Quinn's War

by Joe B. Slater

Chapter 8

  Will Brown walked up the granite stairs of Gratiot and rattled the double doors at the top. He was on his way down when one of the doors opened. The old soldier stood in the doorway and looked down at him.

  Will turned. “Can I see Elizabeth Stiles?” He started back up.

  “You sick?”

  Will stopped. “No.”

  “Got an appointment?”

  “No, I didn’t think I’d need one.”

  “Don’t, if you’re sick. You want to come back when you’re sick? Or you want to make an appointment?”

  Will Brown turned and walked down to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Sir! Wait!” A woman’s voice turned him around. She came down the stairs wearing a bloodstained pinafore. “I’m sorry. He’s only protecting my interests.” She held out her hand and he took it. “I’m Elizabeth Stiles. I stepped out for a breath and heard my name. You are...”

  “Will Brown. Col. Hoyt gave me your name. I thought you might be able to help me.”

  “I apologize for Lawrence.” She looked back. The door was closed. “He doesn’t want to be here.”

  Will formed a reply but thought better of it. “Did you get word that I was coming?”

  “Yes, I did. Perhaps we can meet somewhere. This is not a good time. I’ll be home tonight. You can call at seven. It’s five blocks north and a block west.” She pointed. “You can’t miss it. It’s the Sisters of Charity convent. Go around back and knock.” She turned and started up the stairs before Will could respond. Over her shoulder, she said. “See you after supper, then.”

  He watched her rattle the door and wait. He left when it opened.

  That night Will presented himself to the grate in the convent door and was ushered into a cozy anteroom off the front hall. “Please have a seat, Mr. Brown. Mrs. Stiles is expecting you.”

  She came in and he stood and shook her hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Stiles. It’s not Sister Stiles, is it?”

  “You can call me Sister, but I’m not a nun. If your information is good, you know that, and you know why I’m here. Let me get Sister back here and we’ll go to the guest drawing room. I think we are both going to need to take notes.” She pulled a bell near the door. “She’ll be here in a minute. Have you been in St. Louis long?”

  “This is my first full day. I came down from Omaha. I’m here to set up an office and get organized.”

  The little nun stood in the doorway, then turned and disappeared. Will made a gesture toward the door. Elizabeth sighed and walked through. “Sister knows I’m coming. She will wait.” They walked down a dimly lit hall, turned, and then passed the dish room. “I’m in the guest quarters in the back. I call it the ‘second best room.’ It is sumptuous compared to the nuns’ cells. And very convenient. I can come and go as I please without disturbing anyone.

  The little nun was standing at the door. Elizabeth led him in. “Can I get you a brandy, Mr. Brown? I’m going to have one. It’s been a hard day. Have a seat at the table.” She poured two glasses at the sideboard and brought them over and sat. She held up her glass. “Here’s to the end of the war.” He raised his and touched hers.

  “To the end of the war.”

  “When I came down to St. Louis my heart was set on murder and I was ready to go into battle.” She took another drink. “I believe you know my story, is that right?”

  “Yes’m I do. I spent three days at Six Mile and one at Leavenworth. Col. Hoyt was very helpful. You come highly recommended.”

  “It’s that letter from Jim Lane.” She laughed. “Oh, the doors that man’s name can open!” She bowed her head to the table and sighed. “I am so weary of the war.”

  “The quicker we can end it the better. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Well, then, let’s get down to business.”

  “You first.”

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “I’m curious how you got here. In the convent, I mean.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Lafayette Baker had it all figured out. He gave me credentials on Lane’s Senate letterhead. I presented myself to the Officer in Charge at Gratiot Military Prison one snowy day in December and explained my mission--to search the prisons and the hospitals for Confederate soldiers who were unaccounted for. The credentials implied that I was with the Sisters of Charity. I told the officer we had sisters in the Tennessee District looking for Union soldiers who were missing and we were promoting a humanitarian exchange with the help of the aid societies. The officer saw no harm in it. He offered to walk me back to the convent through the snow at the end of the day.

  I had not done my homework and had no idea that the Sisters of Charity had a convent six blocks from the prison. He walked me around back and led me to the grated door and I told him it was as far as he was allowed to go. He said good-bye and left me there. I made my way back to my room at the inn and the next day, before I went to the prison, I visited the convent and asked to speak with the Mother Superior. I explained my situation and she got quite a laugh out of it. She told me there actually were such programs, so I wouldn’t be living a lie if I continued in that role. Then she offered me one of the guestrooms. ‘You can take supper with us after Vespers at six, if you like,’ she said, ‘and you won’t be bound by any of the convent rules. There’s always someone at the door, so you can come and go as you please.’ I agreed and moved my things that night and I’ve been living here since. How’s that for an auspicious beginning?”

  “But you’re working in the hospital.”

  “It didn’t take long before the Officer in Charge asked if I had any hospital experience and I said I did. Then he asked if I would go over to the hospital side and help out. He told me he would assign one of the guards to go through the files for me, and that I could come work in his office any time I chose.

  The guard--remember the doorman at the hospital?”

  Will scowled. “Yes. He doesn’t want to be there.”

  “The Officer in Charge assigned a member of Lawrence’s regiment to my project. I can’t begin to tell you. He’s cut from the same mold. Anyway, he gives me carte blanche in the prison wards and I come and go as I please there, too. I bring the guards food and the prisoners food, too, and I volunteer to help write letters for them, just as I do for those on the hospital side. You know what that worked into. I’m now a trusted member of the mail underground. I couldn’t have arranged it any better myself.

  The prisoners were reluctant to write letters when it became apparent that their mail was being intercepted, and that worked in our favor. The Provost collected and copied all of Absalom Grimes’ letters to his sweetheart as well as her responses. Then he had them published serially in the newspaper. Can you imagine?”

  “That certainly would sell newspapers.”

  “I don’t know what purpose it served other than to embarrass people. But I’m not complaining. It helped make me the darling of both sides of the building.”

  She raised her glass and he raised his. “Now it’s your turn--your toast and your story.”

  “To the Darling of Gratiot.”

  They touched glasses and drank.

  Will began with his meeting in Corinth with General Dodge. Elizabeth interrupted his story. “Oh, this is good, Mr. Brown. Let me get us both materials for notes. There are details I want to go back over. Questions I know I’ll want to ask.” Elizabeth went to the desk and got pen, ink, and paper for each of them, then brought over the brandy. “For starters, how do you know General Dodge?”

  Will explained his history with Grenville Dodge in Omaha and ended with a list of the people that she would be working with. He went on to talk about the complications of loyalties in Missouri.

  “Lists,” Will said. “Everybody’s got lists. If you could imagine the number of official lists the Provost Office has--loyalty oaths, seditious public statements, draft surrogates...”

  As Elizabeth listened, her own lists welled up in her imagination. The prisoner lis
ts, lists of lost soldiers, lists of next of kin. Secessionists in Shawneetown. George Todd’s list, Quantrill’s list, Hoyt’s list. Indian orphans. Names and codes on Jim Lane’s Trail.

  “Are you OK?

  “I’m tired, and the brandy just hit me. Yes, I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to suggest that we end it for this evening. I will write out the list of names I think are necessary for you to remember and I’ll go over them with you tomorrow. I’ll want to sit down with you and go over a list of your people, too. Put the notes aside. Jot down any questions you have and we’ll start there.” He stood.

  “And I’ll prepare my own lists for you. It’s best that you come here tomorrow night. Come by any time after seven. If you show up again at the hospital I’m afraid there’ll be talk.” She laughed and led him to the grated door and said good night.