_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.