So Hildegard Hilgenberg lived her last years relying on others — first, a man who exploited her frailties for financial gain, and later, a court-appointed guardian and nursing aides, who helped her live in dignity and die at peace in the company of angels.

Hilgenberg, who grew up on her family's quaint, 20-acre homestead in rural Sheboygan, became a registered nurse, spending much of her career in Chicago. She never married. Eventually, she returned to live with her brother on the homestead, where they grew vegetables that were sold at nearby roadside stands.

The homestead is where Hilgenberg read, studied homeopathic healing, watched television. After her brother died, it's where she became isolated and hoarded things like newspapers and cans of fruit.

The property had another allure. Nestled against the famed Whistling Straits golf course on the shores of Lake Michigan, it was worth perhaps $500,000 or more.

Although Hilgenberg cared for many people during her nursing career, she sought and accepted little public help, living the life of a recluse.

But she opened up to Angelo Dallas, an imposing man with an earnest demeanor — and a history of financial problems.

Relationship grew

Dallas met Hilgenberg through a mutual acquaintance from a small church in 2001 or 2002. Court records aren't clear. He said he saw in her his late grandmother.

Soon, Dallas, 46, became the 88-year-old Hilgenberg's main caregiver.

"Our relationship just grew over time," he said in an interview at the home of a church friend in Howards Grove.

He said he helped with her furnace, cleared clutter from her home and created some living space amid the mess. He offered companionship.

But the relationship is seen very differently by others, including police, Sheboygan County elder abuse and Adult Protective Services staff, Hilgenberg's legal guardian and prosecutors.

Into her will

By May 2002 Dallas had begun threading himself through Hilgenberg's finances. He eventually gained power of attorney over her health care and money, and became an heir in her will.

He borrowed her cash to buy inventory for his computer business and other things. He used her money to buy a rental property in her name in Sheboygan, crafting a lease that let him live there indefinitely for $1 a month. He spent her money to improve the rental duplex, saying it would be a place she could stay if she ever had to move from the rural homestead. He wrote $20,000 in checks to himself.

Dallas, who said he tried hard to help Hilgenberg, said she in turn wanted to help him, and that the relationship was "mutually beneficial."

Hilgenberg, he said, had confided two wishes for the last years of her life — never sell the homestead to the adjoining golf course and never put her in a nursing facility.

"This was a woman who lived the way she wanted in her own home," Dallas said.

Despite Hilgenberg's wishes, Dallas acknowledges he had conversations with the golf course on the sale of the homestead. Hilgenberg, he said, had conceded, "It never hurts to talk."

She also told him, "This is all going to be yours someday," he said.

Police called

On July 27, 2003, everything changed.

As she ambled around in her stuffy, cramped living space — a mattress atop a futon surrounded by dressers, electrical cords and much clutter — Hilgenberg fell near her bed but managed to call 911.

Police, moving past no-trespassing signs, newspaper-covered windows and battering through a deadbolt-locked door, found Hilgenberg dehydrated and confused.

The house "was a filthy, nasty pig-sty," said Doreen Koehler, of Advocacy Programs of Family Services in Sheboygan County, whose agency was quickly named by the courts as temporary guardian. It had a strong odor of urine and waist-high clutter. The refrigerator held only a bottle of water, a small container of food and expired medications, some from 1983. The house, the police report said, "was unfit for human habitation."

"That's abuse," said Koehler, the assigned guardian.

"Oh my God"

To police, Hilgenberg voiced concern that her 911 call would put her "in big trouble with Angelo," and that she believed he was waiting for her to die to take her property.

In the hospital, Hilgenberg "kept talking about Angelo, Angelo, Angelo," Koehler said. "He was her savior."

The police found a list prepared by Dallas that read, "We will: restock the food in the fridge, help on and off potty if needed, empty garbage, refill water, refill meds, wash dishes, empty commode as needed, hygiene issues and whatever else needs to be done; talk, laugh, have fun! And tuck in bed."

But Koehler probed, learning of the power of attorney and will, the rental property purchase, the depletion of Hilgenberg's resources.

Concerned about her health and vulnerability, Koehler placed Hilgenberg at Meadow View Manor Nursing Home in Sheboygan.

Pam Rickmeier, social services director at Meadow View, remembered her early impression of Hilgenberg, "You'd think, 'Oh my God, this woman cannot fend for herself.' "

A restraining order

Initially, Koehler tried to prepare the homestead for Hilgenberg's return. But Hilgenberg, who weighed under 90 pounds, never regained enough strength to do so. The courts found her incompetent to live alone again.

Eventually, Koehler got a restraining order against Dallas, who had created a ruckus bringing a video camera into the nursing home. Koehler suspected he was trying to get Hilgenberg to sign documents to cover his actions. Dallas said Hilgenberg was being held against her will and he was trying to help her.

Koehler, whose agency was named permanent guardian, spent 10 months evicting Dallas from the Sheboygan rental property, which he left trashed. She called in the police, the district attorney, even the state attorney general, who ultimately prosecuted. The homestead and rental property had to be sold to cover unpaid taxes, bills and the cost of nursing home care.

A lonely woman

Koehler's instincts about Dallas were "right on the money," said William Hanrahan, a former state assistant attorney general who handled the case and is now a Dane County Circuit Court judge.

"There was a lonely old woman living in squalor who had the finances to provide for her comfort in the final chapter of her life," he said. But Dallas "exploited her trust and vulnerability for his own financial gain."

All told, Koehler estimates, Dallas misused about $390,000. Prosecutors offered evidence for at least $115,200 — mostly for the duplex and checks written to himself — and Dallas was charged with maltreatment of a vulnerable adult, theft by false representation, multiple counts of felony theft and misdemeanor practicing law without a license.

Dallas pleaded guilty in March 2005 to one felony theft charge and a misdemeanor. He was ordered to pay $11,000 in restitution and serve eight months supervision on electronic monitoring.

Although Koehler and others said they wanted a more severe penalty, the plea and sentencing resulted from a judge's discretion in a hard-to-prove case because of its complexity and Hilgenberg's age and mental condition, Hanrahan said.

The case, in fact, exposes gaps in the state's safety net. The state bar association is investigating possible changes to power of attorney and land-transfer laws, while others advocate more mandatory reporting of suspected elder abuse.

Peaceful death

To this day, Dallas insists he was only carrying out Hilgenberg's wishes. He continues to run his computer business.

"I may be a poor man," he said in an interview interrupted with tears. "I'm not mean. I'm not a thief. I'm not a criminal."

The intervention of Koehler and others, he said, left Hilgenberg to die "brokenhearted and alone."

Others say they witnessed a different end to Hilgenberg's life.

Although it took time for Hilgenberg to adjust to the nursing home, her diet and health care improved, and she settled in, Koehler said.

"She needed a little tender loving care," said the nursing home's Rickmeier.

"Hildy," she said, loved to have visitors and brightened when she sat behind the nurses' station, which seemed to revive faded memories of her own career. "She'd sit back with a big smile on her face," Rickmeier said.

Hilgenberg loved to have images of angels in her room, she said.

Last December, as 91-year-old Hilgenberg began to fail, Koehler brought a Christmas tree decorated with lighted angels and put it near her bed. Two certified nursing assistants, Lindsay Aderman and Marie Wilke, added comforting music to the background.

That's how Hilgenberg died.

"It was truly the most peaceful scene I have ever seen with one of our residents here," Rickmeier said. "She certainly deserved that and more because of what she had endured."