Double Eagles
by Scott Pedersen
Central Illinois
Sandra, the most experienced nurse at Mercy Hospital, never wanted to overhear the sordid, petty banter that sometimes ensued when a close relative of a dying patient visited. It reminded her of her own cutthroat family history—and put her antidepressant to the test.
The day before, elderly Frank reacted badly to the treatment keeping him alive, so she was stuck monitoring him while the infusion pump did its job. Over the years, she was inured to witnessing suppressed family resentments bubble up as death approached. The conversation she was hearing now, though, surpassed them all.
“I don’t believe it!” said Randy, Frank’s son. “Uncle Myron is out? How can a guy smoke someone with a shotgun and ever get out of prison?”
“Overcrowding,” said Frank, straining to speak and looking uncomfortable under the tubing draped across his body. “He was only in for twenty anyway. Killing your wife’s lover isn’t frowned on all that much. He came to me straight away, wanting money.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Yeah, I’m in a hospital feeling like shit, and that’s all he cares about.” Frank shrugged. “I’m giving him two hundred a week to take care of the farm until I pass.”
“You always deny it, Dad, but you really are a softie.”
Frank waved the comment off. “I need to tell you something, Randall. Your mother never knew, but every fall since you were born, I went to visit my sister in Chicago—my pockets stuffed with harvest money. My daddy always said to invest in two things: land and gold. I’d go into the Loop and buy gold coins from the 1800s. Mostly double eagles.”
“What’s that?”
“Nearly an ounce of 22-karat gold.”
Randy stepped closer to Frank’s bed. “You still have them?”
Frank nodded. “They’re no use to me now. I want you to have them. Fourteen glass jars full.” Frank paused, and Sandra tried hard to continue breathing normally as she pretended to fiddle with a knob. “Just don’t tell your ex-wife,” Frank continued. “She’ll increase your child support.”
Frank’s face turned stony. “But you have to dig them up.”
“Wait,” said Randy, “you buried them at the farm?”
“No, I buried them in the Rose Garden at the White House!” Frank tilted his head back. “Give me strength.”
“It was an innocent question, Dad.”
“Just promise to wait until I’m gone. And don’t dig up the gold while Myron’s at the farm. If he finds out, he’ll never leave.” Frank wagged his finger at Randy. “Trust me, you’ve got to get rid of him.”
“Sure, Dad.”
Frank motioned Randy to come closer. “I’m going to tell you where to dig.” The two muttered for close to a minute until Frank erupted. “What in the name of beef gravy are you talking about? Not the silo. The corn crib! You know, where I put the goddamn corn!”
“Okay, Dad, relax. Three feet behind the corn crib.”
“Why don’t you put it in the newspaper so the whole world will know?” Frank glared at Sandra.
“Don’t mind me,” said Sandra. “I’m not listening. Really.”
Frank closed his eyes. “I’m tired. Nurse, could you close the curtains? It’s too bright in here.” He slurred his words now.
“I would,” said Sandra, “but there’s no window in this room.”
Before leaving, Randy gave Frank’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll come see you tomorrow or Sunday, Dad.”
“We’re all done, Frank,” said Sandra. “I just need to disconnect you, and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll turn off some of the ceiling lights. That should help.”
A minute later, Ginny, a young nurse, walked in and announced brightly, “I finished that discharge for you, Sandra.”
“Thank you, Ginny! You’re a lifesaver.”
Sandra sidled up to Ginny and whispered, “Let’s get to a workstation.”
Seated in a side office, Sandra took wide-eyed Ginny through the conversation she’d overheard in Frank’s room. “Fourteen jars!” exclaimed Ginny. “And the price of gold has gone up!”
“That’s right,” said Sandra, turning to the workstation computer. She logged in and found Frank’s address. “I know where this road is. It’s only about five miles from here.” She swiveled toward Ginny. “I’ve got the weekend off.”
“Me, too. Do you have any plans?”
“The gold, Ginny, the gold. If I have to spend another year in this hospital, I’ll go crazy. They’re running me ragged, and the hiring freeze will just make things worse. I’ll pick you up at midnight tonight, with a shovel. We’ll split everything 50-50.” Ginny’s suddenly blank expression didn’t dissuade Sandra. “Didn’t you tell me the other day you’re late on your car payment? And what about your student loans? You said they’re crushing you.”
“I don’t know about this,” said Ginny. “My mom told me never to let someone lead me down a garden path.”
“I promise we won’t get into any trouble.” Sandra placed her hand on Ginny’s.
“Well, okay,” said Ginny. “But why do we need to dig the gold up tonight if his son said he’d wait?”
“You know what they say—promises are made to be broken.”
Sandra, the most experienced nurse at Mercy Hospital, never wanted to overhear the sordid, petty banter that sometimes ensued when a close relative of a dying patient visited. It reminded her of her own cutthroat family history—and put her antidepressant to the test.
The day before, elderly Frank reacted badly to the treatment keeping him alive, so she was stuck monitoring him while the infusion pump did its job. Over the years, she was inured to witnessing suppressed family resentments bubble up as death approached. The conversation she was hearing now, though, surpassed them all.
“I don’t believe it!” said Randy, Frank’s son. “Uncle Myron is out? How can a guy smoke someone with a shotgun and ever get out of prison?”
“Overcrowding,” said Frank, straining to speak and looking uncomfortable under the tubing draped across his body. “He was only in for twenty anyway. Killing your wife’s lover isn’t frowned on all that much. He came to me straight away, wanting money.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Yeah, I’m in a hospital feeling like shit, and that’s all he cares about.” Frank shrugged. “I’m giving him two hundred a week to take care of the farm until I pass.”
“You always deny it, Dad, but you really are a softie.”
Frank waved the comment off. “I need to tell you something, Randall. Your mother never knew, but every fall since you were born, I went to visit my sister in Chicago—my pockets stuffed with harvest money. My daddy always said to invest in two things: land and gold. I’d go into the Loop and buy gold coins from the 1800s. Mostly double eagles.”
“What’s that?”
“Nearly an ounce of 22-karat gold.”
Randy stepped closer to Frank’s bed. “You still have them?”
Frank nodded. “They’re no use to me now. I want you to have them. Fourteen glass jars full.” Frank paused, and Sandra tried hard to continue breathing normally as she pretended to fiddle with a knob. “Just don’t tell your ex-wife,” Frank continued. “She’ll increase your child support.”
Frank’s face turned stony. “But you have to dig them up.”
“Wait,” said Randy, “you buried them at the farm?”
“No, I buried them in the Rose Garden at the White House!” Frank tilted his head back. “Give me strength.”
“It was an innocent question, Dad.”
“Just promise to wait until I’m gone. And don’t dig up the gold while Myron’s at the farm. If he finds out, he’ll never leave.” Frank wagged his finger at Randy. “Trust me, you’ve got to get rid of him.”
“Sure, Dad.”
Frank motioned Randy to come closer. “I’m going to tell you where to dig.” The two muttered for close to a minute until Frank erupted. “What in the name of beef gravy are you talking about? Not the silo. The corn crib! You know, where I put the goddamn corn!”
“Okay, Dad, relax. Three feet behind the corn crib.”
“Why don’t you put it in the newspaper so the whole world will know?” Frank glared at Sandra.
“Don’t mind me,” said Sandra. “I’m not listening. Really.”
Frank closed his eyes. “I’m tired. Nurse, could you close the curtains? It’s too bright in here.” He slurred his words now.
“I would,” said Sandra, “but there’s no window in this room.”
Before leaving, Randy gave Frank’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll come see you tomorrow or Sunday, Dad.”
“We’re all done, Frank,” said Sandra. “I just need to disconnect you, and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll turn off some of the ceiling lights. That should help.”
A minute later, Ginny, a young nurse, walked in and announced brightly, “I finished that discharge for you, Sandra.”
“Thank you, Ginny! You’re a lifesaver.”
Sandra sidled up to Ginny and whispered, “Let’s get to a workstation.”
Seated in a side office, Sandra took wide-eyed Ginny through the conversation she’d overheard in Frank’s room. “Fourteen jars!” exclaimed Ginny. “And the price of gold has gone up!”
“That’s right,” said Sandra, turning to the workstation computer. She logged in and found Frank’s address. “I know where this road is. It’s only about five miles from here.” She swiveled toward Ginny. “I’ve got the weekend off.”
“Me, too. Do you have any plans?”
“The gold, Ginny, the gold. If I have to spend another year in this hospital, I’ll go crazy. They’re running me ragged, and the hiring freeze will just make things worse. I’ll pick you up at midnight tonight, with a shovel. We’ll split everything 50-50.” Ginny’s suddenly blank expression didn’t dissuade Sandra. “Didn’t you tell me the other day you’re late on your car payment? And what about your student loans? You said they’re crushing you.”
“I don’t know about this,” said Ginny. “My mom told me never to let someone lead me down a garden path.”
“I promise we won’t get into any trouble.” Sandra placed her hand on Ginny’s.
“Well, okay,” said Ginny. “But why do we need to dig the gold up tonight if his son said he’d wait?”
“You know what they say—promises are made to be broken.”
When Sandra drove to Ginny’s apartment building, she was already outside, wearing yellow galoshes, something Sandra hadn’t seen since elementary school days. “Why are you wearing those?” she asked when Ginny got in the car.
“I’ve never been to a farm,” said Ginny, suppressing a giggle. “We’ve had so much rain. It’s probably muddy at a farm.”
“Sometimes I wish I were you,” said Sandra as she headed down the street. “And not because you’re still young.” Ginny looked puzzled. “Just hang on to your happiness, Ginny. Keep building your air castles.”
Once they had left town and were cruising through the darkness along a narrow country road, Sandra thought of the delicious freedom that was soon to be hers and then of the luster of gold, whether formed into coins or even, as she now imagined, the steering wheel she squeezed. Her frisson was interrupted when Ginny finally asked the question Sandra had expected at the hospital. “I don’t know why you told me about this gold, Sandra. You could just go get it all yourself.”
“I need you to hold the flashlight.”
“Oh.”
“I’m kidding, Ginny. It’s because we’re good friends. You’re the only nurse at the hospital who doesn’t talk behind my back.”
“I think it’s amazing that you know that. And it’s true!”
“I’ve never been to a farm,” said Ginny, suppressing a giggle. “We’ve had so much rain. It’s probably muddy at a farm.”
“Sometimes I wish I were you,” said Sandra as she headed down the street. “And not because you’re still young.” Ginny looked puzzled. “Just hang on to your happiness, Ginny. Keep building your air castles.”
Once they had left town and were cruising through the darkness along a narrow country road, Sandra thought of the delicious freedom that was soon to be hers and then of the luster of gold, whether formed into coins or even, as she now imagined, the steering wheel she squeezed. Her frisson was interrupted when Ginny finally asked the question Sandra had expected at the hospital. “I don’t know why you told me about this gold, Sandra. You could just go get it all yourself.”
“I need you to hold the flashlight.”
“Oh.”
“I’m kidding, Ginny. It’s because we’re good friends. You’re the only nurse at the hospital who doesn’t talk behind my back.”
“I think it’s amazing that you know that. And it’s true!”
In the blackness behind the corn crib, Sandra handed the flashlight to Ginny, who giggled and almost dropped it.
“Ginny, this is serious,” whispered Sandra. “We have to be quiet.”
With Ginny shining the flashlight onto the ground, Sandra pushed in the shovel point—and then froze. “Do you hear something?”
“No,” whispered Ginny. “What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
Sandra pressed her left foot onto the shovel step. “That’s strange. It’s going in so easy. Like this dirt has already been dug up.”
“Do you think Frank’s son already came out here—oh, shit!” Ginny shined the light up at the end of a shotgun.
Myron swung the barrel back and forth. Except for the snake tattoo spiraling up his neck, he was a ringer for Frank. “I’ve never liked trespassers,” he said, sending the pungent smell of whiskey wafting toward the women. “I got two rounds in this shotgun, one for each of you.” He paused to steady himself. “You better have a good reason for digging here in the middle of the night.”
Sandra, up far past her normal bedtime, blurted, “My cat died. I’ve buried all my pets here. Isn’t this the Einerson farm?”
“I don’t see a cat. And there ain’t any Einersons around here.” Myron raised the shotgun. “Time’s up! You’re first,” he said, taking aim at Ginny.
The curved back of a shovel blade slammed against the side of Myron’s head, dropping him to the ground. He let out a single moan.
Sandra got on her knees and felt Myron’s neck for a pulse. “He’s dead. What the hell, Randy! Isn’t this your uncle?”
Randy tossed his shovel aside. “Hey, I saved your lives! You’re my witnesses. You gotta vouch for me!”
“Calm down, Randy,” said Sandra. “You did save us. And we’ll say so to the police—for a price.”
“What do you mean, for a price? You’re a couple of thieves! I should have let him shoot you.”
Sandra stood and smiled. “Look, Randy, you’ve got fourteen jars of gold coins. You dug them up, right?” She glanced at Randy’s soil-caked shovel. “And you didn’t wait until your dad died.”
Randy nodded, looking sheepish.
“You could let us have one measly jar. If you think about it, we’re letting you off easy.”
Randy rubbed his forehead. “My dad’s had so many run-ins with the sheriff. Last year he nearly punched a deputy at the front door. I don’t think it would go too well if I called.” Finally, he took in a breath and said, “Okay, but we have to bury Myron—right here. Then we’ve got to keep everything quiet. All of us. If one talks, it’s bad for all three. Understood?”
Ginny tugged on Sandra’s jacket sleeve. “I don’t know about this, Sandra. I’m scared.”
“Don’t worry, Ginny,” said Randy. “My dad will be gone soon, and he’s the only other person who knows my uncle was here. In a few weeks I’ll move Myron into the woodlot and plant him nice and deep. That will be the end of it, as long as we keep our mouths shut. Can you do that?”
Ginny nodded.
With the digging easy and two shovels in use, Myron was soon subterranean. Sandra winked at Ginny but failed to soften her still-grim expression.
“Come with me,” said Randy. “I hid the jars in the barn.”
The trio entered the barn and Randy told Ginny to shine the flashlight on some hay bales. He dragged a bale across the floor, revealing a cavity filled with jars of coins. He grabbed one at random and handed it to Sandra. “Plenty of double eagles in this one,” he said.
“I can’t believe how heavy this is,” said Sandra. She handed the jar to Ginny, who gasped.
As the two women left the barn, Randy called out, “Wait a month and then only sell a few at a time—in a big city like Chicago so you won’t attract attention. I’m moving these jars, so don’t bother coming back here, ever.”
The quiet drive back to town gave Sandra the chance to plan the next step. “I’ll bring your half of the coins to your apartment in the afternoon. Will you be home?”
“Yes,” said Ginny.
“Good. I’m sorry it’s only one jar, after I told you fourteen.”
“That’s okay. It’s enough. Sandra?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about your cat.”
“Ginny, this is serious,” whispered Sandra. “We have to be quiet.”
With Ginny shining the flashlight onto the ground, Sandra pushed in the shovel point—and then froze. “Do you hear something?”
“No,” whispered Ginny. “What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
Sandra pressed her left foot onto the shovel step. “That’s strange. It’s going in so easy. Like this dirt has already been dug up.”
“Do you think Frank’s son already came out here—oh, shit!” Ginny shined the light up at the end of a shotgun.
Myron swung the barrel back and forth. Except for the snake tattoo spiraling up his neck, he was a ringer for Frank. “I’ve never liked trespassers,” he said, sending the pungent smell of whiskey wafting toward the women. “I got two rounds in this shotgun, one for each of you.” He paused to steady himself. “You better have a good reason for digging here in the middle of the night.”
Sandra, up far past her normal bedtime, blurted, “My cat died. I’ve buried all my pets here. Isn’t this the Einerson farm?”
“I don’t see a cat. And there ain’t any Einersons around here.” Myron raised the shotgun. “Time’s up! You’re first,” he said, taking aim at Ginny.
The curved back of a shovel blade slammed against the side of Myron’s head, dropping him to the ground. He let out a single moan.
Sandra got on her knees and felt Myron’s neck for a pulse. “He’s dead. What the hell, Randy! Isn’t this your uncle?”
Randy tossed his shovel aside. “Hey, I saved your lives! You’re my witnesses. You gotta vouch for me!”
“Calm down, Randy,” said Sandra. “You did save us. And we’ll say so to the police—for a price.”
“What do you mean, for a price? You’re a couple of thieves! I should have let him shoot you.”
Sandra stood and smiled. “Look, Randy, you’ve got fourteen jars of gold coins. You dug them up, right?” She glanced at Randy’s soil-caked shovel. “And you didn’t wait until your dad died.”
Randy nodded, looking sheepish.
“You could let us have one measly jar. If you think about it, we’re letting you off easy.”
Randy rubbed his forehead. “My dad’s had so many run-ins with the sheriff. Last year he nearly punched a deputy at the front door. I don’t think it would go too well if I called.” Finally, he took in a breath and said, “Okay, but we have to bury Myron—right here. Then we’ve got to keep everything quiet. All of us. If one talks, it’s bad for all three. Understood?”
Ginny tugged on Sandra’s jacket sleeve. “I don’t know about this, Sandra. I’m scared.”
“Don’t worry, Ginny,” said Randy. “My dad will be gone soon, and he’s the only other person who knows my uncle was here. In a few weeks I’ll move Myron into the woodlot and plant him nice and deep. That will be the end of it, as long as we keep our mouths shut. Can you do that?”
Ginny nodded.
With the digging easy and two shovels in use, Myron was soon subterranean. Sandra winked at Ginny but failed to soften her still-grim expression.
“Come with me,” said Randy. “I hid the jars in the barn.”
The trio entered the barn and Randy told Ginny to shine the flashlight on some hay bales. He dragged a bale across the floor, revealing a cavity filled with jars of coins. He grabbed one at random and handed it to Sandra. “Plenty of double eagles in this one,” he said.
“I can’t believe how heavy this is,” said Sandra. She handed the jar to Ginny, who gasped.
As the two women left the barn, Randy called out, “Wait a month and then only sell a few at a time—in a big city like Chicago so you won’t attract attention. I’m moving these jars, so don’t bother coming back here, ever.”
The quiet drive back to town gave Sandra the chance to plan the next step. “I’ll bring your half of the coins to your apartment in the afternoon. Will you be home?”
“Yes,” said Ginny.
“Good. I’m sorry it’s only one jar, after I told you fourteen.”
“That’s okay. It’s enough. Sandra?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about your cat.”
When Sandra went in for her afternoon shift on Monday, she was surprised to see Frank’s bed empty and made up. She walked to the nursing station and tapped the supervising nurse’s shoulder. “Kathy, where’s Frank? Did he die? He was doing pretty well on Friday.”
“No, he didn’t die. But you should have seen the ruckus this morning. He was upset because his son didn’t visit him over the weekend like he said he would. Frank had some choice words for him.”
“Maybe he was out of town or something.”
“Anyway, he insisted that we let him leave the hospital. I called Dr. Briskey to come talk him out of it, but it didn’t help. Frank said it was his legal right to leave. He refused to sign discharge papers and wouldn’t get into a wheelchair. He got dressed and staggered out.”
“But why did he want to leave?”
Kathy shook her head. “That’s the weirdest part. He said something about digging up eagles so his son can’t get them. You couldn’t pay me to dig up an eagle. Are you okay, Sandra? Sandra?”
“No, he didn’t die. But you should have seen the ruckus this morning. He was upset because his son didn’t visit him over the weekend like he said he would. Frank had some choice words for him.”
“Maybe he was out of town or something.”
“Anyway, he insisted that we let him leave the hospital. I called Dr. Briskey to come talk him out of it, but it didn’t help. Frank said it was his legal right to leave. He refused to sign discharge papers and wouldn’t get into a wheelchair. He got dressed and staggered out.”
“But why did he want to leave?”
Kathy shook her head. “That’s the weirdest part. He said something about digging up eagles so his son can’t get them. You couldn’t pay me to dig up an eagle. Are you okay, Sandra? Sandra?”
Scott Pedersen is a fiction writer based in Madison, Wisconsin. His short stories have appeared in Fiction International, The I-70 Review, Louisiana Literature, The MacGuffin, and many other journals and anthologies. When not writing fiction, he enjoys performing in a traditional Celtic band.