence. Nona's time had been spent in
trying to comfort Sonya's servants, old Katja and Nika, and also in
trying to acquire some information from them.
In neither effort was she successful. Either the old man and woman knew
nothing of Sonya's actions, or else they were too grief-stricken to
confide their knowledge. There was also the third possibility that Sonya
had warned them against betraying her to any human being. Whatever the
reason, they were dumb, except for their half-broken Russian prayers and
stories of Sonya as a little girl. If she had not long ago been fully
aware of the fact, Nona was now assured that the two peasants had been
former servants of the Russian woman. It was Sonya who would not
recognize the distinctions of maid and mistress, who called herself by
no title and would allow her servants to call her by none.
Therefore it was almost night when Nona left the little hut, old Nika
carrying her bag and plodding behind her. The girl felt that she must
return to her two American friends to receive their aid and sympathy.
Surely something could be done for Sonya, it was horrible to think of
her being carried off to a Russian prison, concerning which one had read
such dreadful stories. She was too ill and she seemed so utterly without
friends or relatives. Yet Nona herself was utterly powerless, knowing no
one with any influence in Russia. Nevertheless she felt a strange bond,
which had come to her out of the past, between herself and Sonya
Valesky.
One person, however, might be willing to give her advice, though she
doubted his help. In returning to the fort, Nona meant as soon as
possible to request an interview with the young Russian officer, Michael
Orlaff.
She was not frightened during her walk through the dismal Russian
country. Wearing her Red Cross uniform she felt a sufficient protection,
besides old Nika's presence. But the real truth is she was too absorbed
in considering Sonya's history and fate to be aware of anything else.
She was therefore more annoyed than frightened when a figure appeared
before her at the crossing of the road by the Three Pines. The voice
that straightway called out to them held a quality of command that made
Nika drop at once on his knees. Nona was not in the least frightened,
but then she had seen the outline of the young officer's figure and the
glistening of his sword hilt.
"I am Nona Davis, an American Red Cross nurse on my way back to the
fortress, Lieutenant Orlaff," the girl explained. "I am glad to have met
you, as perhaps you will tell me what I must do when I reach the gate."
The Russian officer saluted as though Nona had been a superior officer.
"I was on my way at the present moment to Sonya Valesky's home to
inquire for her. This is the first hour of freedom I have been able to
command all day. But tell me what brings you back to the fortress at
this time? Has Sonya grown worse or is she better?"
Here was her opportunity. Nona felt that fate must have sent it to her
by a special dispensation. Now there need be no delay in her confidence.
Lieutenant Orlaff came of a noble family, he must have powerful
connections, if he could only be persuaded to use them in Sonya's
behalf. Certainly he had appeared to be her friend, although
disapproving of her behavior and views of life.
As sympathetically and as quickly as possible Nona told of the coming
of the Russian police. Then she laid great stress on the fact that Sonya
was too ill to have been taken away at such a time. Yet she had gone
without resistance, making no plea for herself and asking for no aid.
What must _they_ do? The situation was unendurable.
Intentionally Nona used the pronoun "they," including Lieutenant Orlaff
with herself in their interest in Sonya. Yet except for his first
muttered exclamation the Russian officer had made no comment.
In the darkness Nona gazed at him resentfully. The Russians were a cruel
people, sometimes all fire and then again all ice. She would like to
have told him what an American man would have attempted for a friend,
who was a woman and in such a tragic position, no matter what her crime
or mistake. But Nona was sure by this time that Sonya Valesky had
committed no crime. She had come to know her too well, her exquisite
gentleness, so oddly combined with a blind determination that took no
thought of self. Besides she recalled her friend's final words, "a
follower of the Prince of Peace." Surely there were but few such
followers in the European world today!
Awaiting his answer, Nona continued to look at her companion. The young
Russian might have stood for the figure of "Mars," the young god of war,
as he strode along beside her. He was six feet in height, splendidly
made, and tonight in the semi-darkness his face showed hard and unmoved.
"I am grieved but not surprised at what you tell me," he returned the
next moment. "Not a hundred, but a thousand times I have warned Sonya
that she must give up her mad ideas. There was sufficient danger in them
when the world was at peace. Now in time of war to preach that men are
brothers, that there should be no such thing as patriotism, that all men
are kin, no matter what their country, there never was such folly. It is
hard to feel pity or patience."
"Then you will do nothing to help?" Nona inquired, trying to hide the
anger she felt. "Of course I understand that from your point of view
and from the view of nearly all the world Sonya Valesky is hopelessly
wrong. But I can't see why she should be punished because she has a
higher ideal than other people?"
If Nona had only thought for a moment she would have realized that the
world has always thus rewarded its visionaries.
"But Sonya is not content to think in this way alone. She has spent her
life in trying to persuade other persons to her view, and has many
followers. Once she was a very rich woman and traveled in many lands
preaching her universal brotherhood," the young officer ended his speech
with a characteristic shrug of his shoulders, which is the Oriental
fashion of announcing that fate is stronger than one's will.
"To have continued advocating such a doctrine in a time of war was worse
than madness. I have done what I could, I have even risked my own honor
and safety in remaining Sonya's friend. Now retribution has come," he
concluded, as though the subject was not to be resumed.
And Nona did not reply at once. So the young Russian officer and the
American girl walked on toward the fortress through darkness that was
each moment growing more dense. There were no lights save the stars,
since the fortress was only dimly lighted in the interior; outside
lights would too plainly have exposed their position to the enemy.
"What then do you think will become of Sonya? What punishment will she
have to suffer?" Nona inquired when she felt that she had gotten her
voice under control.
"Siberia," Lieutenant Orlaff returned briefly. Then feeling that his
companion desired him to say more, he went on:
"In many cases a man or woman who has done what Sonya Valesky has would
be hung as a traitor. She has been preaching peace, which means she has
been urging men not to fight. That is treason to Russia. But I believe
that Sonya will be lightly dealt with because she comes of a family that
once served the Czar and his father. Besides, Sonya is a woman and a
beautiful one and it would not do to make a martyr of her."
"Then you think Siberia a light punishment?" Nona questioned, no longer
trying to keep the bitterness out of her tones. "Well, surely you accept
a friend's misfortune easily! I have not your philosophy. I do not think
I can do much, as I have no friends in Russia and no money, but as soon
as I receive permission I shall go to Petrograd to be of whatever
service I can."
Lieutenant Orlaff stared at the girl beside him. It was impossible to
see anything but the outline of her face, yet he could observe its
pallor and the sheen of her hair under the nurse's cap. Besides, he felt
the contempt she had not allowed herself to express, for the Russian is
singularly proud and sensitive.
"I repeat that I am very sorry," the young officer added. "You are wrong
in thinking I take Sonya Valesky's fate lightly. Her family and mine, as
I once told you, have been friends for many years. After the death of
her parents my father was for a little time her guardian until she came
of age. I will do what I can; I will write letters to her relatives and
to people who were once her friends. But I warn you to expect nothing.
Long ago they became weary of her wild theories and have had nothing to
do with her for years."
"Then all the more reason why I should do what I can. Even if I
accomplish nothing, at least Sonya will have the comfort of knowing that
a friend is near her during her trial," the girl said aloud, although
really not addressing her companion.
During the latter part of his speech she had been thinking very rapidly.
First of all, she must ask for a leave of absence from her Red Cross
nursing and explain that it was necessary for her to return to Petrograd
for a time. But where was she to obtain the money for her expenses? She
had nothing of her own except the few roubles which she was paid for her
work and which she had forfeited when she undertook to care for Sonya
Valesky. In all probability when Mildred Thornton knew her mission she
could borrow the money from her. But then this would mean a delay so
long that she might be of no service to Sonya. For Mildred kept only a
small amount of extra money with her and would be compelled to write her
father for any large sum. Weeks would pass before Judge Thornton could
receive his daughter's request and then there would be more time
required for the transmission of the check.
However, besides Mildred there was Eugenia who could be appealed to for
aid. There was no doubt of Eugenia's assistance, once she learned Sonya
Valesky's story and realized why she had seemed a suspicious character
to all of them in the days of their meeting on board the "Philadelphia."
But Eugenia was away off somewhere in France nursing in a Red Cross
hospital near her husband's line of trenches. It would also take time to
reach Eugenia. Nevertheless she was the best person to whom to make a
request.
"But what connection have you with Sonya Valesky? Why should you not be
willing to leave her to her fate?" Lieutenant Orlaff had to ask the
second time before Nona heard him. "You have done what you could in
nursing her through a dangerous illness; friendship could expect nothing
more. Besides, you are an American girl and can have only a slight
acquaintance with Sonya."
Again Nona Davis did not reply immediately. How much or how little
should she take the Russian officer into her confidence? However, it
did not seem to her of much importance then.
"You are mistaken. I am not simply an American girl," Nona explained
quietly. "My father was an American, but my mother was a Russian. She
and Sonya Valesky knew each other as girls, although my mother was the
older. There is a stronger tie between us than you imagine. And I have
reason to believe that my mother once thought as Sonya does about many
things."
"Your mother, impossible!" Michael Orlaff exclaimed, with more
consternation and regret in his voice than was reasonable. "But you,
surely you cherish no such ideas?"
The American girl shook her head, although she seemed to be pondering
over her companion's question before replying.
"No," she returned at last. "I have no such ideas and I believe never
will have them. Even though my mother was a Russian, I am an American in
all my feelings and instincts and training. Russia fascinates me, but it
frightens me at the same time. Besides, it is not necessary in our
country that we should teach peace and equality, because it is in those
two principles that the American people most believe. If Sonya is
released I mean to try and take her back to the United States with me to
remain until the war is over."
"But Sonya will not be released, I have tried to make you understand,"
Lieutenant Orlaff added doggedly. "What is one woman more or less in
times like these? Go to Petrograd if you will, Miss Davis. I have told
you it is not wise for you and your friends to remain at Grovno. But
when you reach Petrograd have nothing to do with Sonya Valesky. I have
known you only a short time, yet I am your friend and I warn you.
Cannot you see that I care very much what becomes of you? You are a
guest in my country; you have come to do us a service. It would be a
poor return if trouble overtook you."
Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff with old Nika hobbling behind them had by
this time about reached the entrance to the fortress. Nona was truly
grateful. She was very tired and depressed from the day's experiences.
Moreover, she did not understand the manner or the words of the young
officer beside her. At one moment he seemed extraordinarily hard and at
the next unnecessarily concerned. Nothing could happen to her in
Petrograd of a serious character, but in any case her experiences could
not interest Lieutenant Orlaff.
As soon as possible Nona said good-by to him. Later, in recalling their
conversation, she often thought of a phrase he used: "What is one woman
more or less in times like these?"
CHAPTER IX
_The Attack_
There was a great deal more for the three American Red Cross girls to
confide to one another than they could find time for, soon after Nona
Davis' return to the fortress.
But two evenings later it chanced that the three girls were all on day
duty and therefore had the same evening and night free.
In the left wing of the fortress, near the hospital quarters, was the
single, small bedroom which the three American nurses shared. Once
before Nona had discovered Barbara Meade rereading one of Dick
Thornton's letters and giving way to the blues in their small, cold
chamber. This evening she made the discovery a second time.
It chanced that Barbara had gotten away from her nursing first and
hurried off to the only privacy that was possible under the
circumstances. Because she was looking forward to a long and serious
conversation with her two friends she made ready to meet the situation
as comfortably as possible. This means that Barbara slipped out of her
nursing uniform and into the pretty kimono that Mildred had presented
her with long ago in Paris. Then, while she waited for the others, she
read Dick's and Eugenia's latest letters once again.
At last Dick had arrived in New York City and was writing from the
lovely home Barbara remembered so well. He had only been there a little
while when this letter had been written, but already Dick had confided
the news of his engagement to his mother and father.
Barbara could read between the lines in a characteristic feminine
fashion. Dick declared that his father was delighted to hear of his
happiness and that he had not forgotten that they probably owed their
son's life to the girl to whom he was now engaged.
But Judge Thornton agreed with his son--a man should be able to support
his wife before he married. Therefore he meant to do all that he could
to get Dick started in the right way, so that he might go ahead as
quickly as possible.
Dick did not seem to feel that it would take very long to accomplish
this delectable result, but to Barbara, away off in Russia, a land she
both disliked and feared, the situation looked pretty indefinite.
Moreover, Dick had said nothing about the way in which his mother had
received the news of a prospective daughter-in-law. This was not an
oversight on Dick's part; Barbara understood him too well to be deceived
into any such impression. He and his mother were too intimate and
devoted for him not to care intensely about her attitude toward the girl
he wished to marry. Never could he have forgotten to mention his
mother's position! No, it was merely what she had always expected. Mrs.
Thornton thoroughly disapproved of her son's engagement and Dick would
not wound the girl he loved by writing her this fact. Later there was a
chance that his mother might be persuaded to change her mind. But in any
case it would be easier to explain by word of mouth than coldly to set
down the present situation.
Moreover, if Barbara had required further proof, she would have had it
in the fact that Mrs. Thornton had not written her a single line to say
either that she was glad or sorry that the daughter of her husband's old
friend had become engaged to her only son. If she had spoken of the
matter to Mildred, Mildred had never referred to it, proving again that
any comment from Mrs. Thornton must have been unfavorable.
While she made these reflections following the rereading of her fiancé's
letter, Barbara was lying on her cot-bed with an army blanket drawn
close up under her chin. Now she buried her curly head deeper in her
pillow and turned from Dick's to Eugenia's letter.
It was difficult to think of Eugenia Peabody as Madame Castaigne, indeed
as the Countess Castaigne, only neither she nor her husband would ever
be induced to use their titles. The old Countess might always remain in
safe possession of hers.
Barbara wondered if Eugenia was happier than she was. Then she felt
ashamed of herself. Eugenia's husband was every instant in danger of
losing his life, while Dick had only returned to the United States,
where he was now safe in his own home. Yet Eugenia's letter made no
complaints. She mentioned having seen Captain Castaigne once in the past
month, when he had received a leave of absence of twenty-four hours and
had hurried to her.
No, Eugenia's letter was chiefly devoted, as all her previous letters
had been, to her interest and concern in the three American Red Cross
girls. She wished them to return immediately to France and to the old
chateau, where the Countess Castaigne would be only too happy to shelter
them. Later, if they wished, they could find other Red Cross work to do
in France. But Russia was not a country where the girls should have
gone at this time, and certainly not without her to look after them.
Moreover, the news from the Russian lines grew more and more alarming.
Everywhere the Germans seemed to be conquering. It was disheartening
after the Russian triumphs at the beginning of the war. The letter
closed with a final plea: would Barbara do her best to persuade Nona and
Mildred that they should as soon as possible come back to France. There
would be no cowardice or desertion of duty in leaving Russia at present,
only discretion and good sense.
And upon this point of view Barbara was reflecting when Nona found her.
Personally Barbara agreed with Eugenia and wished that Nona and Mildred
would join her in withdrawing from Russia whenever they could best be
spared. But she could not decide whether she ought to thrust her point
of view upon her friends since she was uncertain whether her judgment or
her desire most swayed her.
France would be so much nearer New York and therefore Dick's letters
could be so much more frequent. Then there was the Countess Castaigne,
to whom she could pour out all her heartburnings. Moreover, there was
the chance of every now and then seeing her beloved Eugenia.
But Barbara also remembered that she had always been the least brave and
determined of the four American nurses ever since their arrival in
Europe. Should she reveal herself in the selfsame light again?
At this instant Nona snuggled under the blanket beside the younger girl.
The Russian winter was fast approaching and frequently it was bitterly
cold. Besides, there were no chairs in the Red Cross girls' bedroom,
only the three beds and some stools, so it was simpler to lie down than
be seated.
"I have a long story to tell you, Bab, and I want your advice, only I
think we had best wait for Mildred, so you may not have to hear
everything twice," Nona began.
"You mean about Sonya Valesky?" Barbara queried. Of course Nona had told
her two friends of Sonya's arrest, but had not been able to go into the
details of the story, nor had she mentioned her own intentions. Very
possibly both the girls would disapprove, as Lieutenant Orlaff had done,
of her becoming more closely involved with Sonya Valesky's history.
Fortunately Mildred appeared at the door without further delay.
But when she entered the room, both of her companions could see that she
also had something of importance upon her mind which she wished to
discuss at once.
Instead of lying down, Mildred immediately seated herself upon the edge
of her cot, facing her friends. Then she drew her own blanket up around
her shoulders.
"Girls," she began, "I don't usually do the talking, but I want both of
you to listen to me for a few moments tonight. I have been trying to
speak of this for several days, and if I don't tell you now the order
may come when you are wholly unprepared. We are to be sent back to
Petrograd as soon as a safe escort can be found for us."
"Sent back to Petrograd! Thank fate for even so much!" Barbara
whispered under the cover. "Petrograd might be the beginning of a return
journey to France."
Then she drew her chin up, endeavoring to appear deeply wounded.
"Do you mean, Mildred, that our services as Red Cross nurses are not
considered valuable?" she demanded. "Why, only today one of the Russian
surgeons declared that it was difficult to decide which one of us did
the best work. Of course, I think Mildred at present deserves the prize,
Nona has been off duty so long in taking care of Sonya Valesky."
Mildred Thornton glanced from one girl's face to the other. In spite of
Barbara's effort to conceal her pleasure, it was evident that she was
secretly rejoicing. But Mildred understood Barbara's position; it was
natural that she should feel as she did under the circumstances. Then
Barbara had never put forth any claims to being a martyr.
What really surprised Mildred Thornton was Nona Davis' expression of
relief, almost of pleasure, at her news.
Why, Nona had been more enthusiastic than any one of them over the Red
Cross nursing in Russia! She it was who had originally planned their
coming into Russia and had been most deeply interested since their
arrival.
"But why are we to be sent back to Petrograd?" Nona also demanded,
frowning a little in her effort to grasp the situation. "What reason
was given; have we failed in any duty or service since our arrival at
Grovno?" Nona went on, sitting up, while two spots of color appeared
in her cheeks. "Please, Mildred, don't be mysterious. Tell us where
you received your information and why we are to be sent away so
ignominiously?"
Mildred Thornton shook her head in quiet reproach. She was not so
impatient nor so unreasonable as the other two girls.
"I am waiting to tell you," she returned. "The other afternoon I was
sitting alone in the little Russian church when General Dmitri Alexis
came in. On leaving he chanced to discover me and asked me to walk with
him for a few moments. You know I told you I had met him the day he came
into my hospital ward to decorate the dying soldier?" Mildred added.
This time her companions only nodded, not wishing to interrupt.
"Well, it was General Alexis himself who said that he wished us to go
back to Petrograd. It was not that he felt the fortress at Grovno would
not be able to hold out against the German attacks, but that a soldier
should be prepared for any emergency. In case Grovno should fall, or
General Alexis decide it wiser to retreat and join another portion of
Grand Duke Nicholas' army, he does not wish us at Grovno. He says that
the Russian Red Cross nurses have the right to remain with their own
soldiers, but that we are Americans and with us the circumstances are
different. He does not intend that harm shall befall us. So I am afraid
we have no choice in the matter. As soon as the order comes from General
Alexis we must be ready to leave at once. One can scarcely dare disobey
the commander in chief," Mildred concluded, with regret in her tones.
"Certainly not," Barbara added with emphasis.
Then for another moment Nona Davis continued gazing thoughtfully at
Mildred.
"I suppose I ought to tell you, Mildred, you and Barbara both, that I am
not sorry we are to go to Petrograd; indeed, I am truly glad. Because I
had intended to try to get permission to return there alone. You know I
told you of Sonya's arrest, but I did not tell you that I intend to do
all that I possibly can to befriend her. She seems to have no one who
cares what becomes of her so far as I can find out, except her two old
servants, Katja and Nika. I may not be able to do much, but I have
written Eugenia, asking her to lend me some money and to forward it to
the American Ambassador at Petrograd as soon as possible. I would like
to leave almost at once. You see, I don't know what has become of Sonya,
nor when her trial may take place."
"And for my part I hope you may never know," Barbara protested, sitting
up with her cheeks suddenly crimson and her hair much tousled.
"See here, girls, I know neither of you think much of my advice, and
very probably you don't consider me especially brave. I'm not disputing
the last point. But I am more sensible than either of you and I can see
both sides of a situation better. Mildred is an idealist, and Nona, you
are a dreamer. You think you are not, but I expect you have more of your
mother's blood in you than you realize. I am desperately sorry for Sonya
Valesky. I think she is an exquisite and much-wronged woman with the
courage and devotion necessary to a martyr. But I don't see that you are
particularly fitted to follow her example, Nona. That is all that would
happen if you attempt to mix yourself up with Sonya Valesky's political
fortunes in Petrograd. You have no important friends and could do
absolutely nothing for her, but you might manage to get yourself and us,
because we care for you, into a great deal of hot water."
Mildred began to undress.
"I think Bab is right, Nona, though I understand just how you feel. It
does seem too cruel to desert a friend in a time of such extremity. When
we get to Petrograd perhaps we can talk Sonya Valesky's case over with
our Ambassador and he may help us with his advice. Let's get to sleep
now; we can judge more wisely in the morning."
It was too cold for a leisurely disrobing, so in a very short time the
three girls were ready for the night. Soon after they were asleep.
For many hours, lasting all through the darkness, the fortress at Grovno
appeared wrapped in a profound silence. This in spite of the presence of
many thousands of men without and within its gates. Now and then there
may have been the faint noise of a sentry changing his watch, or a scout
arriving with a report for headquarters.
It was just at dawn when the German attack began. But the Russian
general had been warned and was awaiting it.
Never in all the grim history of war was there ever a more sudden or
more terrific cannonading.
The three American girls were at first stunned by the unexpected noises
of the explosions. Shell after shell shrieked over the walls of the
fortress, cannon after cannon repeated an unceasing bombardment.
Neither were the Russian guns slow in replying. Except for the location
of the sounds it was impossible to tell which were the Russian cannon
and which those of the enemy.
For some time no one of the three American girls attempted to speak. It
would have been impossible to have heard one another. But by and by
Barbara crawled out of her cot and put her arm about Mildred Thornton.
"I am frightened, Mildred. I wish your General's order had come sooner
and we were safely away from Grovno. I think perhaps because of Dick I
don't want anything dreadful to happen. I want to be happy."
There was a sob in Barbara's voice which Mildred heard, if not with her
ears, at least with her heart.
"It is going to be all right, little sister," she returned. "I can't
explain exactly why, but I have perfect faith in General Alexis."
CHAPTER X
_Mildred's Opportunity_
For five days and nights the firing continued almost without cessation.
In a measure the occupants of the Russian fortress grew accustomed to
the noises, unless one explosion seemed a little more terrific than the
others.
Actually the Red Cross nurses went about their work inside the hospital
wing of the fort as though the Germans were not attacking.
There was one fact, however, that could not be overlooked: more and more
wounded were constantly being brought in, until not only the cots but
most of the floor space of the wards were covered with stricken
soldiers.
There was no definite news. No one could say whether the Germans had
been seriously depleted by the Russian gun fire, or whether the Grovno
fort would be able to continue its resistance. A few of the outer
defenses had already fallen. The Russian soldiers in the trenches behind
the first line of barricades had sought safety inside the fortress. But
these signs meant nothing of moment, and no one dared ask questions of
the Russian officers, who alone might know the purpose of their
commander.
Then on the morning of the seventh day, at dawn, Mildred Thornton, who
chanced to be gazing out of a small window which overlooked the
courtyard of the fort, made a discovery.
She had not been asleep all night, as there was so much work to be done,
but on the way to her room had stopped for a single breath of fresh air,
after the fever and confusion of the hospital.
What she saw were enormous cannon being lifted on low motor trucks and
these trucks being driven as swiftly as possible outside the Grovno gate
and along the Russian highway. There were a few soldiers accompanying
them.
Almost with the flash of an intuition the idea came to Mildred: General
Alexis was contemplating a retreat. He must have decided that, alone and
with only a limited number of regiments at his command, he would be
unable to hold out against the enemy for an unlimited time. Therefore it
might be wiser to draw them further into Russia and away from their own
supplies. General Alexis could join Grand Duke Nicholas beyond the Styr
River and there be better prepared to meet the invaders. Mildred knew
that the country on the other side of the river covered miles of swamps.
If the bridges over the river were destroyed, the Germans would find
great difficulty in pursuit.
Therefore the cannon and other heavy guns, with whatever munitions could
be spared, were first to be taken to places of safety. Later on General
Alexis would probably give orders for a more general retreat. But when
Grovno fell the Germans would find none of the spoils of war left behind
for the victors.
All this Mildred thought out slowly and carefully as she stood for a few
moments beside the tiny window. Then she went into her room, changed
her uniform for a fresher one and returned to her work. Not a word of
her idea did she breathe to any one. She had no foundation for her
impression, and at first it was an impression, nothing more. Yet Barbara
or Nona might have been frightened by the suggestion.
However, as the dawn passed and the hours of the day followed, other
persons beside Mildred Thornton began dimly to appreciate the possible
conditions. More and more of the munitions of war were hauled away, and
surely this did not look as if the fight were to be persisted in at
Grovno.
Finally, just before twilight the order came that the wounded, with
their nurses and surgeons, were to be moved at nightfall. Whatever
preparations were necessary must be made at once.
Silently small groups of soldiers were already being marched away.
Oh, of course the old guns of the famous fortress continued to belch
forth destruction, and there was no lessening of the front ranks of
soldiers, who were directly attacking the enemy. General Alexis was
merely drawing off the men whom he did not actually need for defense.
Grovno could be protected by a comparatively small number of soldiers
without the enemy appreciating any depreciation in their numbers. For
all the firing was done behind a barricade of walls. So far the Germans
were about a mile away. There would be no hand-to-hand combats until the
fortress was finally demolished.
Even under such dangerous conditions the American Red Cross girls were
relieved to hear that they were to be sent from Grovno. They were also
told that they were not to follow the army. As soon as they reached a
railroad, the wounded and their nurses were to be removed to Petrograd.
There they would find hospitals ready for their accommodation.
So it was to be Petrograd after all! The three girls were not seriously
frightened; indeed, they were less so than at the time of the French
retreat. It was so evident that General Alexis was providing for the
safety of the wounded before the danger time. They would find all the
roads open to them now, while the Germans were being held on the farther
side of the ancient stone walls.
Just after dusk the hospital staff and their patients were ready for
departure. Parties of ten, consisting of seven wounded soldiers, two
nurses and a physician, gathered quietly in the stone courtyard enclosed
by the wings of the fortress. They were then placed in low carts, drawn
by gaunt horses and driven by a Russian moujik, wearing a long blouse,
high boots and a cap with the peculiar Russian peak.
There were no such facilities for transportation in Russia as the
American Red Cross girls had found in France. The motor cars and
ambulances owned by the Russian army were few in number and inadequate
to their needs. These could only be employed in cases where swiftness
was a pressing necessity.
The three American girls were standing together just outside a stone
doorway leading into the yard and awaiting orders. As a matter of
course they wore their Red Cross uniforms: the long circular cape and
the small close-fitting bonnet. But Barbara had also put on nearly
everything else she possessed. They would be traveling all night under
extremely uncomfortable conditions and through a bitterly cold country.
In fact, Barbara looked rather like a little "Mother Bunch" with her
squirrel fur coat on top of her sweater and her cape over them both, and
carrying her army blanket.
Mildred was also prepared for the cold with a heavy coat under her
uniform cape. Unfortunately, Nona owned nothing to make her more
comfortable, except that Mildred had insisted upon lending her her
sweater. But both girls had their blankets over their arms and small
bags in their hands. There would be no room for other luggage.
"We are going to have a wonderful night, I think," Barbara murmured. "Of
course it will be hard and we may have to suffer discomfort and see
others suffering far worse things. But a retreat through this strange
country, with its odd inhabitants, as unlike as if they belonged in
different planets, will be an experience none of us will ever wish to
forget."
It was curious that Barbara should almost whisper her little speech, as
if her voice could be heard above the uproar of the cannonading. Yet in
the pauses between the firing lasting a few moments the silence seemed
almost unearthly.
At present there was just such a silence, so that the American girls
could even hear the creaking of the old wagon wheels as the ambulance
carts rolled out of the fortress yard. Now and then there was a faint
groan from a wounded man that could not be repressed. The wagons had no
springs, but were made as comfortable as possible by layers of hay
covering the wagon floors.
Almost the moment that Barbara's speech was finished, some one suddenly
stepped out of the door, near which the three girls were standing.
Looking up they discovered a colonel in the Russian army, on the
personal staff of General Alexis. No one of the three girls knew the
officer's name; his rank they recognized from the uniform he wore.
Moreover, they had observed him always accompanying the Russian
commander as one of his chief aides.
His appearance in the courtyard at this moment was surprising, but in
all probability he wished to issue a direct order concerning the plan of
retreat.
Yet the officer did not at once move forward to where groups of soldiers
were also making preparations to be on the march. Instead he stood for a
few moments just outside the door, gazing searchingly about him.
No one of the Red Cross girls spoke. They were too awed by the gravity
of the situation to make trivial remarks. Moreover, the big Russian
officer was an impressive figure. It was more interesting to watch him
until they were summoned to take their places in the wagons that were
now leaving the fortress at intervals of about ten minutes apart.
By chance Mildred Thornton made a movement and immediately the Russian
colonel directed his glance toward her. He stared at her for a moment in
silence and then, stepping forward, touched her upon the arm.
"I should like to speak to you a moment alone, nurse," he announced in
low tones, although Barbara and Nona both heard this part of his speech.
Instantly Mildred complied, and the girl and man moved a few feet away,
where they could talk without being overheard.
Under the circumstances neither Barbara nor Nona had the temerity to
follow them. But this did not mean that they were not both
extraordinarily curious. At least they strained their ears as much as
possible in order to try and catch a stray word spoken either by Mildred
or her companion. But they heard nothing except the low murmur of the
two voices, the officer asking questions and Mildred making replies.
"What on earth do you suppose he can be saying to Mill?" Barbara
finally whispered.
Nona only shook her head. Any guessing would be a pure waste of energy,
since Mildred would return in a few moments to explain.
She did come back almost immediately, but with her first words her
friends realized that something unusual had occurred. Ordinarily Mildred
was calm and self possessed. Now her voice shook and indeed she seemed
to be shivering either from cold or excitement.
"I can't go with you to Petrograd, girls," she said quietly enough,
however. "Listen, please, so I can make matters plain to you, for you
may be ordered to leave at any moment. Barbara, I want you to write my
father and mother and try and make them see I had no choice in this
decision. But you must not speak of the circumstances to any one else.
It would be dangerous for me and for us all if you betray this
confidence. The officer who talked with me just then is Colonel
Feodorovitch. He is very near General Alexis and tells me that General
Alexis has been wounded. The wound is not considered serious and he
refuses to give up his command or to leave the fort until the final
moment for retreat. Neither must his soldiers learn of what has taken
place. His own surgeon is with him now and will remain with him. But
there is a chance that they will also require a nurse. Colonel
Feodorovitch came to find one before we all got away. By accident he
saw me first and requested me to remain behind. I could not refuse."
"Mildred!" Nona and Barbara exclaimed in unison, with no attempt to
conceal their dismay, almost their horror.
"But you can't accept, Mildred," Barbara expostulated. "If you do I
shall not leave you. Why, what would your mother and father and Dick
think of my deserting you at such a time? Besides, don't you remember
that General Alexis himself wanted us safe in Petrograd before the
retreat. He would be bitterly opposed to your being chosen to remain
behind. Didn't you speak of this to Colonel Feodorovitch?"
"I couldn't, Barbara," Mildred insisted. "It would have been such a
long story and Colonel Feodorovitch knows about as much English as I
do Russian. It would only have looked as though I were shirking a most
important duty. General Alexis will not recall ever having thought or
spoken to me, at a time when the Russian army, perhaps the whole Russian
nation, is dependent on his failure or success. If I can do even the
least thing to help him at such a crisis, why, how could I refuse?
Please try and see this as I do, Barbara, you and Nona. There may be
nothing for me to do. General Alexis' wound is not serious or he could
not retain his command. I must leave you now; I am wanted at once. I'll
join you in Petrograd as soon as it is humanly possible."
But Barbara had clutched Mildred's coat.
"You shall not stay alone. I am almost your sister and I won't allow
it."
Quietly Mildred unclasped the younger girl's hand.
"For my own sake I would give a great deal to have you stay, Bab, but we
have no choice. Remember, we are under discipline like soldiers. We must
do as we are commanded."
With this Mildred returned inside the fortress.
At the same instant Nona Davis and Barbara Meade heard their names being
called. At once they moved forward and were assisted inside the wagon,
which soon after passed out of the gate and moved creakingly along the
main road in the direction of the Styr River.
They were to cross one of its bridges, as the main army was now doing.
The last of the regiments at Grovno would see that the bridges were
destroyed before the German soldiers could come up to them.
CHAPTER XI
_A Russian Retreat_
For many hours the ambulance wagon in which Nona and Barbara were riding
jogged on, forming one of a procession of similar wagons.
The girls grew cold and cramped. Now and then they tried to move in
order to make their patients more comfortable or at least to give water
to the wounded men. But the wagons were so crowded that the slightest
stirring was well nigh impossible.
Nevertheless, as Barbara Meade had predicted, the long night was one
neither she nor Nona would ever be willing to forget.
At first they rode along, passing the wooden huts of the peasants that
once had lined both sides of the main road leading to the middle bridge
across the river Styr. But many of these shacks had suffered from the
stray shells of the Germans, which, having passed beyond the fortress,
had brought desolation to the country side. These little wooden houses
in many places were mere heaps of burnt-out ashes. Others were half
burned, or else collapsed, as if they had been houses built by children,
who had afterwards kicked them down.
Everywhere, from the little homes that were unhurt, as well as from the
ruined ones, the peasants were fleeing. With the passing of the first
Russian regiment _away_ from Grovno they had guessed what must
inevitably follow.
There were bent-over old women and men carrying packs on their backs
like beasts of burden, and in truth the Russian peasant has been nothing
more for many centuries. The children, who ran along beside them, were
incredibly thin and dirty and hungry.
One member of each little group would carry a lighted pine torch,
pointing the way with fitful shadows. But wherever it was possible they
followed in the wake of the wagons.
At first the night was dark and the American girls could hear their
driver muttering strange Russian imprecations as his horses stumbled
and felt their way along. Finally Barbara presented him with the
electric lamp, which had been Dick Thornton's farewell present to her on
the day of her sailing from New York City. She had used it many times
since then, but never for a queerer purpose.
However, before they reached the river the moon had risen and both Nona
and Barbara were grateful for the added light. Yet the scene they next
witnessed was lighted by many camp fires.
The Russian infantry, who had been first to begin the retreat from
Grovno, had camped on this side the river for a few hours rest.
A confused murmur of sounds arose. In little knots before the fires men
squatted on their knees in Oriental fashion, waiting for the copper pots
to boil. For at all hours of the day and night the Russian drinks tea,
now more than ever, since by command of the Czar the soldier is
forbidden to touch alcohol.
The girls could observe that the men had curiously unlike faces. It was
difficult to understand how they could all be Russians. Never before had
they seen so many of the soldiers at one time. Some of them had flat
faces and high cheek bones, with eyes like the Chinese.
It was very strange! Yet Nona whispered that they must remember some of
these Russian soldiers had come from Asia, from beyond the Caspian Sea.
Perhaps their ancestors had been members of the great Mongolian horde
that had once invaded Europe under Genghis Khan.
In their interest Nona and Barbara began discussing the possible history
of these soldiers aloud. By and by, one of the wounded men, who chanced
to be a Russian university graduate, smiled to himself over the interest
and excitement of the two American nurses. He had been suffering
intensely from the jolting and was glad for anything that would distract
his mind from his suffering.
"The soldiers you are discussing are called 'Turcomen,'" he remarked
aloud.
Nona and Barbara were startled by the voice out of the darkness, but
they murmured confused thanks.
"Perhaps we had best not discuss our surroundings so openly," Nona
suggested, and Barbara agreed with a silent motion of her head.
By this time they had reached the central bridge. It was built of steel
and stretched like a long line of silver across the dark river.
Over the bridge, like enormous over-burdened ants, the American girls
could see other ambulance wagons moving slowly on. For the horses had
become weary of their heavy loads and yet were to have no rest of any
length until daylight.
On the farther side of the river there were other small encampments. But
by and by Barbara Meade fell asleep with her head pressed against Nona's
shoulder.
Occasionally Nona drowsed, but not often. She was torn between two
worries. What would become of Mildred Thornton, left behind with
strangers in a besieged fortress that might fall at any hour? Surely her
situation was more fraught with danger than any in which the Red Cross
girls had found themselves since their arrival in Europe.
Nona wished that she had taken sides with Barbara more decisively and
refused to leave Grovno unless Mildred accompanied them.
But Mildred had disappeared so quickly. Then the order had come for
their departure almost at the same instant. There had been so little
time to protest or even to think what was best. Certainly Mildred
herself should have refused to accept such a dangerous responsibility.
But at the same moment that Nona condemned her friend, she realized that
she would have done exactly the same thing in her place. In coming to
assist with the Red Cross nursing they had promised to put the thought
of duty first. Mildred could not shirk the most important task that had
yet been asked of her.
Perhaps no harm would befall her. Certainly Nona appreciated that
everything possible would be done to insure Mildred's safety. Her life
and honor would be the first charge of the soldiers surrounding her.
Moreover, General Alexis would certainly leave the fortress before there
was a chance of his being taken prisoner. He was too valuable a
commander to have his services lost and the Germans would regard him as
too important a capture.
So Nona's attention wandered from Mildred to her other friend, Sonya
Valesky. What had become of Sonya and how was she ever to find her in
the great and unknown city of Petrograd? If she only had a friend to
consult, but she had even been compelled to leave Grovno without seeing
Lieutenant Orlaff again. He had promised to write a few letters in
Sonya's behalf, although assured that they would do no good.
Yet in some way Nona was determined to discover the Russian woman.
Perhaps the Czar himself might be brought to pardon Sonya if he heard
that she would leave for the United States and never return to Russia
again. Then Nona smiled and sighed at the same time over her own
simplicity. The Czar was at the head of his troops, with the fate of
his crown and his country at stake. "What did one woman more or less
count in times like these?"
Before daylight Nona must have also slept, because she was finally
awakened by the stopping of their ambulance wagon.
When she opened her eyes she was surprised to see a rose flush in the
sky and to hear the slow puffing of an engine.
The wagons had arrived at a small railroad station, connecting with the
main road leading into Petrograd.
Word of the approach of the ambulances must have been sent ahead, for a
train of more than a dozen coaches was even now in waiting.
As quickly as possible Nona and Barbara crawled out of their wagon,
stamping their feet on the frozen ground and waving their arms in order
to start their circulation. Then they began to assist in transferring
the wounded soldiers from the wagons to the cars. The men were
wonderfully patient and plucky, for they must have suffered tortures.
They had first to be lifted on to an ambulance cot and then transferred
to another cot inside the train. A few of the soldiers fainted and for
them Nona and Barbara were relieved. At least they were spared the added
pain.
Yet by and by, when the long line of cars started for Petrograd, the
occupants of the coaches were amazingly cheerful. Tea and bread had been
served all of the travelers and cigarettes given to the men.
Some of the soldiers sang, others told jokes, those who were most
dangerously ill only lay still and smiled. They were on their way to
Petrograd! This meant home and friends to some of them. To others it
meant only the name of their greatest city and the palace of their Czar.
But to all of them Petrograd promised comfort and quiet, away from the
horrible, deafening noises of exploding bullets and shells.
Naturally Nona and Barbara were affected by the greater cheerfulness
about them.
"If only Mildred were with us, how relieved I would be. Really, I don't
know how we are to bear the suspense of not knowing what has become of
her," Barbara said not once, but a dozen times in the course of the day.
But night brought them into the famous Russian capital.
CHAPTER XII
_Petrograd_
On their arrival Barbara and Nona went with the wounded soldiers to a
Red Cross hospital in Petrograd.
There, to her consternation, a few days later Nona Davis became ill. The
illness was only an attack of malarial fever, which Nona had been
subject to ever since her childhood; nevertheless, the disease had never
chosen a more unpropitious time for its reappearance.
For a few days she seemed dangerously ill, then her convalescence left
her weak and exhausted. She was totally unfit for work and only a burden
instead of an aid to the hospital staff.
Poor Barbara had a busy, unhappy time of it. She did her best to look
after Nona in spare moments from her regular nursing, and she also tried
not to lose courage when no word came from Mildred. Neither from
newspapers nor inquiries in all possible directions could she even learn
whether Grovno had fallen.
She was unable to read the newspapers for herself and so was compelled
to wait until one of the other nurses could find time to laboriously
translate the information into English.
Evidently at the present time the Russian papers did not desire the
Russian people to learn the fate of the fortress and its commander. For
all news on the subject was carefully withheld.
Under the strain Barbara might have broken down herself except for a
piece of good fortune that at length came to Nona and to her.
An American woman, married to a Russian, the Countess Sergius, learning
of the presence of the two American Red Cross nurses in the Russian
hospital, called at once to see if she could do anything for their
comfort. Discovering Nona ill and Barbara on the verge of a breakdown,
the American woman insisted that the girls be her guests. They were not
able to be of special assistance at the hospital under the present
circumstances, while a week or so of rest and change might do wonders
for them both.
In answer to Nona's protest that she was not well enough to be an
agreeable visitor and could not bear the ordeal of meeting strangers,
the older woman announced that the girls could live as quietly as they
liked. She would let them have a private apartment in her house and they
need see no one except the servants who would look after them.
As the American Countess was undoubtedly extremely wealthy and most
anxious to be of service, Barbara and Nona gratefully accepted her
invitation. So about ten days after their arrival in Petrograd they were
living in one of the handsomest houses along the famous Nevski Prospect.
This is the Fifth Avenue of Petrograd, a wide avenue three miles in
length. Nothing is small in Russia or in the Russian people.
The girls were delightfully comfortable. One-half the third floor of the
great house had been given up to them, consisting of two bedrooms, a
bath, and a sitting room where their meals were served.
Indeed, the girls soon discovered that although the Countess meant to be
hospitable and kind, she was sincerely glad that they wished to be left
alone. She was an extremely busy woman, one of the important hostesses
of Petrograd in times of peace. But now, like most society women in the
allied countries, she was devoting all her energies to relief work.
There were charity bazaars and concerts and Russian ballet performances,
for the benefit of the soldiers, that must be managed day and night.
After three days of luxury and idleness Nona Davis felt strong again.
Perhaps more than the other Red Cross girls she deserved credit for her
devotion to her nursing. For Nona had the southern temperament which
loves beauty and ease, and there were times in her life when she had
deliberately to shut her eyes to these enticements.
But now, with the thought of Sonya Valesky ever on her mind, she could
not allow herself to relax an hour longer than necessary.
Contrary to Barbara Meade's judgment, Nona decided to ask the advice of
their hostess as to how she should begin the search for her Russian
friend.
Instantly the American woman became less cordial. But when Nona had told
as much of the other woman's story as she dared, the Countess frankly
discussed the situation with her.
If Nona would be guided by an older woman she would give up the quest
for Sonya Valesky. Certainly Sonya's fate was an unhappy one, but she
was wholly responsible for it herself. If she had been content to take
life as she found it she would now have been occupying a brilliant
position.
The Countess evidently had no use for reformers or persons who break
away from recognized conditions. She confessed to Nona that her own
position in Russian society had been difficult to attain. Not for worlds
would she be suspected of having anything to do with a Socialist, or an
Anarchist, or whatever dreadful character Nona's friend might be! The
Countess was perfectly polite, but Nona thoroughly understood that if
she insisted upon discovering the unfortunate Sonya, her presence as a
guest in the Countess' home would no longer be desired.
Since there was nothing else to do, Nona decided that she must wait
until help came from some unexpected direction. She had no idea of
giving up the search for Sonya. But in the meantime she could enjoy
a brief rest and see Petrograd.
In the winter time Petrograd is the most beautifully quiet city in the
world. And now in war times it was scarcely less so, for the ground was
covered with many inches of snow. There was a muffled sound even to the
tread of the soldiers' feet, marching through the frozen streets.
Neither was there a single wagon or carriage to be heard, since
everybody went about in sleighs and everything was hauled in the same
way. But now, because all the best horses were at the front, one often
saw great oxen drawing sledges through the once gay and fashionable
city.
The Countess Sergius had retained only a single pair of horses for her
own use and that of her big household, nevertheless, she now and then
loaned her sleigh for an afternoon to her two American girl guests.
Sight-seeing was the only amusement which kept Nona and Barbara from a
morbid dwelling on their worries. Barbara had written to Judge and Mrs.
Thornton in the way that Mildred had directed. But she could not feel
that either of Mildred's parents would feel any the less wretched and
uneasy because their daughter believed that she was only "doing her
duty." Since the original letter Barbara had never been able to write
them again. What could she say, except that no word of any kind had
since been received from Mildred? There would be small consolation in
this news, and of course Barbara wrote Dick every few days.
One afternoon Barbara and Nona left the Countess' house at about three
o'clock and drove down the entire length of the Nevski Prospect toward
the Winter Palace of the Czar.
There were scudding gray clouds overhead and a light snow falling.
No one could have failed to be interested. The Russian streets are
ordinarily paved with sharp-edged stones, but the ice made them smooth
as glass. Over the windows of the shops the girls could see painted
pictures of what the shopkeepers had to sell inside. This is common in
Russia, since so many of her poorer people are unable to read.
Most of the buildings in Petrograd are of stucco, and indeed, except for
her churches and a few other buildings, the Russian capital resembles a
poor imitation of Paris. Peter the Great, who constructed the city upon
the swamp lands surrounding the river Neva, was determined to force
Russia into the western world instead of the east. For this reason he
brought all his artists from France and Italy, so that he might model
his new city upon their older ones.
The Winter Palace itself the girls discovered to be a Renaissance
building, with one side facing the river and the other a broad square.
Their sleigh stopped by the tall monolith column commemorating Alexander
the First, which stands almost directly in front of the Palace. Leading
from the Palace to the Hermitage, once the palace of the great
Catherine, is a covered archway.
The Hermitage is one of the greatest art museums in the world and
contains one of the finest collections of paintings in Europe. Although
the two Red Cross girls had now been in Petrograd several weeks, neither
of them had yet been inside the famous gallery.
"Suppose we go in now and see the pictures," Barbara proposed. "We might
as well take advantage of our opportunities, even if we are miserable,"
she added with the characteristic wrinkling of her small nose. "Besides,
I'm frozen, and you must be more so, Nona. How I have adored my squirrel
coat and cap ever since we came to this arctic zone! Thank fortune, our
Countess has loaned you some furs, Nona! Do you know, I really am not so
surprised that your mother was a Russian noble woman. You look like my
idea of a Russian princess, with your pale gold hair showing against
that brown fur. Who knows, maybe you'll turn into a Russian princess
some day! But shall I tell our driver to stop?"
Nona Davis shook her head, smiling and yet rather pathetic, in spite of
her lovely appearance in borrowed finery.
"I don't want to be a Russian princess, Bab, or a Russian anything, I am
afraid, in spite of my heritage. I think it a good deal nicer to be
engaged to an American like Dick Thornton. If you don't mind, let's
don't try to see the pictures today. I am tired and we ought to be fresh
for such an experience. If you are cold, suppose we go back into the
center of the town and walk about for a while. Then we can send the
sleigh home to the Countess. I don't feel that we should keep it for
our use the entire afternoon, and if we stop to look at the pictures it
would take the rest of the day. There are some queer side streets that
join the Nevski Prospect I should like to see."
The Countess Sergius lived about two miles away from the Winter Palace.
When the girls were within a quarter of a mile of the house where they
were guests, they finally got out of the sleigh. Their driver was an old
man with a long beard and not the character of servant the American
Countess would have employed under ordinary conditions. But her former
young men servants were in the army, and like other wealthy families in
Russia at this time, she was glad to employ any one possible.
However, Nona undertook to make the man understand that they would not
need his services again that afternoon. She had more of a gift for
languages than the western girl and her knowledge of French was always
useful. So after a little hesitation, the big sleigh at last drove away.
And actually for the first time since their arrival in Petrograd Nona
and Barbara found themselves alone in the Russian streets.
There could be no danger of getting lost, for they had only to come to
this central thoroughfare and the Countess' house lay straight ahead.
So the two girls turned into the side street that lay nearest them.
After a five minutes walk they found themselves in another world.
On the Nevski Prospect they were in Europe; here they were in Asia.
It was curious, but even the smells were different. These were Asiatic
odors, if the girls had only known, queer smells of musk and attar of
roses and other less pleasant things.
The Russian women and children were crowding the narrow streets, while
inside the little shops the wares were displayed on big tables. In the
summer time these goods were sold on open stalls in the streets.
"Let us go into one of the shops and buy a few trinkets," Barbara
suggested. "I would like to own one of those embroidered Russian
aprons."
Then she stopped, her attention caught, as Nona's had been, by a sudden
rustling in the air above them. A moment later a flock of gray and white
pigeons was crowding about their feet. These also were the pigeons that
haunt the thoroughfares of the east.
Personally Nona Davis would have preferred remaining outside in the
fresh air. She was cold, but she objected to the squalid atmosphere of
the interior of so many Russian houses. However, she could not refuse to
agree to every request Barbara made of her all that afternoon.
A moment later and she was almost as interested as the younger girl in
making purchases.
There were odd pieces of beautiful, gayly colored embroideries that,
according to American ideas, appeared incredibly cheap. Then there were
bits of Russian brass, that seemed to interest Barbara particularly, as
it is probable that she had a sudden rush of the housekeeper's ardor.
Here were interesting things that might be purchased for her own and
Dick's apartment in New York almost for nothing!
Whatever the cause, Nona, after fifteen or twenty minutes, found her
own pleasure cooling. Moreover, she had very little money to spend on
frivolities, and so found a stool in a corner and sat down to wait for
Barbara and to watch the crowd.
There were numbers of people in the shop, although few of them seemed
to be making purchases. Now and then a big soldier, crowned by his
peaked fur cap, would stalk proudly in to purchase a trinket, possibly
for the girl of his heart. The Russians are ardent lovers, and as the
soldier was only at home on a short leave, he had to make the best of
his opportunity.
Most of the women who were not wearing furs had heavy shawls drawn over
their heads and shoulders. Nona could not see their faces very well,
and only received flitting impressions of dark eyes and large, heavy
features, with almost always the curiously pale and yet sallow skin
peculiar to the Russian peasant. It is only among the better classes
that one finds other types.
Suddenly Nona gave a cry of alarm, which she quickly hushed. To her
surprise some one had quietly come up back of her and laid a hand on
her shoulder. It was one of these same peasant women, wearing a heavy,
dark shawl.
She was trying to say something which Nona could not at once
understand. Yet it was plain enough that the woman was imploring
her to make no disturbance that would attract attention.
The next moment Nona had recognized the woman. It was old Katja, Sonya
Valesky's servant, whom she had left with Nika in her little hut.
What had brought the old woman to Petrograd? In reality Nona knew
without asking the question. It was Katja's devotion to Sonya.
The old woman was speaking a queer jumble of languages, Russian and the
few words of English she had learned while the American girl was living
in the same house.
What Nona finally learned was, that Katja was imploring her to meet her
somewhere the next day, where they could talk without being observed.
Nona knew of no place except the one that was always open to rich and
poor alike in Russia. And she had to think quickly. Yet the churches had
always been their refuge ever since the arrival of the four Red Cross
girls in Europe.
At the same moment Nona could only recall the most celebrated Russian
church in Petrograd. She must lose no time, for even Barbara must not
learn of her mission, and Barbara might turn and come back to join her
at any moment.
"In the Cathedral of St. Isaac, toward the left and in the rear of the
church at three o'clock tomorrow," Nona murmured. And Katja must have
understood, for she went away at once.
It was just as well, because at almost the same moment Barbara returned
to join Nona, her arms full of queer-shaped packages, and looking
happier than she had since their arrival in the Russian city.
CHAPTER XIII
_The Next Step_
The following afternoon it seemed to Nona Davis that all Petrograd was
a-glitter with onion-shaped domes. The Russian priests explained that
these domes were really shaped like folded rosebuds, symbolizing the
church on earth that was to blossom in heaven. But to see them in this
fashion required a Russian imagination.
However, the effect was very beautiful, and Nona was glad to have her
attention diverted, as she started out to find the Cathedral of St.
Isaac. Some of the domes were of blue, set with stars to represent the
canopy of the sky. But Nona knew that the central dome of St. Isaac's
was an enormous copper ball covered with gold and that its radiance
could be seen at a great distance.
She had had great difficulty in fulfilling her engagement with Katja.
At first she had tried to deceive Barbara in regard to her intention,
being fully determined to continue her search for Sonya until she had
discovered her; nevertheless, it did not seem worth while to trouble
Barbara while she had no actual information to go upon. But Barbara
would not be deceived.
Nona suggested that she wished to walk for several hours and feared the
younger girl might become fatigued. In reply Barbara assured her that
there was nothing she herself so much desired as exercise, and as for
growing tired, Nona would the sooner be worn out, since she was the one
who had been ill.
Afterwards, while there were other excuses for her departure which Nona
struggled to invent, all were equally useless. From the first Barbara
had guessed her plan. Although she had seen nothing and knew nothing of
Nona's meeting with Katja the day before, she had immediately guessed
that Nona's desire for a solitary excursion was in some way connected
with her effort to find Sonya Valesky. And this effort the younger girl
continued to oppose.
So Nona had finally departed, leaving Barbara in tears over her
obstinacy and foolhardiness. She was very unhappy, but what else was
possible for her to do? Had Barbara been in the same need that Sonya
now was, surely no one could have persuaded her to turn her back upon
Barbara.
Katja was waiting and fortunately there were but a few other persons in
the Cathedral at the same hour.
As quickly and as intelligently as she knew how, the old woman explained
that Sonya was in a civil prison in Petrograd and was to be tried for
treason within another week. Katja had not seen her child, but had
received a few lines in reply to a dozen letters which a friend had
written for her. Katja herself could neither read nor write.
Although Nona could speak only a few words of Russian, she had learned
to read a little of the language with difficulty. Now she managed to
translate her friend's ideas, if not her exact words.
Sonya did not wish Katja to try to see her nor to attempt to appear at
the prison at the hour of her trial. Nothing could be done for her
release and Katja would only be made the more miserable. Neither was
Katja to let Nona know anything of her whereabouts until after sentence
was passed. Then if Katja could find the American girl she was to say
farewell for Sonya Valesky. She was also to thank Nona for her kindness
and add that the acquaintance with her friend's daughter had brought
Sonya much happiness.
Standing with the crumpled sheet of paper in her hand, written by the
woman who so soon expected to say farewell to the things that make life
worth living, Nona Davis felt her own cheeks flush and her eyes fill
with tears. How little had she really deserved the Russian woman's
affection, for how much she had distrusted her!
Well, Nona again determined to do all that was possible now to prove her
allegiance.
As soon as she could get away from Katja, Nona secured a sleigh and
drove at once to the house of the American Ambassador. Because her card
represented her as an American Red Cross nurse she felt assured that she
would be treated with every courtesy.
This was perfectly true, although obliged to wait half an hour; finally
one of the secretaries of the Ambassador invited the American girl into
a small office. She could not, of course, see the Ambassador without a
special engagement, but the secretary would be pleased to do whatever
was possible.
Nona was both pleased and relieved. The secretary proved to be a
southerner, a young fellow from Georgia, who could not have been more
than twenty-five years old. Certainly it was far easier to tell the
story of Sonya Valesky to him than to an older man or to one whose
time was more valuable.
Nevertheless, when she had finished, although there was no doubt of
the secretary's attention and interest, Nona found him equally as
discouraging as everybody else had been concerning Sonya Valesky's
fate and any part which she might have hoped to play in it. There
could be little doubt that Sonya would be condemned to Siberia. She
was a political prisoner and would not be tried by a military court.
Her offense was spoken of as sedition, or as an infringement of the
"Defense of the Realm" act. For Sonya had been endeavoring to induce
the Russian soldiers to join her peace societies rather than to fight
for their country.
The young American secretary did his best to make the situation plain to
Nona Davis. In England or France, under the same circumstances, Sonya
Valesky might have escaped with only a short term of imprisonment or a
fine. But this would not be true in Russia. Besides, it appeared that
Sonya was an old offender and that her socialist ideas were well known.
It would be impossible for the American Ambassador or any member of his
staff to make the smallest effort in Sonya's behalf. Such an effort
would represent an act of discourtesy on the part of the United States
Government, as if she were attempting to interfere with Russia's
treatment of her own subjects.
There was one thing only which the young secretary could undertake in
Nona's cause. He would make an effort to have her allowed to visit her
friend. If Sonya's trial was not to take place for a week, it was just
possible that the American girl might be permitted to see her.
So Nona was compelled to go away with only this small consolation.
However, before leaving she secured the address of an American family
in Petrograd who might be willing to take her as a boarder. For Nona
realized that with her present plan she could not longer remain as a
guest in the Countess' house.
Then Barbara had again to be reckoned with. It was early dusk when Nona
Davis finally reached their apartment in the splendid Russian house.
Barbara had just finished tea, but the tea things had not been sent
away.
Because Nona was evidently so tired and discouraged the younger girl
comforted her with tea and cakes before beginning to ask questions.
Afterwards Barbara insisted upon being told the entire account of the
afternoon's experiences. Nona must begin with her meeting with Katja,
her interview in the Cathedral, then her visit to the house of the
United States Ambassador and finally the description of the place where
she had engaged board before returning to her temporary home.
Although Barbara was ordinarily much given to conversation and frequent
interruptions of other people's anecdotes, she listened without comment
until the other girl had finished.
"We are both too tired to pack up our few possessions tonight, Nona,"
she answered in conclusion; "but we can attend to them in the morning
and then say good-by to the Countess."
Nona was lying upon a divan with her yellow head sunk among a number of
brown cushions, but she got half way up at Barbara's words.
"But I don't expect _you_ to leave here, Barbara dear, to go with
me," she protested. "I didn't engage board for anyone else. The house
where I am to stay is shabby and not especially comfortable. I wouldn't
have you leave this lovely home for worlds! I am sorry, you may be a
little lonely without me. But I am hoping we may hear from Mildred at
almost any hour and then I'm sure the Countess would be only too happy
to have her take my place here. I expect Mildred will be a distinguished
character after having been chosen to nurse the great General Alexis."
"Don't talk nonsense," Barbara protested, in answer to the first part of
her friend's speech. "Of course, I am not going to let you wander off
and live in a strange family by yourself." Then Barbara sighed.
She was sitting on a small stool beside Nona's couch, resting her chin
on her hand and looking very childish and homesick.
"Of course, I know you have to do whatever you can for Sonya Valesky,
Nona," she agreed unexpectedly. "In your position I hope I would have
the courage to behave in the same way. I have only made a fuss about
things because I was worried for you, but I have always known you would
not pay any attention to me. Nobody ever does."
Although Nona laughed and attempted to argue this point, Barbara
remained unconvinced.
"Oh, well, possibly Dick or Eugenia can sometimes be persuaded into
doing what I ask, but never you or Mildred," she concluded, and then
sighed again. "If we could hear just a single word from Mildred!"
The next day the two girls moved to their new lodgings. Their hostess
was gracious enough, but made no protest when Nona explained that she
expected to be permitted to visit the Russian prisoner within the next
few days.
The order to see Sonya came sooner than Nona expected. Indeed, the two
girls had only been in their new quarters for about thirty-six hours
when the young secretary from the embassy called upon them. With him he
brought the permit from the Russian government.
Nona was to be allowed to visit the prison near the Troitska bridge on
the following day and to spend ten minutes with her friend. She must
understand that a guard would listen to whatever conversation was held.
Also she must take with her nothing of any kind to present to Sonya
Valesky. Their interview would be closely watched.
Naturally Barbara Meade insisted upon accompanying Nona. She knew, of
course, that she would not be allowed to see the prisoner, nor had she
the least wish to see her. But she could wait in some antechamber until
the ten minutes passed and then bring Nona safely back to their lodging
place. For certainly the experience ahead of her friend would be a
painful one, and although Nona did her best to conceal her nervousness
from the younger girl, Barbara again was not deluded.
When the two girls set out for the prison the next afternoon it would
have been difficult to decide which one most dreaded the ordeal. But in
truth the ordeal was in a way a mutual one. While she waited, doubtless
Barbara's imagination would paint as tragic a scene as Nona might be
obliged to go through with.
It seemed to Nona Davis, after leaving Barbara, that she walked down a
mile or more of corridor. The corridor might have been an underground
sewer, so dark and unwholesome were its sights and smells. It led past
dozens of small iron doors with locks and chains fastened on the
outside.
Finally Nona's guard paused before one of these doors and then opened
it. Inside was an iron grating with bars placed at intervals of about
six inches apart. The room it barricaded was six feet square and
contained a bed and stool. There was one small window overhead, not much
larger than a single pane of glass in an average old-fashioned window.
But the light from the window fell directly upon the head of the woman
who was seated beneath it.
Sonya Valesky had not been told that she was to receive a visitor. So
perhaps Nona did appear like a sudden vision of a Fra Angelico angel,
standing unexpectedly in the dark corridor with her hair as golden as a
shaft of sunlight.
Sonya only stared at the girl without speaking. But Nona saw that her
friend's dark hair, which had been a little streaked with gray at their
first meeting more than two years before, was now almost pure white.
However, Sonya did not look particularly ill or unhappy; her blue eyes
were still serene. Whatever faith in life she may have lost, she had not
lost faith in the cause for which she must suffer.
"Don't you know me, Sonya?" Nona asked almost timidly, as if she were
talking to a stranger.
Then the Russian woman came forward with all her former dignity and
grace. She was wearing a black dress of some rough material, but it
seemed to Nona Davis that she had never seen a more beautiful woman.
Sonya was like a white lily found growing in some underground dungeon.
She put her hands through the bars and took hold of Nona's cold ones.
"This is wonderfully kind of you, Nona?" she said with the simplicity
of manner that had always distinguished her. "I have wanted to know what
had become of you and your friends. Somehow information sifts even
inside a prison in war times, and I have learned that General Alexis
gave up trying to hold Grovno. You are on your way back home, I trust."
Nona could scarcely reply. It seemed so strange that Sonya could be
talking in such an everyday fashion, as if her visit were being made
under ordinary circumstances. Not a word did she say of her own sorrow
or the tragedy that lay ahead of her.
Nona could only fight back the tears. "We are returning to France as
soon as Mildred Thornton joins us in Petrograd," she answered, and then
explained that Mildred had stayed behind at Grovno.
"But isn't there anything I can do for you, Sonya?" Nona added. "I shall
certainly not leave Petrograd until after your trial, and then if you
are released you must come away with me."
The older woman only shook her head.
"I shall not be released, Nona, so don't make yourself unhappy with
false hopes. This is not my first offense against the government of
Russia. I have never believed in the things in which they believe, not
since I was a little girl. I suppose I am a troublesome character. But
after all, in going to Siberia I am only following the footsteps of
greater men and women than I can hope to resemble."
Sonya let go Nona's hands and stepped back into her little room. From
under her pillow she drew a small folded paper.
"In going to Siberia I forfeit all my estates, Nona," Sonya Valesky
explained when she came back. "But I have a small amount of money in
the United States, as well as in my own country. Perhaps the government
may be willing to allow me to dispose of my property, although of course
I can't tell. But I have made a will and had it witnessed here in the
prison. If it is possible I want you to have half of the little I have
left and Katja and Nika the rest. There would be no chance to leave it
to the cause of peace in these days."
Nona received the little paper.
"You won't be in Siberia all your life, Sonya, that I won't believe,"
she protested. "Some day when this war is over the Czar will pardon you.
Please remember that I shall never forget you and never stop trying to
do what I can for your release. If I am allowed to have it, I will take
care of your money until you are able to come to me."
Hearing a guttural noise behind her, Nona Davis now turned around. Her
guard was signaling that the time allotted for her visit was over.
She was not able to kiss the older woman good-by, only to hold both her
hands close for another moment and then to go away with her eyes so
blinded with tears that she could not see. Yet she never forgot the
picture that Sonya Valesky made when she had a final glance at her.
Four days later a few lines appeared in the Russian daily papers,
stating that Sonya Valesky, a woman of noble birth, but at present a
Russian nihilist, had been condemned to penal servitude in Siberia for
life. She had been proved guilty of treason to the Imperial Government.
CHAPTER XIV
_Mildred's Return_
On the same afternoon that Nona and Barbara read the news of Sonya
Valesky's sentence, Mildred Thornton came to Petrograd.
Her return was characteristic of Mildred.
It was a little past twilight and Nona and Barbara were in their shabby
sitting room; they now shared the same bedroom in the new lodgings. Nona
had been crying, and in order to try and make her forget, Barbara was
reading aloud. She had received a package of books and magazines from
Dick Thornton earlier in the day, but this was her first chance to look
them over.
Although endeavoring to listen, in reality Nona's attention was only
pretence. Her thoughts were with the Russian woman whose life had been
so strangely associated with her own. It seemed to Nona that she had
not realized how much she cared for Sonya Valesky until these last few
weeks. She had become like an exquisite older sister whom she might
possibly have had as a companion and friend. Never had Nona been more
conscious of her own loneliness. It is true that she had been more or
less lonely all her life, but this she had taken as a matter of course.
Now in these last few hours she had suddenly been overwhelmed by the
thought.
Apparently their work as Red Cross nurses in Europe was nearly over.
At least, when Mildred finally joined them, the three girls intended
returning to France to spend a little time with Madame Castaigne and
Eugenia. Then Barbara and Mildred would doubtless go back to their
homes in the United States. Barbara would be married in a short time
and Mildred would not wish to remain longer away from her mother and
father. But Nona had no home and no people to whom she might return.
The girl was glad at this moment that there were no lights in their
sitting room save the two candles which were directly behind Barbara's
book. She did not wish the younger girl to guess the extent of her
depression.
Yet it was Nona who first heard the knock at their sitting room door.
Quickly as possible she got up and walked forward to open it, not even
attempting to smooth her hair or to wipe the traces of tears from her
face. Barbara did not glance from the page of her book, both girls were
so convinced that it was only the woman who usually brought them their
dinner at this hour.
When Nona opened the door, Mildred took her by both shoulders and
quietly kissed her.
"Mildred!" It was Nona's exclamation that finally aroused Barbara Meade.
But even then, although Barbara rose to her feet, dropping her book on
the floor, she did not move forward. She let Mildred come and put her
arms around her and kiss her on both cheeks. Then Mildred stood still in
the center of the room and smiled at her two friends.
"Won't either one of you say she is glad to see me?" she asked, with a
mixture of gayety and wistfulness.
By this time Barbara and Nona were both embracing the newcomer at once,
and at the same time attempting to remove her wraps. Under her nursing
coat Mildred was wearing a long sable coat, suitable for a princess, but
neither of the girls noticed it in the excitement of her arrival.
"Where did you come from? Oh, Mildred, what have you been doing all this
time? I have nearly died of anxiety." Barbara protested. "Surely you
could have gotten us some word, if only to say you were alive."
Mildred shook her head. "I couldn't, dear. I have come back to you the
very first moment it was possible. But it is a long story. I can't tell
you all at once. May I sit down?"
At last Nona and Barbara had the grace to observe that Mildred looked
white and tired.
"I arrived in Petrograd about half an hour ago with General Alexis and
his staff and the Russian maid who has been with us ever since we were
left behind at Grovno," she explained, when her friends had thrust her
unceremoniously into their only comfortable chair.
"I told General Alexis that I must find you at once, so we drove to the
United States Embassy and they gave us your address. Then they left me
here. I am dreadfully hungry; can't we have something to eat before I
finish my story?"
"Certainly not," Barbara insisted, "or not until you have answered two
or three more questions. For I am much more apt to die of curiosity than
you are to perish of starvation. How long did you remain at Grovno, and
did the Germans ever capture you? I suppose your general didn't die, if
he escorted you to our humble door. But if he wasn't desperately ill,
why did he have you stay so long in a position of such danger?" And
Barbara ceased to ask more questions simply because her breath had given
out.
At the same instant Nona signaled a warning glance. Mildred was almost
fainting with exhaustion. In these last few weeks she must have passed
through difficult experiences and naturally she could not tell them
everything at once.
"Please go downstairs and ask that dinner be sent up, Barbara," Nona
demanded. "And get soup or milk or something special; if not I'll make
some beef tea for Mildred on the alcohol lamp. Mildred, suppose you put
on my wrapper and lie down until after you have eaten, then we can talk
as long as you have strength for."
And the girls did talk until nearly midnight in spite of Mildred's
fatigue. She was perfectly well, only tired, she insisted, and greatly
excited at seeing Nona and Barbara again.
She had passed through events in these past few weeks such as few women
have ever known. But of course Mildred related what had taken place in a
simple, almost matter of fact fashion. She was so little given to
heroics, or to thinking of herself as a conspicuous personage.
"Yes, they had stayed on at Grovno until almost the hour when the
Germans entered the old fortress. General Alexis had been wounded,
but had not considered his wound serious and would not desert his
post until he had finally accomplished his purpose. For the last
hour virtually only six persons had kept the German army from
entering the fortifications: General Alexis, Colonel Feodorovitch,
two lieutenants and two private soldiers, although the Russian
physician, who had remained with his commander, had turned soldier
toward the last."
"But you don't mean that you continued inside the fort to the very end?"
Barbara demanded almost angrily. "I suppose you were forgotten."
"I think I was at the last," Mildred returned. "You see, at first when
General Alexis discovered that I was the Red Cross nurse who had been
chosen to stay behind, he was angry and insisted that I leave at once.
But by the time he learned of my presence, it was too late to find me an
escort. Besides, the doctor did not wish me to go. There was a Russian
woman, a kind of servant, who was also with us, and did the cooking, I
believe, if we ever ate. Anyhow, she stayed with me and looked after me
when she could, so that I was never actually alone."
"But Mildred," Nona asked, guessing at many details that her friend did
not mention, "how did you finally get away at last? And have you come
directly here from Grovno? Surely the fort did not hold out all these
weeks."
"No, we have been away from Grovno nearly two weeks, I can't remember
the exact passage of time very well," Mildred explained, lifting her
hands to let down the long braids of her heavy flaxen hair, and allowing
the hairpins to drop girl fashion, carelessly into her lap. She was
wearing Nona's kimono, and it is always easier to talk confidentially
with one's hair down, if one happens to have the mass that Mildred had.
The very weight of it was oppressive when she was tired.
"Yes, it was terribly interesting toward the last," she went on,
"although I don't believe even then we were in great danger. General
Alexis is too wise to have permitted that. Everything was in readiness;
all the plans were made days beforehand for our getting away. The
different regiments of private soldiers with their officers continued
to march away from Grovno, and so much ammunition was moved that I think
almost no stores of any value were left. Then the moment finally came
for our own retreat."
To Barbara's intense irritation, Mildred actually paused for an instant
at this point in her story. But she continued almost immediately.
"There was an underground passage outside the fort, leading all the way
to the river. The seven of us at last left the fort together. By this
time General Alexis had almost to be carried, the pain from his wound
had grown so intense. Then every once in a while, as we went on, one of
the soldiers would place a bomb in such a position that it would explode
after we had gone. In this way the underground passage was wrecked, so
there never was any possibility of the Germans being able to follow us.
When we reached the bridge over the river two motor cars were waiting
for us. Colonel Feodorovitch, one of the lieutenants and the two private
soldiers stayed to see that the last bridge over the Styr was blown up.
The other five, General Alexis, his physician, and one officer and we
two women started west in an effort to join the retreating regiments,
who were to come up with a portion of the Grand Duke's army."
"Goodness, Mildred Thornton, what an experience you have been through!"
Nona ejaculated. "Yet you talk as quietly as if it were almost an
ordinary occurrence!"
Mildred shook her head. "It is not because I feel it an ordinary
experience, Nona, but because so much has happened I am overpowered by
the bigness of it. Really, when we got safely away from the fort, the
battle, or at least my share in it, was only about to begin. We had gone
a few miles into the country, when General Alexis became desperately
ill. Unless he could have immediate attention his physician said there
was no possible hope for his life."
Barbara had by this time slipped out of her chair and was sitting on the
floor with her hands clasped over her knees, looking all eyes, and
rocking herself slowly back and forward as a relief for her excitement.
"But you brought your general back with you, Mildred Thornton, or you
said you did. How on earth did you manage about him?" she interrupted.
"That is just what I am going to tell you, because that explains where I
have been and why I have not been able to let you hear from me. Our
Russian doctor ordered our motor car stopped and we entered a Russian
house some distance from any main road. We purposely chose a house that
had been deserted, and there we have been for two weeks, struggling to
save the life of General Alexis. Of course, his wound had been more
serious than he would admit. The wonder is that he is still alive!"
"But he has recovered?" Barbara inquired with her usual unsatisfied
curiosity. "Goodness, Mill, what a heroine you will be, to have nursed
one of the most famous generals in the Allied armies and to have
restored him to health. Won't your mother be charmed!"
Naturally Mildred smiled. The thought of her mother's pleasure in her
distinction _had_ occurred to her several times in the last two weeks.
"Oh, of course I am glad to have had the honor, Bab, because I too think
General Alexis a great man. He is perhaps the simplest man I have ever
known, except my father, and I like him very much. Only he has not
recovered and I have not restored him to health. If General Alexis had
recovered he would never have come to Petrograd, he would have rejoined
his troops. But he was well enough to be moved and Petrograd seemed the
safest place for him at present. Besides, I believe he wished to have an
audience with the Czar."
Barbara again rocked back and forth. "You say 'Czar,' Mill, just as if
you were speaking of an everyday person. Really, I believe you are the
best bred girl I ever saw. Position, wealth, no distinctions seem to
excite you. You just take people for exactly what they are," Barbara
murmured, in reality speaking to herself.
But Nona overheard her. "You are quite right, Bab," she agreed. "Mildred
does not know it, but she has taught me many a lesson on that subject
since we came to Europe. It would be a nicer world if everybody thought
and acted as Mildred does. But what has become of your general, Mill?
Are you to go on nursing him or to see him again?"
"No, to the first question, Nona dear, and yes, to the second. Now I am
so tired I simply must go to bed. I told the doctor and General Alexis
that since he was better, I wanted to come to you. Besides, I was sure
that here in Petrograd there would be so many cleverer nurses than I can
ever hope to be. And I didn't want to stay at the Winter Palace with you
girls here."
"You mean," Nona asked quietly, "that you were invited to be a guest at
the Czar's own palace and you declined?"
Mildred clasped her hands behind her head. "Oh, I thought I told you.
General Alexis is to be at the Winter Palace while he is in Petrograd.
He is very close to the Czar, I believe. As his nurse, of course I was
asked to stay there with him; he is to have his physician and his aides
as well as his servants in attendance. There was nothing personal in my
being permitted inside the Palace. Some other nurse will take my place."
"But the point is, Mildred Thornton, that you refused to stay under the
same roof with the Czar of all the Russias. Never so long as you live
will your mother forgive you."
The other girl flushed and laughed. "I hadn't thought of that, Bab dear.
Please don't tell on me. But we are to be under the same roof with the
Czar some day for a few moments, all of us. General Alexis said that he
wished to have us presented to the Czar and Czarina, if it were possible
to arrange. He seems to feel grateful to me for the little I was able to
do. But please, Bab, don't say that I refused to continue to nurse
General Alexis. I only asked that they get some one to take my place,
who would be wiser."
"Did General Alexis agree to a new nurse for that reason, Mildred?"
Barbara demanded in her driest manner.
But Mildred was too tired for further conversation.
"Oh, he was kind enough to say that I needed a rest more than he
required my services. Am I to have a bed or the cot in this sitting
room?"
"You may have them _all_, Mildred Thornton!" Barbara returned, getting
up on her feet and then bowing until her forehead almost touched the
floor.
"Any human being who is going to allow me to enter the presence of the
Czar and Czarina, has got to be treated like royalty for the rest of her
life."
Nevertheless, Barbara kissed Mildred good night. Mildred whispered,
"Don't be a goose," and then at last was permitted to retire.
CHAPTER XV
_The Winter Palace_
The next day Nona found opportunity for confiding to Mildred the fate of
Sonya Valesky. She found Mildred more deeply concerned than Barbara had
been. This was true because Mildred had a different nature; it was
easier for her to understand a temperament that would sacrifice
everything to its dream, than for the more practical and sensible
Barbara. Moreover, Barbara was so much in love these days that she
found it difficult to give a great deal of thought to other people.
She struggled against the tendency, but it is ever the vice of lovers.
Finally, on Thursday, Mildred Thornton received a note from General
Alexis inviting her and her two friends to come that afternoon at four
o'clock to the Winter Palace. And although the three girls were
Americans, they understood that such an invitation was not in reality
an invitation, but a command. For the Czar and Czarina had announced
that they would be pleased to meet the three American Red Cross nurses.
The meeting was to be informal, as these were war times and there were
no court levees. Indeed, the Czar was only staying for a brief time at
his palace before going to take command of his own troops. Owing to the
frequent Russian defeats in the past few months, the Czar had concluded
that he must command his men in person in order to give them greater
courage and steadfastness. The munitions of war, of which they had been
sadly in need for several months, were now pouring in from Japan and the
United States.
Of course, in the excitement and nervousness due to such an important
and unexpected occasion, the three Red Cross girls had the same problem
to settle that attacks all women at critical moments:
"What on earth should they wear to the presentation?"
Fortunately, under the circumstances there was but one answer to this
question. They were invited to the Palace as Red Cross nurses, they must
therefore wear their Red Cross uniforms. Since the three girls had
almost nothing else left in their wardrobes, this was just as well.
Constant moving from place to place, with little opportunity for
transportation, had reduced their luggage to the most limited amounts.
Yet assuredly they were as handsome and far more dignified on the
afternoon of their appearance at the Winter Palace in the costumes of
American Red Cross nurses, than if they had been appareled in the court
trains and feathers of more gala occasions.
Mildred always looked especially well in her uniform. She was less
pretty than the other two girls. But for this very reason her dignity
and the sense of serenity that her personality suggested showed to best
advantage in the simple toilette of white with the Red Cross insignia on
the arm. However, over her uniform Mildred wore the magnificent sable
coat in which she had appeared at her friends' lodgings in Petrograd.
This afternoon, in spite of her excitement over what lay ahead of them,
Barbara did not allow the coat to pass unnoticed a second time.
"For goodness' sake, Mildred, where did you get that magnificent
garment?" she demanded, just as they were about to go downstairs to get
into their sleigh. "You owned a very nice coat when we left you behind
in Grovno, but some fairy wand must have changed it. This is the most
wonderful sable I ever saw."
Mildred flushed and then laid her cheek against the beautiful, soft
brown warmth of her furs. "It is time you and Nona were speaking of
my grandeur," she declared. "You see, in getting away from the fort
at the last I stupidly left my own furs behind; indeed, I don't know
what became of them. General Alexis noticed that I was cold almost
immediately. Somehow, after he began to get stronger, he managed to
have this coat brought to the country house where we were staying.
Then just before we started to Petrograd he presented it to me. Of
course, I did not feel that I ought to accept it and insisted I
could not. But General Alexis said that he had received so much
kindness from me, he thought it very ungenerous of me to make him
altogether my debtor. I didn't know what to do. Do you think it
wrong to accept it, Bab? Somehow I did not know how to continue
to refuse."
As Barbara was just going into her bedroom at this moment, she made
no reply. Nona was more reassuring.
"Of course it was all right, Mildred, or at least I suppose it was if
General Alexis insisted, and you had done a great deal for him."
Then Nona followed Barbara. Barbara was standing perfectly still in the
center of the room and apparently thinking with all the concentration
possible.
"I wonder if this General Alexis is more fond of Mildred than he would
be of any nurse who might have cared for him?" Barbara murmured. Then
she shook her head. "That was an absurd suggestion on my part and
Mildred would not like it. I am sorry," she said.
At the door of the Winter Palace, after the girls had passed beyond the
servants and the detectives who watch every human being permitted to
approach their Imperial Majesties, the three American girls were ushered
into a reception room. Except for the fact that there were more
paintings on the walls, the room resembled other similar chambers now
left on exhibition at Versailles or the Louvre in Paris.
However, the girls had little time for investigation, for almost at once
General Alexis entered the room to greet them. He was accompanied by a
lieutenant who was his aide. To Nona Davis' surprise, the young man
proved to be Lieutenant Michael Orlaff, whom she had not seen since the
afternoon when she had walked to the fortress with him and confided the
news of Sonya Valesky's arrest.
After a few moments of general conversation a man servant, wearing an
elaborate uniform, announced that General Alexis and his guests might
walk into the Czar's private sitting room.
Naturally this was a very unusual proceeding, but war times had changed
the manners of courts as well as other places. Moreover, General Alexis
was a personal friend of the Czar's, so far as a Czar may ever have a
friend. In any case, he was one of his most trusted generals. This
reception to the American Red Cross girls was entirely due to the fact
that General Alexis had declared Mildred Thornton's courage and devotion
had saved his life. But of this she was not yet aware.
The Czar and Czarina were not decorating gilded thrones as one sees them
in portraits or paints them in one's own imagination. Indeed, they were
seated in chairs, but rose as any other host and hostess might when
their guests came into the room. They were not alone, however, for
beside the guards stationed outside their door, two of them kept always
within a short distance of the Czar himself.
The Czarina was a beautiful woman, tall and dark, but looking infinitely
sad. The girls could not but remember having heard how frequently she
suffered from a melancholia so severe that it was almost akin to an
unbalanced mind.
She now murmured a few words to the three girls and then reseated
herself. Barbara hoped profoundly that the distinguished audience
would soon be over. Of course, this meeting of the Czar and Czarina was
perhaps the most extraordinary honor that had yet been paid to any
American Red Cross nurses in Europe. But like other honors, it carried
its discomfort. For Barbara had not the faintest idea what she should do
or say, when she should stand up and when sit down. She had never
imagined herself a large person before, but now she felt so awkward that
she might have been a giant. Yet really there was but one thing for her
to do: she must merely keep still and watch what was taking place.
Actually the Czar, Nicholas II, was talking pleasantly with Mildred
Thornton, and Mildred was answering with her usual quiet dignity.
The Czar looked older than Barbara would have supposed from his
pictures. But then the war may have aged him. His close-cropped brown
beard with the tiny point was turning gray. And he had large, full and,
Barbara thought, not particularly intelligent eyes.
At this moment he moved toward a small table and picked up what appeared
like a medal.
Barbara eyed it curiously. She could not hear what the Czar was saying.
But she saw Mildred turn suddenly white and appear to protest. Then the
two men, General Alexis and the Czar, actually smiled at her. The next
moment the Czar pinned a cross on Mildred's white dress.
Without realizing what she was doing, Barbara pressed closer until she
stood in front of Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff. This time she distinctly
heard the Czar say:
"I take pleasure in presenting you, Miss Thornton, with the Cross of St.
George, which is only awarded for special bravery. Only one other woman
has been presented with the Cross of St. George since the outbreak of
this war. She is Madame Kokavtseva, a colonel of the Sixth Ural Cossack
Regiment, who has twice been wounded while leading her men. She is
called our 'Russian Joan of Arc.' But there is a courage as great as
leading troops to battle. This valor, it seems to me, you showed in
remaining to the last at the ancient fortress of Grovno to care for a
great soldier who was not even your countryman. In my own name and in
the name of my country, I wish to thank you for your service to General
Alexis."
Then Barbara observed Mildred flush a beautiful, warm crimson, and
stammer something in response. Almost immediately after they were again
standing outside in the big antechamber.
Afterwards General Alexis and Lieutenant Orlaff and several of the
palace servants showed the three girls over certain portions of the
palace that could be exhibited to visitors. On the desk in the hall was
an ikon, carefully preserved under glass, which was said to have been
painted by St. Luke.
However, in spite of their honors, as soon as possible the three girls
were glad to return to their lodgings. Yet Mildred promised that they
would allow General Alexis to send his sleigh to them the following day.
The great general looked haggard and worn, but appeared to be quickly
recovering his strength. Indeed, Barbara afterwards assured Mildred that
she considered him extremely good looking and not half so old as she had
supposed.
CHAPTER XVI
_The Unexpected Happens_
One afternoon a short time after the visit to the Winter Palace, General
Alexis and Lieutenant Orlaff came to the girls' lodgings to have a drive
in the sleigh with them.
It was a cold, brilliant afternoon, and they were to undertake a more
interesting excursion than usual. Nevertheless, Barbara Meade refused to
go.
There were letters which she must write, she pleaded. However, this was
not Barbara's real reason: that fact she kept in her own head. Both
Mildred and Nona she assisted to get ready, insisting that they both
dress as warmly as possible, no matter how stuffy they might feel before
starting.
"You are both blondes and a blonde is never so homely as when she is
cold," she added sententiously, "for her face is much more apt to get
blue than red, except the end of her nose."
Mildred had purchased a lovely fur hat to match her sable coat. And in
spite of her poverty Nona had been unable to resist a set of black fox.
Furs were so much cheaper in Russia than in the United States that it
really almost seemed one's duty to buy them.
When General Alexis' sleigh arrived, Barbara would not even go
downstairs to see the others start. But she managed by pressing
her nose against the window to observe that the arrangements for
the drive were satisfactory.
The sleigh was a beautiful one, built of mahogany, and the pair of
horses wore real silver mountings on their harness.
A driver, in the Imperial livery, sat upon the front seat with a man
beside him, who acted as a private guard for General Alexis, although he
wore citizen's clothes. There was far less danger of anarchy in Russia
during war times; nevertheless, men in public positions in Russia were
always watchful of trouble from fanatics.
Therefore, General Alexis and Mildred were together in the middle seat,
while Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff occupied the one back of them.
Then the sleigh started off so quickly that it had disappeared before
Barbara realized it. Afterwards, with feminine inconsistency, she turned
back into their small sitting room, frowning and sighing.
"I do wish I had gone along, after all. There wasn't any place for me,
except to sit either between Mildred and General Alexis, or Nona and her
Russian lieutenant. Then nobody would have had a good time. Still,
perhaps I should have stuck close to Mildred; she is almost my sister.
And though Mrs. Thornton might be pleased, Judge Thornton and Dick would
be wretched. Russia is so far away and so cold."
Then Barbara made no further explanation, even to herself, of her
enigmatic state of mind, but fell to writing letters as she had planned.
Some thought she devoted to what she should write Dick about his
sister's friend, the distinguished Russian general. But whatever she
planned sounded either too pointed or else had no point at all. So she
merely closed her letter by explaining that the others had gone for a
ride and that General Alexis appeared extremely grateful to Mildred for
her care of him in his illness. She also mentioned that she personally
liked the distinguished soldier very much and that he was not nearly so
foreign as one might expect.
This was not a sensible statement, for General Alexis could scarcely
have been more of a Russian than he was. A foreigner, of course, simply
is an individual who belongs to another country than one's own.
Presumably an American is equally a foreigner to a European. What
Barbara actually meant was that General Alexis was not unlike the men to
whom she had been accustomed in the United States. He had the courtesy
and quiet dignity of the most distinguished of her own countrymen. There
was nothing particularly oriental about him or his attitude to women.
The truth is that Barbara did not appreciate the fact that General
Alexis was too cosmopolitan to show many of the peculiarities of his
race. He had seen too much of the world and studied and thought too
deeply. Besides, he was a man of real gentleness and simplicity.
As Mildred rode beside him, she too was wondering why she felt so at
ease with so great a person. Why, at home, in New York society, she had
always been awkward and tongue-tied with the most ordinary young man
worthy of no thought. Now she was telling General Alexis the entire
story of Sonya Valesky as she might have told it to her own father. And
she felt equally sure of his sympathy and understanding. General Alexis
would, of course, have no political sympathy with Sonya's ideas. He was
a soldier devoted to his Czar and his country, while in his opinion
Sonya could only be regarded as mistaken and dangerous. But Mildred
knew that he would be sorry for Sonya, the woman, and sorry for them
as her friends.
So she described their original meeting on board the "Philadelphia," and
the suspicion, then wrongfully directed against Sonya, who was at that
time using the name of Lady Dorian. Afterwards she told of Sonya's
appearance at the Sacred Heart Hospital and her work there. Last of all,
of their unexpected coming together in Russia and of the peculiar bond
between Nona Davis and the Russian woman.
At the beginning of her conversation with General Alexis, Mildred had no
idea in mind, except to tell the story that had been weighing heavily
upon her since Nona's confidence. Ever since she had seen the picture of
Sonya, as Nona had last seen her, the beautiful woman with her too-soon
white hair and the haunting beauty of her tragic blue eyes. She, a woman
of rare refinement and not yet forty, to spend the rest of her life
working among the convicts in Siberia. It was as if she were buried
alive!
Suddenly it occurred to Mildred that she might ask the advice of General
Alexis. She did not believe it possible that anything could be done for
Sonya Valesky now, after her sentence had been passed. But still it
would be well to feel they had tried all that was possible.
"You don't think, General, that there is anything that could be done
to have Sonya Valesky pardoned, do you?" she inquired, with unconscious
wistfulness. "You see, my friend, Nona Davis, wants so much to take
Madame Valesky back to the United States with her. Then neither she
nor her ideas would be of any more danger to Russia. Nona says Madame
Valesky is much broken by her illness and confinement. She had a
terrible attack of fever only a short time before. Probably she
won't live very long, if she is taken to Siberia."
Then, to hide her tears from her companion, Mildred turned her head
aside. General Alexis seemed to be staring at her very steadfastly. But
fortunately the beauty of the landscape surrounding them gave her an
excuse for the movement.
They had crossed the Nicholas bridge and were driving out among the
parks and estates that cover the small islands, set like jewels among
the white fastness of the river Neva. Here and there the river was
solid ice, in other places the thin ice was decorated with a light
coating of snow.
The handsome private homes of Petrograd are situated in these island
suburbs. Beautiful trees and lawns come down to the water's edge. But
today they too were snow sprinkled and most of the homes were closed.
Mildred attempted to pretend that her attention had been attracted by
one of these houses, built like a glorified Swiss chalet.
But General Alexis continued to gaze at the side of her cheek and
Mildred was painfully conscious that the tears might at any moment
slide out of her eyes.
"You care very much about this woman, this Sonya Valesky, Miss
Thornton?" General Alexis inquired. "You say that she is a friend
of yours and that it will bring you great distress if she must suffer
the penalty of her mistakes? I do not wish you to leave Russia in
unhappiness."
Mildred slowly shook her head. Had she been almost any other girl, she
would have seen nothing to deny in her companion's last speech. But
Mildred had the spirit of entire truthfulness that belongs to only a
few natures.
"No, I cannot say that Madame Valesky is exactly _my_ friend," she
answered slowly. "I do not know her very well, but I think I should care
for her a great deal if we could know each other better. Perhaps she was
altogether wrong; anyhow, I do not think she should have attempted to
persuade the Russians not to fight for their country at a time like
this. Yet when one has seen the horrible, the almost useless suffering
that I have seen in these few years I have been acting as a Red Cross
nurse, well, one can hardly condemn a human being who believes in peace.
Still, Madame Valesky is in reality more Nona's friend than mine."
Pausing abruptly, Mildred again turned her face to look at the soldier
beside her. She had been tactless as usual in thus expressing her
feelings about peace to a man who was a great warrior. But General
Alexis did not appear angry. Indeed, there was no disagreement in the
expression of his eyes, it was almost as if he too felt as Mildred did.
Besides, his next words were:
"I too appreciate what you feel, Miss Thornton, and I too am sorry for
this Sonya Valesky. War is a great, a terrible evil, and there was never
a time when the world so realized it as it does now. It is my hourly
prayer that, after this vast bloodshed, war shall vanish from the face
of the earth. But this will not happen if we give up the fight while we
are in the thick of it. So Madame Valesky was wrong, so wrong that I
might think she deserved her fate, if I did not feel her more mistaken
than wicked."
General Alexis paused and his face grew suddenly lined and thoughtful,
as Mildred had seen it in those days at Grovno. Of what he was thinking
the girl did not dream, but neither would she wish to have intruded upon
his train of thought.
So she sat quite still with her hands folded under the heavy fur rug and
her gray-blue eyes fastened on the snow-covered landscape. Mildred had
grown handsomer since her coming to Europe. She would never be
beautiful in the ordinary acceptance of the term. But she was the type
of girl who becomes handsomer as she grows older, when character which
makes the real beauty of a woman's face had a chance to reveal itself.
Already a great deal of her awkwardness and angularity had disappeared
with the self-confidence, or rather more the self-forgetfulness which
her work had given her. Her eyes had a deeper, less unsatisfied
expression and her always handsome mouth more humor. For her own
experiences and the friendship with the three other American Red Cross
nurses had taught her to see many things in truer proportion.
"Miss Thornton," Mildred's attention was again aroused by her companion,
"I want to tell you something, but I want you to promise me you will not
have too much hope in consequence. I have been thinking of this Sonya
Valesky. I believe I can remember her father, or if not her father
himself, at least I knew him by reputation. He did not share his
daughter's views, but was the faithful servant of the present Czar's
father. Moreover, the Czar is my friend, so I mean to tell him the story
of Sonya Valesky and see if he will pardon her. She must, of course,
leave Russia, perhaps never to return."
General Alexis had been in a measure thinking aloud. But now Mildred's
sudden exclamation of happiness made his eyes soften into a look of
kindliness that again reminded the girl of her father.
"But, my child, you must not hope too much," he remonstrated. "The Czar
may not feel as I do about your friend. After your service to me there
is little you could desire which I would not wish to give you."
One would never have thought of General Alexis as a great soldier at
this moment. The heavy lines of his face had gone. There was no
sternness about his mouth. His eyes, which were so surprisingly blue
because of his other dark coloring, gazed at Mildred's until for an
instant she dropped the lids over her own, feeling embarrassed without
exactly knowing why.
The next moment she looked directly at the man, whom she felt sure was
her friend, in spite of the differences in their ages, their rank and
their countries.
"General Alexis, I am going to ask you to do me a favor--no, I don't
mean about Sonya this time. I shall be more grateful than I can even try
to say for that kindness. But this is something which does not concern
anyone except just you and me. Will you never in the future speak or
think of the service which you are good enough to say I have rendered
you." Actually, Mildred was now twisting her hands together in the old
nervous fashion which she thought she had overcome. "It is difficult for
me to say things," she went on, "but I want you to know that the
greatest honor I shall ever have in my life was the privilege of nursing
you. If I did help make you well, why I am so happy and proud the favor
is on my side and not yours." And Mildred ended with a slight gasp,
feeling her cheeks burning in spite of the cold, so unaccustomed was
she to making long speeches or to revealing her emotions.
"Miss Thornton," General Alexis returned. Then instead of finishing his
sentence he leaned over and touched his coachman.
"Stop the sleigh for a moment. We are growing cold. It will be better
for us to walk for ten or fifteen minutes and then come back to the
sleigh." Again he spoke to Mildred.
"You will come with me for a little?" he asked. "It will be wiser for
you not to grow stiff with sitting still." Afterwards he said something
to Lieutenant Orlaff, to which he and Nona agreed.
Five minutes later Mildred was walking across the snow toward the river,
with her hand resting on General Alexis' arm. She was colder than she
had imagined and it was difficult to walk over the icy and unfamiliar
ground.
But suddenly she stopped and gave an exclamation of surprise and delight
which was almost one of awe.
She and General Alexis were alone. Nona and Lieutenant Orlaff had walked
off in an opposite direction. But Mildred now beheld the sun setting
upon the Russian capital. Beneath, the world was pure white, and above,
the sky a glory of orange and purple and rose. Between the two,
suspended like giant fairy balls, were the great domes of Petrograd's
many churches.
"I shall never, never forget that picture so long as I live. It will
stay with me as my vision of Petrograd long after I have gone home to my
own country," Mildred said simply. Then she stopped in her walk and held
out her hand. "Thank you for this afternoon."
General Alexis did not release the girl's hand. Instead he lifted it to
his lips and kissed it, although the hand was covered with a heavy
glove.
Then he smiled at Mildred almost boyishly. "I want to say something to
you, Miss Thornton, which I suppose a woman does not really mind
hearing, no matter to what country she belongs or what her answer may
be. In these weeks I have known you I have come to care for you very
deeply. I am old enough perhaps to be your father. I have said this to
myself a hundred times and that it ought to make my feeling impossible.
It has not. Naturally I understand that my age may make it impossible
for you to return my affection, but it has not made the difference with
me. I love you, Mildred. I have known many women, but have never met one
so fine and sweet as you. It is the custom of your country when a man
cares for a woman to tell her so, is it not, or perhaps I should have
written first to your father?"
General Alexis' manner was so naïve, almost as if he had been a boy
instead of one of the most distinguished men in Europe. Mildred could
almost have smiled if she had not been so overwhelmed by his speech.
Was General Alexis actually saying that he was in love with her? No one
had ever proposed to her in her life and she had never expected that any
one would care sufficiently. But that the words should come from the man
whom she felt to be a genius and a hero! No wonder Mildred was
speechless for a moment.
"General Alexis, I have never dreamed of anything like this. I only
hoped at the most that you were my friend," she answered a little later.
"Really, I don't know--I can't say how I feel. I appreciate the honor,
but Russia is so far away, and my father----"
"Yes, I know," General Alexis interrupted. "Do you not suppose I have
thought over all those things? Until this war is past I shall not even
ask you to become my wife. My life belongs to my country and I would not
have you alone here in a foreign land. All I ask is that I may write you
and some day in happier times may I come to see my American friend?"
Mildred could only nod and let General Alexis keep tight hold of her
hand, while a sense of the warmth and sweetness of the affection of a
big nature slowly enveloped her.
Then, as they walked back to the sleigh in silence and continued in
silence almost all the way back to the lodgings, Mildred could only keep
thinking how much her father would like General Alexis. Once she smiled,
because her next thought was how immensely pleased and impressed her
mother would be. It seemed impossible that the plain and unattractive
Mildred could have captured so distinguished an admirer.
Late that night, as she lay awake, Nona Davis' voice suddenly broke the
stillness. The two girls were in the single bedroom, Barbara occupying a
lounge in the sitting room.
"There is something I want to tell you, Mildred. The strangest thing
happened to me this afternoon. Lieutenant Orlaff proposed to me. Why, I
scarcely know him at all, but he says that is not necessary when a
foreigner meets an American girl," Nona confided.
"You--why, Nona!" Mildred faltered, too surprised for the moment to
answer intelligently, because her friend's speech so oddly fitted into
her own thoughts. "Did you accept him?"
It was dark in the room, and yet Mildred could see that Nona had risen
half way up in bed.
"My gracious, no!" she ejaculated. "In the first place, I don't care
for him at all, and in the second, I just want to get hold of my dear
Sonya and return home to the United States. If your general does have
her pardoned I shall say prayers for him every night of my life. Funny,
but I believe I am afraid of Russia, even though I am half Russian.
Still, my mother did prefer to come to America to live. I simply
couldn't bear living in Russia always, could you, Mildred?" Nona ended,
as she again dropped back on her pillow.
But Mildred only answered, "I don't know," which was not in the least
conclusive.
CHAPTER XVII
_The Departure_
Four days later the three American girls left Petrograd. This was sooner
than they had expected to leave, but a desirable opportunity arose for
them to get safely across the continent and into France.
The journey was a long and tiresome one, as they had to cross the
northern countries of Finland, Sweden and Norway until finally they were
able to reach Holland, and thence journey to England and France. But it
was not possible to make the trip in any other way, since all of
southern Europe was engaged in active fighting.
However, the Red Cross girls did not travel alone. Sonya Valesky went
with them. At General Alexis' request the Czar had pardoned her, but she
was an exile from Russia forever, never to return at any future time.
Fortunately for the imprisoned woman, her reprieve had come before her
sentence had time to be carried out. She was brought directly from the
prison, where Nona had once visited her, to the lodgings where the
American girls were making ready to depart.
If Sonya regretted the terms of her pardon, she showed no signs of
sorrow. But she was strangely quiet then and during the long, cold trip
across the continent. In a measure she seemed to have been crushed by
the weeks of solitary confinement in the Russian jail with the prospect
of Siberia ever before her. Often she would sit for hours with her hands
crossed in her lap and her eyes staring out the window, without seeming
to see anything in the landscape. One could scarcely imagine her as a
woman who had devoted her life to traveling from one land to another,
trying to persuade men and women to believe in universal peace.
Yet she was sincerely grateful and appreciative of any attention of
affection from the three American girls who were her companions. And
after a short time Barbara and Mildred were almost as completely under
the spell of this grave woman's charm, as Nona had grown to be.
Moreover, the girls felt that she had not yet recovered from her
illness, because of the hardships following it. After a few weeks or
months in the beloved "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door" perhaps she
would become more cheerful.
For it was toward the chateau country of France that the three American
girls were again traveling. The little house where they had once lived
for a winter had been Captain Castaigne's wedding gift to Eugenia. Since
Eugenia was away nursing in a hospital she had offered her home to her
friends. Madame Castaigne had also insisted that they come to her at the
chateau; nevertheless, the girls had chosen the farmhouse.
The Countess was no longer young, and still had no servants save old
François. The work of entertaining four guests, and one of them a
stranger, would have put too great a tax upon her. Moreover, Eugenia
would undoubtedly come back for a while to be with her friends and
would naturally stay with her mother-in-law. The girls also hoped that
Captain Castaigne might be spared for a short leave of absence. However,
in order that the Countess Amélie should not be wounded, or feel that
the girls no longer cared to be with her, Barbara had written to say
that she would stay at the chateau whenever the Countess wished her
society.
Certainly the trip from Russia into France during war times was a
difficult one. The girls believed that they could not have made it,
except that now and then they stopped for a day or more to rest. On
these days Barbara and Nona used to spend at least a few hours in
sightseeing, no matter what their fatigue. Now and then Mildred would go
with them, but never Sonya. Occasionally Nona would urge her, saying
that the exercise and change of atmosphere would be good for her. But
Sonya used always to plead fatigue or a lack of interest. Finally she
confessed frankly that she had seen most of these cities and countries
before, and in some of them was fairly well known. Therefore it might
be safer and happier for all of them if she remained quietly in whatever
hotel they happened to be staying.
Yet Sonya appeared almost as anxious as her three companions to reach
France and the "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door." This, of course,
was because the three girls had talked of it so continuously and the
longed for meeting with Eugenia again. For somehow, although the
farmhouse was in a war-stained country, its name suggested quiet and a
brooding peace.
Nevertheless, several times, after mentioning Eugenia's name, Nona had
observed Sonya's face flush and the expression of her eyes become almost
apologetic. At first she was unable to understand this and then she
remembered.
In the early days Eugenia had not liked their friendship with the woman
who was then calling herself Lady Dorian. Indeed, in Eugenia fashion she
had frankly stated this fact to the older woman. Now how much less might
she care for their intimacy with the exiled Russian. Yet Sonya was
going as an uninvited guest to Eugenia's home.
There had been no time to ask permission. It was true Barbara had
written the entire story to Eugenia as soon as Sonya Valesky was
released from prison. But one could not tell whether the letter would
reach France as soon as the four travelers.
Nona felt that she would have given a great deal to have assured Sonya
of Eugenia's welcome, but she was nervous over the situation herself.
Of course, Eugenia would be kind to the exiled woman and offer her
hospitality and care. But Eugenia had rigid views of life and was not
given to concealing them. It was more than possible that she might let
Sonya know of her disapproval. Moreover, she might object to Nona's own
championship of Sonya and to her purpose to return with her to the
United States and there make their future home together.
Of course, no views of Eugenia's would interfere with this intention of
Nona's. But the younger girl would be sorry of Eugenia's disapproval,
since she too had learned to have the greatest affection and admiration
for the oldest of the four American Red Cross girls. However, there was
nothing to do except to wait and meet the situation when the time came.
Actually it was a month between the day of leaving Petrograd and the day
when the four travelers arrived in southern France in the neighborhood
of the Chateau d'Amélie. But this was because the girls and Sonya had
spent some little time in London before attempting to cross the channel.
London was a delightful experience for the three American Red Cross
girls. In some fashion the story of their varied service to the Allied
cause had reached the London newspapers. For several days there were
columns devoted to their praise. Later, invitations poured in upon them
from every direction. Mildred was most conspicuous, since the story of
her presentation by the Czar with the Cross of St. George was copied
from the Russian newspapers into the English, and must have ultimately
reached the United States press.
But the girls were not thinking of themselves or their work. They
simply gave themselves up to the pleasure of meeting delightful English
people and being entertained by them. Sonya would not go about with
them, but appeared stronger and more content, so there was no point in
worrying over her.
One of the English women, who was again gracious to the three American
girls, was the Countess of Sussex, at whose home they had spent a
week-end on their first arrival in England several years before. Once
more she invited them to her country home, but this time it was
impossible for the girls to accept her invitation. However, Nona
recalled her meeting in the old rose garden near the gardener's cottage
with Lieutenant Robert Hume. She also thought of Lieutenant Hume's last
letter telling her that he had been sent back to England as an exchanged
prisoner because of his health. But when Nona inquired for the young
English lieutenant, the Countess' expression checked further curiosity.
Suddenly she appeared very unhappy and distressed.
"Robert is not in England," she said hastily. "He has been sent away to
try to recover, but we do not dare hope too much."
At the moment Nona did not feel that she had the courage to ask where
the young man had gone nor from what he was trying to recover.
Actually it was one afternoon in late February, when the three Red Cross
girls and Sonya came at last to the village of Le Pretre, near the
forest of the same name.
There they found old François awaiting them in a carriage that must have
belonged to the Second Empire. It was toward twilight and on a February
afternoon, yet after the cold of the northern countries where the girls
had been for the past winter, the atmosphere had the appeal of spring.
It was not warm, yet there was a gentleness in the air and a suggestion
of green on the bare branches of the trees.
François drove them in state to the little "Farmhouse with the Blue
Front Door." But this afternoon the door was standing open and on the
threshold was Madame, the Countess, with both white hands extended in
welcome.
She wore the same black dress and the same point of lace over her white
hair. And by her side stood Monsieur Le Duc, more solemn and splendid
than ever and as gravely welcoming of his guests as the Countess
herself.
Madame explained that Eugenia had been unable to leave the hospital to
be at home to greet her friends, but hoped to see them in a few days. In
the meantime they were to feel more than welcome in the farmhouse and in
the old chateau, when they cared to come to her there.
Then the Countess said good-by and allowed François to take her home.
She knew that her guests were weary and her courtesy was too perfect to
permit herself the privilege of a longer conversation, no matter how
much she might be yearning for companionship.
The little house itself was warm and light with welcome. There was a
fire in the living room and the four beds upstairs smelled of lavender
and roses.
The girls took their old rooms, except that Sonya was allotted the
bedroom that had once been Eugenia's.
CHAPTER XVIII
_A Poem and a Conversation_
Not the next day, but the one following, Barbara and Mildred walked over
to the old chateau together.
Nona did not go with them, as Sonya did not appear to be well and she
did not wish to leave her. So she sent a message of explanation to the
Countess Amélie, saying that she hoped to be able to call upon her very
soon.
It chanced that Sonya did not know of Nona's decision. She was lying
down when the girls went away and believed she had the little house to
herself. Really she was not ill, only tired and perhaps happier than she
had been in a long time. It is true that she had confessed herself
defeated and that there was no longer any illusion in her own mind.
Perhaps so long as she lived, war and not peace would flourish upon the
earth. But the world learns its lessons in strange and dreadful ways
and perchance peace might be born in the end from the horror and waste
of bloodshed.
By and by, when she felt more rested, Sonya got up and went down into
the old dining room of the farmhouse, which the girls had made into
their living room. There was a possibility that the fire might be dying
out and it would be wise to replenish it.
To her surprise Sonya discovered Nona curled up in a chair by the
window, reading.
The older woman no longer wore black; it had become too depressing in a
continent where more than half of the women were in mourning. She had on
a simple frock of a curious Russian blue, made almost like a monk's
cowl, with a heavy blue cord knotted about her waist.
Nona stared at her friend for a moment in silence. It was curious that
whatever costume Sonya Valesky wore seemed to have been created for her.
Nona recalled the beauty of her clothes in their first meeting on
shipboard, yet they held no greater distinction than this simple dress.
Well, perhaps personality is the strongest force in the world and Sonya
Valesky's distinction, whatever her mistakes, lay in this.
She now walked across the room and put a few of François' precious pine
logs on the fire.
At this Nona stirred. "Don't trouble to do that, Sonya; I meant to in
another minute. I thought you were ill upstairs."
Sonya shook her head. "I am not in the least ill and you are please to
stop worrying about me, Nona. I thought you had gone with your friends
to the chateau. What has kept you at home?"
The younger girl answered vaguely, not caring to confess her real
motive, since her companion would have been distressed by it.
"If you are all right, Sonya, suppose you stay down here in the living
room with me. I have just found a wonderful poem in an American magazine
which I meant to save to read to you. Somehow I think it may comfort
you. For it shows that there is a big design in this old universe, which
works itself out somehow, in spite of all the tragedies and failures of
human beings."
In a big chair in the half shadow Sonya sat down, folding her hands
together loosely in her lap. It was a fashion which had come to be
almost a habit with her recently. Curious that it should express a kind
of resignation!
Nona began reading at once. "The poem is called 'At the Last' and is by
George Sterling, a Californian, I believe.
"Now steel-hoofed War is loosened on the world,
With rapine and destruction, as the smoke
From ashen farm and city soils the sky.
Earth reeks. The camp is where the vineyard was.
The flocks are gone. The rains are on the hearth,
And trampled Europe knows the winter near.
Orchards go down. Home and cathedral fall
In ruin, and the blackened provinces
Reach on to drear horizons. Soon the snow
Shall cover all, and soon be stained with red,
A quagmire and a shambles, and ere long
Shall cold and hunger dice for helpless lives.
So man gone mad, despoils the gentle earth
And wages war on beauty and on good.
"And yet I know how brief the reign shall be
Of Desolation. But a little while,
And time shall heal the desecrated lands,
The quenchless fire of life shall take its own,
The waters of renewal spring again.
Quiet shall come, a flood of verdure clothe
The fields misused. The vine and tree once more
Shall bloom beside the trench, and humble roofs
Cover again the cradle and the bed.
Yea! Life shall have her way with us, until
The past is dim with legend, and the days
That now in nightmare brood upon the world
Shall fold themselves in purples of romance,
The peace shall come, so sure as ripples end
And crystalline tranquillity returns
Above a pebble cast into a pool."
When Nona had finished neither she nor her companion made any comment
for a moment.
Yet when the girl looked across at the older woman for her opinion, she
discovered that Sonya's cheeks had flushed and that her eyes were
shining.
"Thank you, Nona; I shall not forget that," she then said, repeating to
herself, "'The peace shall come, so sure as ripples end.' I suppose the
trouble is we have not faith and patience enough to believe that love
and peace must triumph before God's plan can be worked out."
Then Sonya got up. "Come, Nona," she suggested. "Don't you think it
would be more agreeable to take a walk. It is really a lovely afternoon
and I've some things I wish to talk to you about. Besides, I want to see
the woods you girls have told me of."
It was delicious outdoors and Nona and Sonya both forgot their serious
mood of a little while before. One could not be always serious even in
war times in so lovely a land as southern France. No wonder the French
nation is gay; it is their method of showing their gratitude for the
country that gave them birth.
Finally the woman and girl reached the pool in the woods which Nona had
once named "the pool of Melisande," and Eugenia had afterwards called
"the pool of truth." However, since in Maeterlinck's play Melisande was
seeking the light in the depth of the water, perhaps after all the two
titles had almost a similar meaning.
Anyhow, by the pool Sonya chose to make a confession.
"Do you remember, Nona, once long ago, or perhaps it just seems a long
time to me, you and I met a Colonel Dalton, an officer in the British
army whom I had known before. I think I promised then to tell you of my
previous acquaintance with him. I had almost forgotten."
Nona slipped her arm through her companion's.
"Don't tell me if you had rather not. We will both have a great deal to
learn of each other when we go back to the United States to live
together."
Sonya smiled. "There is no use waiting. I have never even told you,
Nona, whether or not I am married. You see, I am often called Madame
Valesky in Russia, but that is only a courtesy title. I have never
married. The fact is, I once lived in England for some time and was
engaged to Colonel Dalton. I think we cared a good deal for each other,
but he was a soldier and we did not approve of each other's views of
life. So by and by our engagement was broken off, which was probably the
best thing for us both."
"Has Colonel Dalton ever married?" Nona inquired inconsequentially.
Her companion shook her head. "Really, I don't know. Suppose we walk on
now to the hut where your little French girl Nicolete once lived."
When the two friends reached the hut, Nona Davis exclaimed in amazement:
"What on earth has happened? Why, our hut isn't a hut any longer; it is
a charming little house with some one living in it. I am going to knock
and see who it can be. French people are so courteous, I am sure they
won't mind telling me."
Nona knocked and the next moment the door was opened by a young French
woman. For an instant they stared at each other, then kissed in a
bewilderingly friendly fashion.
"Why, Nicolete, I can't believe my own eyes!" Nona protested. "What are
you doing back here in your own little house, only it is so changed that
I would scarcely have recognized it."
Nicolete's dark eyes shone and the vivid color flooded her face.
"I am married," she explained. "You remember Monsieur Renay, whom
Mademoiselle Barbara named 'Monsieur Bebé?' Well," Nicolete laughed
bewitchingly, "he is my husband."
"And is he----" Nona asked and hesitated.
Nicolete shook her head. "He can tell the light from the darkness, and
now and then can see me moving in the shadow. Some day, the doctors say,
his sight may be fully restored. He has seen the best specialists.
Madame Eugenié sent us both to Paris. She it was who made us a home here
in the woods out of the old hut, so that my husband might have the fresh
air and grow strong to aid his recovery."
"Madame Eugenié," it was a pretty title and one that Eugenia would
probably always have in this French country, which had so long known the
old Countess as Madame Castaigne.
When Barbara and Mildred returned from the chateau Nona sincerely hoped
they would bring news of Eugenia's arrival, since she was growing more
than anxious to see her again.
CHAPTER XIX
_The Reunion_
In truth, Barbara and Mildred were having a delightful afternoon at the
Chateau d'Amélie.
When they arrived, solemnly François invited them into the old French
drawing room they so well remembered.
But here, instead of the slender, tiny figure of the old Countess
appearing to greet them, a tall, dark young woman came forward, whose
hair was wound about her head like a coronet.
"Eugenia!" Barbara exclaimed, and straightway shed several tears, while
Eugenia and Mildred laughed at her.
Then the three girls went over and sat down on the same Louis XIV sofa
that two of them had once occupied with young Captain Castaigne, on
their first visit to the chateau.
This time Eugenia took the place of honor in the center, while each
hand clasped one of her companions.
"Henri and I arrived just an hour ago," she explained. "He found he
could get a three days leave to come with me. Of course, I wished to
rush off to the farmhouse before I even got my traveling things off. But
since I am a much managed woman these days, I was made to wait until you
came here. I have been expecting you every minute. Now tell me about
Nona and Madame Valesky."
This time it was Barbara who laughed. The idea of Eugenia's being
managed instead of managing other people was amusing. Besides, it was
unlike her to talk so fast and ask so many questions without giving one
time to reply.
So Barbara only held closer to her friend's hand and looked at her,
leaving Mildred the opportunity for answering.
It was still early in the afternoon and the sunshine flooded the
beautiful drawing room. It was strange to see how at home Eugenia seemed
to look and feel in it, when a little more than a year before she and
the old room had been so antagonistic.
Eugenia had changed. In the first place, she wore this afternoon a
lovely costume of violet crepe, trimmed in old gold brocade. It was a
costume that must have been specially designed for Eugenia, so perfectly
did it suit her rather stately beauty and dark, clear coloring. This
turned out to be true, since Eugenia a short time before had discovered
a little French dressmaker, whom the war had rendered penniless, and
given her work to do.
Now, even while Mildred was talking of Nona and Sonya, the drawing room
door opened and Captain Castaigne and his mother came in.
Monsieur Le Duc accompanied them, but promptly deserted his former
master and mistress and padded over to Eugenia, placing his great silver
head on her lap and gazing at her with adoration.
Captain Castaigne and his mother followed to greet their guests. In his
hand the young officer carried a number of letters which he gave at once
to Barbara and Mildred.
"These just arrived at the chateau for you; they are American letters
and so I am sure you will be pleased."
Mildred's were from her mother and father and Barbara had received three
from Dick in this same mail, and another which looked as if it might be
the long-expected letter from Mrs. Thornton.
After ten minutes of conversation, it was Captain Castaigne who proposed
that their guests might be allowed to read their letters without waiting
to return home. It was not difficult to guess at their impatience, since
it must have been a long time since they had heard from home.
Then he and Eugenia crossed over to the other side of the room and stood
by the fireplace. Le Duc went with them and Eugenia kept one hand on the
dog's head.
Now and then she smiled over something Captain Castaigne said to her,
then again she looked at him with the anxious gravity that was a part of
Eugenia's character. The war had made the young French officer older,
love and marriage had apparently taken ten years from Eugenia's age.
Plainly a beautiful understanding existed between the husband and wife,
in spite of the differences in their natures, which would survive to the
end.
For when Captain Castaigne suddenly lifted his wife's hand and kissed
it, it was like Eugenia to blush and whisper a protest, at which the
young officer only laughed.
Over by the window Barbara and Mildred were really too busy with their
letters to notice what was taking place. Madame Castaigne had gone out
of the room for the instant to speak to François.
Of course, Barbara had read Dick's letters first. She could only read
them hastily, for Dick had written to say that he had a fine position
with a big real estate office in New York City, and enough salary for
two persons to live upon, in a tiny apartment on the west side. Barbara
was to come home at once, else Dick would probably lose his job by
deserting to fetch her. Also the letter from Mrs. Thornton was cheering.
Whatever it may have been, something had occurred to change that lady's
state of mind. Perhaps it was her anxiety about Mildred in the days
when she knew nothing of her daughter's fate except that Mildred had
stayed behind at Grovno until the hour of the final surrender of the
Russian fort.
For Mrs. Thornton had written to Barbara to say that she would be most
happy to welcome her as Dick's wife, and the dearest wish of her heart
was to have her two daughters safe at home in New York City as soon as
they were able to return.
Mildred's letters were much of the same character, and the two girls had
only barely finished them when François appeared bearing coffee and
cakes.
Then the little party talked on until nearly dusk.
At last, when Barbara and Mildred felt compelled to leave, Eugenia
proposed that she and Captain Castaigne walk over to the farmhouse with
them. She did not feel that she could wait for another day before seeing
Nona.
Nona and Sonya had just been in a few moments and taken off their wraps
when the others arrived. And Nona need have felt no nervousness over
Eugenia's attitude toward Sonya. Many things had happened to broaden
Eugenia's point of view since her arrival in Europe to act as a Red
Cross nurse. Besides, few persons could fail to feel anything but
sympathy and admiration for the beautiful Russian woman, whose life had
come so near closing in tragedy.
There was not a great deal of food at the farmhouse, nevertheless
Eugenia and Captain Castaigne remained to dinner.
Barbara and Mildred retired to act as cooks, while Eugenia and Sonya
fell to talking together, and Nona and Captain Castaigne.
In the course of their talk Nona remembered to inquire for Lieutenant
Hume, who was Captain Castaigne's friend. At last she might be able to
hear real news of the young British officer.
By good fortune Captain Castaigne had received a letter written by him
in the same post that had brought Barbara's and Mildred's letters.
"Lieutenant Hume had gone to the United States and was living at the
present time in Florida. He had appeared to have contracted a fatal
illness during his imprisonment, but his letter had said he was feeling
ever so much better.
"I can't say how glad I am," Captain Castaigne continued. "There was
never a braver fellow in the world than Robert Hume. And besides, if he
should happen to die just now, it would be particularly hard on his
family. You see, Hume's older brother, the one with the title, has just
been killed in the Dardanelles. Robert Hume is Lord Hume now, I believe,
and the English think more of titles than we do in Republican France,"
the French officer concluded.
"But I thought," Nona commented stupidly, "that Lieutenant Hume was a
gardener's son and had been educated by friends who were interested in
him."
Then Nona stopped, because Captain Castaigne was half smiling and half
frowning over her information. Moreover, Nona suddenly remembered that
what she was saying was founded partly on information and the rest on
her own fancy.
"Lieutenant Hume told me he was the gardener's son," she protested, "or
at least he called the gardener's wife 'Mother Susan.'"
Eugenia had suddenly spoken her husband's name and Captain Castaigne had
gotten up to go over to her.
However, he stopped long enough to expostulate. "That was an
extraordinary idea of yours, Miss Davis. Hume was only talking of his
old nurse. His mother died when he was a baby and she brought him up. I
have heard him speak of 'Mother Susan' myself. The Countess you visited
in Surrey is a cousin of Hume's, I think, and the old nurse and her
husband live there. Hume was having Mother Susan nurse him when you met,
I expect. Hope you two may see each other some day in the United States
and laugh over that impression of yours, Miss Davis," Captain Castaigne
concluded, as he walked over to his wife's side.
At midnight Captain Castaigne and Eugenia went back to the chateau,
walking hand-in-hand like children through the woods. There was no
fighting these days in this particular portion of southern France and in
the peace of the night one could almost forget that the world was at
war.
"You will miss your friends when they return to their own country,
Eugenia," Captain Castaigne suggested.
Eugenia nodded. "Yes, they will be gone, I believe, in another month.
But we will go over ourselves some day, Henri, and perhaps you may learn
to care for my country as I do for yours."
"Yes, and think of the service I shall owe her for the work the American
Red Cross has done for France!" the young officer concluded, and in the
darkness lifted his cap for a moment.
"Whatever Lafayette did for you in the cause of freedom, your land has
now fully repaid."
THE END
BOOKS BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK
THE RANCH GIRLS SERIES
THE RANCH GIRLS AT RAINBOW LODGE
THE RANCH GIRLS' POT OF GOLD
THE RANCH GIRLS AT BOARDING SCHOOL
THE RANCH GIRLS IN EUROPE
THE RANCH GIRLS AT HOME AGAIN
THE RANCH GIRLS AND THEIR GREAT ADVENTURE
THE RED CROSS GIRLS SERIES
THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN THE BRITISH TRENCHES
THE RED CROSS GIRLS ON THE FRENCH FIRING LINE
THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN BELGIUM
THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY
THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE ITALIAN ARMY
THE RED CROSS GIRLS UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES
STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SUNRISE HILL
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AMID THE SNOWS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE OUTSIDE WORLD
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ACROSS THE SEA
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' CAREERS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN AFTER YEARS
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE DESERT
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT THE END OF THE TRAIL
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Army, by Margaret Vandercook
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