Carefully lifting the box flaps, Sunny glanced at the handwritten note Adam had read to her and set it aside. Next, she lifted two items wrapped in bubble wrap. She removed the wrappings from a journal and tintype photo. For better lighting, she walked to the window with the photo. Something about the picture touched her heart and she inhaled slowly and deeply as she studied it. The picture was of a man standing slightly behind a woman and child on either side of him. The child looked to be around seven or eight, and the adults in their thirties. Sunny studied each face intently and suddenly realized something—they were holding back smiles; no, make that laughter—which was unusual for that era. Most pictures from the 1800s portrayed people with austere expressions. This one was different, and the more she studied it, the more she envisioned the laughter that had erupted once the photographer had released them from their stance.
She moved her gaze to the background. The three people were standing at the edge of a bluff and beyond them tall monoliths rose in a cloudless sky. Instantly, Sunny recognized the gigantic rocks carved by nature as being unique to Sedona.
For long moments she gazed at the picture. Were these people her ancestors? Had they lived on the land now owned by Mr. Grant? What had happened to them? And what about the stories of the Healing Woman? Were there facts hidden in the tales her mother had embellished to please a child?
After her mother's death, Sunny had been so devastated that even thinking the word "family" had been impossible. Now, staring at the picture, she experienced something she hadn't felt since childhood—belonging. Somehow she knew she belonged to these people. She belonged to their land. The feeling only lasted a moment and then she scoffed, Even if these people are relatives, they're long dead. You don't belong to anyone. You've been alone since you were ten and you're still alone.
She turned the tintype over and read three names: Tana Raven Sees, Dr. Thomas Matthews, Amy Matthews. The names were not familiar to her. She placed the picture back on the countertop and gently lifted a journal faded and weathered by years. Slowly and carefully she opened the cover and gasped. The year written on the first page was 1879 and below that was neatly printed:
JOURNAL OF DR. THOMAS MATTHEWS
So this is the man in the picture, she thought. She started toward her living room to begin reading, but paused long enough to sift through the contents of her junk drawer until she located a package of latex gloves. The journal was so frayed and fragile she didn't want to damage it more. After slipping on the gloves she settled on her couch. Ever so carefully she opened the diary again and turned to the first entry.
November 13, 1879
There is a grief so profound it entombs the griever with the dead one. I weep for those who have fallen into that abyss. I weep for myself.
Involuntarily, Sunny lifted the back of her hand to her mouth. Even after more than a hundred years, the words jumped off the page to reveal their sadness. She wasn't sure she wanted to continue reading, but she was being pulled like a magnet into the past.
Two hours later she was still on the couch. Gently, she closed the journal and stared out the wall of windows to the ocean beyond. Inhaling a shuddering breath she consolidated the story in her mind. It had evoked every possible emotion: sadness, happiness, hatred, love, hopelessness, hopefulness, despair, anticipation, and everything in between. However, if she were to sum the entries up, she would have to say they told a tale of love—love in all its facets. Love for nature, love for animals, love for humanity, love for children, but most of all, a man's love for two women: the first having died and the second having saved him from the depths of despair. The final words in the journal were etched into Sunny's mind.
I have returned to the Healing Woman of the Red Rocks because it is she who will make me whole. It is she who will teach me how to truly give, for she is unshackled by the bonds of selfishness.
Sunny lifted her cell phone off the coffee table and punched speed dial. When the phone was answered, she asked to speak with her attorney. Immediately, she was connected with him.
"Hello Sunny. What's up?"
"I just got the package you sent. Did you happen to read any of the journal?"
"No. I just opened the box to make sure it wasn't a bomb or underwear," he chuckled. "I thought the picture was interesting." Suddenly, he sounded alarmed. "Is something wrong?"
"No…yes…I can't really explain it, but the journal confirmed that Jason Grant's property belonged to my ancestors, and I want it. Call him and ask what it would take for him to sell."
Adam sounded stunned. "Are you sure? We did an online investigation of Mr. Grant and it appears he only recently purchased it. Maybe you should sleep on this–"
Sunny interrupted. "No. I want that property. In fact, I'm leaving tomorrow to drive to Sedona. I want to personally meet Mr. Grant and reinforce my willingness to pay whatever he thinks is a fair price. I'll call you later." She hung up before he could respond.