Over time, what started as a business relationship increased to be a friendship, and Rule’s fondness of the younger McCann was evident each year-end when he gave the younger man, now his grounds-keeper, a generous bonus comprised only of gold coins. At first McCann thought it eccentric that his bonus was paid in the precious metal, and later he surmised that his employer must have used gold as a tax hedge to hide any money he made during prohibition as a bootlegger.
What McCann didn’t know was that Rule had not only made a fortune by buying gold rather than stocks which would have obviously left a paper trail, but by doing so he vastly increased his personal wealth during the great depression. Rule was insulated from the collapse of the banks because his money in gold was not in the banks. He had never trusted the money institutions, and what he had amassed over time was so well hidden to the rest of the world, that nobody knew he was really worth tens of millions.
What Rule didn’t know is that there were two very different sides to Butch McCann. The one side which he knew to be a loyal friend and employee, and another very dark side which progressed over the years to covet Rule’s perceived wealth, and jealously obsessed over finding the secret of it’s hiding place. He patiently waited over his many years of servitude for the old man to make a mistake and divulge some clue as to where his gold might be.
McCann thought at first that the old man must have the gold in a safe deposit box somewhere. Whenever he got a chance he would search his employer’s study or library for a key. Later, when Rule became more reclusive and left the mansion less and less, he began to think that the cache might really be on the property. McCann’s belief that the gold was close was reinforced when even later, during the time in which the old man never left the property, he was sent out to random gold buyers in Minneapolis and Chicago to exchange the coins for ready cash.
The word got out about Rule’s gold throughout northern Wisconsin, and over time, it grew to become an urban legend, even though Rule was careful to send McCann further and further away with each new gold transaction. Now in his late seventies, Rule’s long-time staff of three which consisted of McCann, a part-time housekeeper, and a chef grew to four with the addition of a nurse named Rosa Sutton. McCann had never been suspicious of the housekeeper or the cook, but he didn’t trust the new nurse at all.
What ate at Butch was that whenever he was sent away on one of his two-day trips, the old guy was liable to slip up and clue the nurse to the location of his fortune. That was not an option for him. He knew she was Rule’s only real contact besides himself, and Butch judged her as someone who could not be trusted. He had to eliminate her, or to bring her in as an accomplice, so he decided to win Rosa’s affections and over time, they became a couple. Rosa had two young nephews temporarily staying with her, Frank and Jimmy, which annoyed McCann most if not all of the time, and he did all he could to avoid them.
Rosa would invite Butch to dinner at her home, and generally he could beg off and make an excuse, and get out of seeing the two brats. Rosa’s cooking was as bland as her looks, and he coaxed her out whenever he could to out of the way restaurants and supper clubs, just to avoid having to see the delinquent nephews and to escape from her awful cooking. It was during one of their dinners out after he felt she was truly in love with him, that he brought her in on his theory of the nearby gold, and not unexpectedly, she had her own ideas on the subject.
“Rosa, I need to ask you something and I am not sure how to approach the subject.”
She looked up from her plate of spaghetti with a puzzled look on her face. Butch was not a real conversationalist and he had gotten her undivided attention.
“What’s on your mind Butch?”
“Rosa, have you heard any stories about old man Rules gold?”
“Of course, everybody has. The old guy gives away gold coins each year at Christmas. He has you out exchanging gold coins all the time. The whole staff knows why you take those trips Butch. Why do you ask?”
“Has he ever mentioned anything to you?”
Rosa raised an over-plucked eyebrow. “What do you mean by mentioned anything?” She was not sure what he was asking about. “Mr. Rule and I don’t talk much Butch. What little conversation we have is usually involving his health.”
Butch had to be careful in his approach of the subject. He knew that he had to sound as casual as he could, and not to reveal himself all at once. Rosa was easy enough to manipulate, but if he was wrong about her and she was more honest than he thought, she could make trouble for him. “What I mean is, has the old man ever spoken to you about his gold?”
“Why Butch McCann, whatever do you mean?” She was being coy now, and Butch was somewhat relieved. “Do you mean has he ever told me where he hides it? Why sure just the other day he was saying; “Rosa dear, come here and change my bed pan, and by the way, I have my gold hidden in a secret compartment underneath my bed. Just open the secret trap door and get me some would you? ” What do you think he might say to me about his gold Butch? The old man may be a bit feeble, but he has enough of his marbles to keep his secrets secret.”
“Okay okay, you made your point. Let me ask you this. Does he ever talk in his sleep?”
Rosa was smiling a mischievous smile. She was now happily twirling her spaghetti noodles around her fork and seeing her lummox boyfriend Butch fidget across the table made her feel somehow more powerful and even excited. She didn’t answer him. She wanted to watch him sweat a little. She returned to her meal knowing full well that she was beginning to annoy him.
“Well? Has he?”
“Do you know what your nickname is Butch? My nephews say that in school they call you Digger McCann.”
Butch could feel the blood rushing to his face. He did not like the attitude that Rosa was taking, and he had to fight back the urge of shoving her small stupid head into her plate of Italian food. She looked up at him, still wearing her Cheshire-cat grin, and finally answered his question. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Maybe maybe not? What the hell does that mean?”
Now Rosa knew that she was playing on the edge. The sudden redness in Butch’s face indicated to her that she had better play along fast, or he might use his fists to do some creative reconstruction work on her nose. She had seen that same look on her ex husband’s face many times, and it normally resulted in a cuffing. “Okay Butch, I was just fooling around. No, he doesn’t talk in his sleep, nor has he given me any information of any kind that you could use.”
She was very careful not to include herself in that last sentence. If Butch thought that she was withholding any information from him, or the possibility of her being in any way a rival for the gold, things would go badly for her. She could play Butch only so far, and she instinctively knew he was dangerous. She added, “If I ever hear or see anything, I will let you know. I promise.”
Butch was still agitated, but the veins in his temples had lessened their pulsing, and he felt that he was regaining his composure. She was close to wearing her dinner at the very least, and almost just as close to having fragments of the Tomahawk Supper Club’s dinnerware as a permanent part of her countenance. He looked at the woman sitting across from him and wondered how in the world he could even kiss her. She looked like a cheap imitation of Lucille Ball. Her bleached hair had an orange-ish tint to it with jet black roots. She plastered her lipstick on in such a way as to make herself look like a deranged circus clown. The things a man has to go through for money.
Rosa had stopped eating. She had also stopped smiling. She was scared now. She could see in her boyfriend’s eyes a cool, feral savagery. The look made her feel like taking flight. And then, just as quickly as it came, the man’s face softened and she knew that she had dodged a bullet. Butch turned his frown into a wry smile.
“Rosa, you don’t want to play around with me. I am a serious man. I can be— well let’s just say if you press the wrong buttons I can be very unpleasant. I need to know that you are with me, that we are playing on the same t
eam. I need to know that I can trust you. If I felt that I couldn’t trust you it would be a shame.”
“I’m sorry Butchie. You know I can be a little distracted sometimes. Please don’t be mad at me Butchie.”
“Rosa, I have told you not to call me that.” He could feel his blood pressure beginning to elevate once again. Sometimes he thought he had better communication with his dog.
“Okay Butch I keep forgetting. I won’t say Butchie any more.”
Butch rubbed his temples with the heels of his fists. He could feel a migraine coming on. He called to the bartender for another martini. Rosa pouted and began moving her food this way and that on her plate. She had lost her appetite. Then she said in a whisper, “Butch, you think the gold is on the property? I think it is. It has to be. The old man never leaves, and he still comes up with the coins. Where could he be getting them from? He has to be getting to it when we are all sent away.”
Butch looked up and focused all his attention on Rosa.
“What do you mean when we are all sent away? He sends me away out of town for a few days on business, but you are all still on the job!”
“No Butch. Don’t you know? When you go to Chicago or Minneapolis, the staff is all sent out. When you leave on business, we are all off the property.”
CHAPTER NINE
Vacancy in Cabin Six ( 1968 )
ver the course of the next several days, as Ben delivered Sam his meals, he was sent on various errands at the old man’s request. One day it would be a wooden panel, on another it would be butcher’s wrapping paper and Elmer’s glue. With each and every meal, Sam was adamant in having Ben convey to his parents his eternal gratitude for their Christian hospitality. The old man seemed to be filling out his clothes a bit more, no longer seeming to swim beneath them.
On one occasion the old man asked if Ben’s mother ever took trips into town, and if so, may he come along. Ben returned with a reply from his mother that she ran her errands on Saturday afternoon when her resort patrons were in transit. Saturday soon arrived, and like clockwork the old man was standing outside just after noon and dressed in his best set of clothes. Allie smiled as she descended the porch steps and greeted the old man.
“You are looking well Mister Regola.”
“Thanks to your fine culinary talents Mrs. Fisher, I am a man on the mend. I want you to know how appreciative I am for your hospitality.”
“The good Lord blesses those who freely give Mr. Regola. You may direct your thanks to him if you wish, but thank you all the same.”
“You are a pious woman Mrs. Fisher, a rare thing in this day and age. You are raising a fine boy, and I want you to know that I fully intend to pay my way.”
“You may pay us when you are once again flush Mr.. Regola.”
“Mrs. Fisher, please call me Sam. May I ask, is there a monument-maker in town?
“Do you mean a person who makes grave stones?”
“Yes, Mrs. Fisher, that is precisely what I mean.”
Allie’s expression changed to one of real concern at this peculiar request. “Mr. Regola— Sam, is there something you should be telling me?”
Sam gave her a big smile which oddly, resembled a grave-yard with his many missing teeth.
“Oh Mrs. Fisher, it is nothing like that! I have no plans of going to my long home any time soon! No Mrs. Fisher no ma’am! I am not afraid of dying, mind you, but I am hoping to delay the process as long as I can! What I need from the stone carver is nothing more than marble dust.”
“Marble dust? What on earth do you do with marble dust?”
“Well ma’am I would tell you all about it right here and now if you ask, but it might spoil a small surprise.”
Ben had heard the entire conversation through his open bedroom window. He wondered what the old man was up to. He really wanted to know what the surprise was, but each time he brought the subject up, Sam would just wink at him and say, “It’s a surprise my boy. You don’t want to go and spoil a surprise do you?” or something to that effect.
He decided that he would ride along into town and see if he could glean any new information from the enigmatic Mister Regola. He called out his window: “Wait for me Mom! I want to go to Nerroth’s. I have my own money!”
Before long the three of them were rolling along the gravel road which led to town in the family Nomad station wagon. Allie dropped Sam and Ben at a business which displayed grave stones on the front lawn. She was shaking her head as she pulled away. The man and the boy could hear her through the open window muttering: “Marble dust. Now I have heard it all.”
The proprietor of the monument shop must have been the carver also. He was covered in dust from head to toe. Sam asked if he could purchase marble dust and the stone carver offered, “You can have all you want for free mister. As you can see I am up to my eyeballs in it. Do you have something to carry it in?”
Sam produced a treated canvas bag and Ben helped him scoop up the white dust and fill it. Ben thought it odd that the stone-carver didn’t ask what it was for. He had hoped the subject would be brought up so Sam would have to explain why he needed it, but the monument man went right back to his current project, clink clinking with his mallet and chisel as if they had already left.
“Where are we going next?” Asked the boy.
“Hardware store.”
“What are you going to get there?”
“Rabbit-skin glue.”
“Rabbit-skin glue?”
“Yep”
“Let me guess, glue made from rabbit skin.”
“Yep.”
“What on earth for?”
“I plan on making gesso.”
“What on earth is gesso?”
“Well my boy, let’s just say it is a type of ground.”
The two walked along the sidewalk. Sam pulled out his harmonica and played the familiar riff from the Beatles’ Love Me Do. Ben was even more confused than he was before. After stewing on the previous conversation he asked: “What in the world is a ground?!”
“Ben, if I tell you it might spoil my surprise. Let’s just say that a ground prepares a surface so that certain paints stick to it, and it lasts a long, long time. Is that enough for you, or do you need further explanation?”
“Do you mean like it is a primer?”
“Yes, and no. A primer coats a surface so that the paint above it covers better. Gesso does much more than that. It is like a primer that stands the test of time, that never wears out.”
Ben left his questioning at that. He was no more clued in than he was before. He decided to part ways with Sam and head for Nerroth’s store.
“I’m going to Nerroth’s store Sam. Do you need anything?”
“No thank you son, I will meet you at the car.”
Over the next couple of days, when Sam was brought his meals, he made no unusual requests. Ben noticed that the old man was not finishing the meals his mother was preparing. On one occasion, when Ben walked over with breakfast, he found Sam down at the dock.
“Sam, I have your breakfast. My Mom wants you to eat it all this time.”
“Come down here son. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What about your breakfast?”
“Bring it here my boy.”
“What is the favor you need Sam?” Ben asked as they walked down the path from the cabin to the dock.
“Would you be interested in taking an old man fishing this evening after dinner? I would go myself, but I have never been one to fish alone. Also, just thinking about rowing a boat makes my old back ache. What do you say?”
“I guess it would be okay Sam.”
“Thanks Ben, we will use minners. About a dozen will do. Also, you will have to supply me with fishing gear.”
“No problem-o Sam. We have extra gear for our renters. I will take care of it.”
Later that evening, the two made their way out onto the lake. Ben took his place on the middle bench seat at the oars, and Sam sat in the back. The old man sat
quietly as Ben rowed. The monkey could be seen running along the shoreline, trying in vain to follow their progress, and occasionally could be heard shrieking in protest. Ben began to row towards one of his favorite spots, but soon realized Sam had his own ideas on where to go.
“Row out that way young man. You see that tall white pine? Steer directly for it.”
They were headed for the west end of the lake. The afternoon was still very warm. There was a gentle breeze which riffled the surface of the water. Sam took off his cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Ben was thinking to himself that Sam had no idea where to catch fish, but rather was just out sight-seeing. As Ben rowed westward past the southern point, the Rule mansion slowly came into view. Sam had fixed his attention on the mansion.
“Well, look at that.” The old man said almost in a whisper and as if to himself.
“What?” Ben asked.
“Oh, I was just looking at that large house Ben. Mighty big place to be sitting up here all by itself in the north woods. A fine place like that is usually crowded all around with places of similar value. You see them in every big city. One man builds one, and another man can’t be outdone so he builds one across the street and so on and so forth until Victorian mansions have sprung up here there and everywhere. You almost never see one all by itself.”
“That’s the Rule mansion. You see that guy out there with the shovel by the flower bed? That’s Digger McCann. He’s the meanest man in the north woods. He yells at everyone who comes near the property. My Mom says he is a boorish old cretin.”
“Well then we had better not get any nearer Ben. I wouldn’t want to rile up the local cretin. Steer a little to the northwest now. Just a little further, okay now son, drop the anchor.”
Ben had no confidence in the spot Sam had picked for them to fish. If Matt would have chosen such a spot Ben would have humored him, but not for long. Most of the time Matt and he would fish the shorelines or the outside weed beds, but the old man had placed the boat smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. The old man seemed contented enough with just sitting and gazing absent-mindedly at the lake. He made no real effort at dropping his own line, but rather chose to offer his sage advice to Ben.
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