Healing Woman of the Red Rocks Read online

  Healing Woman

  of the

  Red Rocks

  "Red Rocks Trilogy: PAST, present, future"

  Verna Clay

  For healers, traditional and non-traditional, whose hearts yearn to help the infirmed.

  Healing Woman of the Red Rocks

  Red Rocks Trilogy: PAST, Present, Future

  Copyright © 2015 by Verna Clay

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information contact:

  [email protected]

  http://www.vernaclay.com

  Join mailing list

  Published by:

  M.O.I. Publishing

  "Mirrors of Imagination"

  Cover Design:

  Verna Clay

  Picture:

  CanStock: ventdusud

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Preface

  Healing Woman of the Red Rocks is a story I contemplated over many months. After having lived near Sedona, Arizona for a year, I knew the red rocks had to play a major part in this book.

  Through serendipitous circumstances, I met Sharlleyn (Sharla) MacIntyre, an energy healer living in Sedona. She graciously took me on a hike that turned into an "aha" moment when we walked through a beautiful valley below towering monoliths. The setting was perfect for the heroine of my story to have her cabin.

  My new friend Sharla is not only an energy healer who creates elixirs (her website is listed at the end of the book), but she is also a gifted artist; a very talented woman. From my first niggling about this storyline, it became my intention to add a metaphysical/mystical aspect and I thank Sharla for being instrumental in that regard.

  I would also like to thank the friendly and knowledgeable State Park Rangers at Fort Verde in Arizona for answering my many questions. The fort is well-preserved and contains amazing artifacts. It's a step back in history and I spent a wonderful hour time-traveling.

  Another thank you goes to Chris Brusca at the Globe-Miami Regional Chamber of Commerce, also in Arizona. She was very patient in pointing out areas of interest on a map and answering questions.

  And yet another thank you goes to the White Mountain Apache Cultural Center and Museum with its rich history and helpful attendants. Visitors not only experience the Apache heritage inside the museum, but outside, the remaining buildings of Fort Apache are preserved.

  Final thanks goes to Sharon Banes and Diane Brazier for helping me troubleshoot the story and offering amazing suggestions (and for playing dress-up at Fort Verde); also, Theodosia Greene for proofreading and pinpointing problematic areas, and Ruby Merritt for winning a contest to name a character in my story. The name she chose was Amelia Matthews who became the child of my hero.

  Because I love history, I included many real-life characters in this story, some are well known, and some are not. In the Authors Note at the end of this book I listed these true-to-life persons.

  Any factual or geographical errors in this tale are my sole responsibility.

  Verna Clay

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Prologue

  1: Lollipop

  2: Déjà Vu

  3: Strange Conversation

  4: Disclosure

  5: He's Coming

  6: Reaching the Trail

  7: Salt River Scare

  8: Dreaming

  9: Encampment

  10: Lawman

  11: German Miner

  12: Following the Salt River

  13: Meeting the General

  14: Clues

  15: Tracking Indians

  16: Castle in the Sky and Mysterious Water from the Earth

  17: Almost There

  18: Preparation

  19: Barn Surprise

  20: Clash

  21: Elixir

  22: History

  23: Meeting Again

  24: Doctoring

  25: Soul Talk

  26: Spirit Tree

  27: Portraiture

  28: Visitation

  29: Broken Heart

  30: Disbelief

  31: Family

  32: Reunion

  33: Hospitality

  34: Trust Me

  35: Open It

  36: Sowing and Reaping

  37: Mrs. Wilder

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Cry of the West: Hallie

  Novels and Novellas by Verna Clay

  Prologue

  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.

  Thomas Matthews closed his journal, slipped it into a drawer, placed his elbows on the smooth wood of his desk, and lowered his head into the palms of his hands as images from the previous thirty-six hours flashed across his grief-stricken mind. The first image was that of his dying wife begging him to let her go. The next was her body being dressed for burial by women who had become her dear friends over the past three years. Thomas knew that if he'd had to dress her, he would have died of sorrow in the process. The final image was that of her casket being lowered into a cold grave.

  A groan rising from depths he had not known he possessed took on a life of its own and escaped the confines of his heart. And although he did not want to weep again, there was no stopping it.

  As a doctor, he had failed to find a cure for his wife's mysterious illness. Relentless research of medical tomes and numerous treatments, in the end, had been for naught. His every attempt to commandeer the sickness had met with failure. Over the course of a year her body had grown steadily weaker until, unable to leave her bed and almost blind, she had spoken of her eminent death while he held her hand. Even then, he'd refused to give in to what she knew to be inevitable. He'd begged her to keep fighting the disease that was wasting away her body.

  Finally, in a ravaged whisper, she'd pleaded, "Thomas, please let me go. It's time and I'm so tired."

  "No, Ruth. You can't give up. I'll find a cure–"

  "Shhh, Thomas. I can't stay. You and Amelia must go on without me."

  Over the next hours, Ruth's condition had deteriorated until she'd become comatose. It was only in a last flickering of life that she'd briefly opened her eyes and he'd recognized the pleading there. On a sob, he had lifted her bone thin fingers to his lips and forced out the words she needed to hear. "I love you Ruthie and I'm letting you go. You're free to do what you must."

  Remembering now the serenity that had replaced the heartbreaking anguish in her eyes brought another wrenching sob from the depths of his soul. But now, as then, he knew he'd done right by her.

  The words exhaled on her last breath were, "Thank you, my love."

  1: Lollipop

  1882: two years later

  Thomas closed the door to his medical practice and inserted his key in the lock. Although it was early January, the day had been warm with clear skies, but now distant storm clouds held a promise of rain. He descended the porch steps and traversed the short brick path to the dusty road. Next door at the dressmaker's shop, Mrs. Mullins was also locking up. She waved and wished him a pleasant evening, and he reciprocated her words.

  A few buckboards and a scattering of carriages ambled along the thoroughfare. Crossing to the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street, he tipped his hat toward Mr. and Mrs. Simons as they approached in their new buggy. Mr. Simons, a patient of Thomas' who often suffered gout, called, "Howdy, Do
c. The foot's much better. What do you think of my new buggy?" He pulled on the reins of his two steeds and shouted, "Whoa!"

  Thomas smiled and remarked, "It's a beaut, Norm, and I'm happy to hear about your foot."

  For several minutes they chitchatted until a buckboard with an impatient owner pulled up behind them. "Come on Simons, I don't have time to sit here while you jaw at the doc!" called Mr. Ironstone.

  Thomas stepped away from the buggy and the elderly Mr. Simons sighed, wished Thomas a pleasant evening, and jiggled the reins of his horses. "Giddup," he called as they continued northwest of town along Broad Street. Mrs. Simons turned and waved.

  Thomas nodded to crotchety Mr. Ironstone as he rolled past. The old man grumbled and Thomas continued across the road. He stepped onto the boardwalk and strolled two blocks until he reached Shep's General Store. The rotund Mr. Shepherd paused in anchoring a can of corn on a display pyramid and jovially greeted him. "Hello, Dr. Matthews." He wiped his hands on a stained apron that barely covered his huge midsection. His wife, Clara, entered from the storage room behind the counter and also called a greeting.

  Whereas Shep must weigh over three hundred pounds, Clara probably weighed less than a hundred. Shep tended to be quiet and Clara boldly outspoken. They were the most mismatched couple Thomas had ever met, but their love for each other often put a lump in his throat. It reminded him of the love he and Ruth had shared.

  Plucking sad memories before they could sprout, he said, "Hello, Shep, Clara. I was thinking I'd surprise Amy with a lollipop. Also, did the carbolic acid I ordered come in?"

  "It sure did. I'll get the bottles for you," said Shep.

  While her husband stepped into the storage room, Clara said, "Just yesterday we got a shipment of lollipops. Pick out what you want for your sweet little girl and add an extra one from me and Shep."

  Thomas smiled at the woman's friendly words as she motioned him toward the colorful candy jar. "Thanks, Clara."

  "My pleasure, Doc."

  While Thomas selected a red and blue striped candy, Clara kept talking. "Spring and summer will be here before we know it. You got any plans to travel to Chicago to visit your family now that the railroad has come to Tucson?"

  "I haven't decided. I'm not keen on subjecting Amy or myself to the three-day stagecoach ride to board the train there. And from what I've heard, that route has become a hotbed for robberies. Of course I miss my family, but I also have patients who need me here." He chose another candy, a solid green one.

  Clara said, "Well, if you ask me, you need some sort of vacation, even if it's just relaxing at home. I'm sure Dr. Pritchard would cover for you. You work too hard not to take off now and again."

  Thomas knew contradicting Clara would only prolong a conversation he couldn't win, so he just said, "Like I said, I'm undecided." He handed his candy selection to her as Shep returned from the back room with his order. Quickly, he settled his tab before Clara could continue her admonishment.

  Retracing his path along the boardwalk, he glanced at his office across the street and felt his usual sense of pride; followed by sadness that Ruth wasn't with him to share their accomplishment. After receiving his physician's degree from Rush Medical College in Chicago, he had signed on as a civilian doctor working for the military in Arizona Territory, and for two years he, Ruth, and their toddler Amy, had lived at Camp Apache, later renamed Fort Apache. The fort had been at the forefront of the Indian wars and often visited by General George Crook, the great Indian fighter.

  During their time at the fort, he had doctored as many Indians as military men. Often, Indian mothers would bring their sick children to the fort for white man's medicine, but sadly, white man's diseases were frequently incurable among the native population.

  After his contract with the military ended he had moved his wife and daughter to the bustling silver and copper mining town of Globe, so named after an earth-shaped silver nugget had been found in the area. The sometimes rowdy town was located in the foothills of the Pinal Mountains. To the north were the White Mountains, south, the Pinal Mountains, and west, the Superstition mountains. Although less than a hundred miles separated Fort Apache in the White Mountain foothills from Globe, the contrast between military life and civilian, was unfathomable. For the first time, Thomas and Ruth felt like they could build a stable home among townsfolk. That first year had been lean as he and Ruth worked hard to establish his practice, and sometimes he wondered if the stress of military life and then beginning all over again, had contributed to her illness. He'd tried to shield her as much as possible, but she wasn't one to shy away from challenges. After they'd rented a small storefront, she'd relentlessly cleaned it and then set up his books. She'd also assisted with patients until they were in a position to hire the local midwife as his assistant.

  The two story building had previously been a barber shop with two rooms downstairs and two rooms upstairs. In order to conserve funds they had made their home upstairs. And although the space was small, Ruth had created a beautiful home for him and Amy. The second year his medical practice had become profitable enough for them to purchase a home at minimal cost when a wealthy patient, almost dead from pneumonia, made a remarkable recovery under his care. The grateful man, co-owner of a profitable mine, had tried to give the home to Thomas, but Thomas had refused such a wondrous gift. It wasn't in his nature to take advantage of others' generosity. When the elderly gent had offered to sell it to him, they'd haggled over the price with Thomas wanting to pay more than the man was asking. In the end, they'd settled on what Thomas considered a reasonable price. After they'd moved from the medical office, the upstairs rooms were converted into a small hospital.

  Their new home was located on a few acres at the outskirts of town and it was so lovely it often brought tears to Ruth's eyes. They had been happy as his practice continued to thrive and they settled into their community. Then Ruth had begun showing symptoms of a strange illness that slowly ebbed away her life.

  Puffing a breath and rolling his shoulders, Thomas again pushed morose thoughts aside as he continued toward the livery stable to retrieve his horse.

  2: Déjà Vu

  Occasionally Thomas drove his buggy to town, but most times he rode his gelding, Stanton. He'd named the horse after his beloved uncle who had made it possible for him to attend medical school in Chicago.

  Thomas' family had been farmers outside of Chicago, and although supportive of his desire to become a doctor, struggled financially at the end of every harvest. Since the age of twelve, after watching his mother die of consumption and leaving a husband and three sons behind, he'd burned with a desire to help the sick. It had only been through the generosity of his father's brother, a modest investor in railroad expansion, as well as a scholarship, that his dream of attending medical school was realized at the age of twenty-three.

  Thomas trotted Stanton to his home, dismounted, and handed the reins to Josiah, his stable boy and all-round help. The ten year old always had a ready grin revealing a chipped tooth from a beating he'd received. Drunken cowboys, for no apparent reason other than orneriness, had punched and shoved him into the dirt outside a saloon. Thomas had witnessed the altercation while returning from a house call, and, driven by rage that anyone could harm a child, pulled his rifle from its scabbard. Sitting atop Stanton, his shout, as well as the cocking of his rifle, had captured the attention of the two bullies.

  "Hey, what's the matter with you?" slurred the taller of the louts.

  "Do you know this boy?" Thomas demanded.

  "And if I do. What's it to ya?"

  His companion staggered sideways and said, "He works on the same cattle drive as us."

  "Do you make it a habit to beat up children?" Thomas could barely control his anger.

  "Uh, uh…" responded the tall cowboy.

  His hesitation was all Thomas needed to take action. He'd said to the boy, "Climb on my horse, son. You're coming with me."

  Unbelievably, the lad had swiped the blood
from his mouth and replied, "Sir, I need this job 'cause it pays and feeds me."

  Without removing his gaze from the sorry-ass men, Thomas responded, "You got a new job with me. Get on the back of my horse." He'd then reached down to help the boy up. The boy's eyes had widened and even though his face registered surprise, Thomas saw relief.

  That had been a year ago and Josiah was the best hand Thomas could have hoped for. He'd invited Josiah to live in his home, but the child declined, saying he preferred to stay in the barn. Rather than argue, Thomas had understood and respected his decision. He knew it had everything to do with pride so he'd hired workers to section off part of the barn for the boy to live in.

  Thomas returned his thoughts to the present as Josiah started toward the barn. Amy ran onto the porch, followed by Mrs. Polly Nettles. Josiah paused and said, "Hi, Amy."

  Amy grinned at Josiah and shyly replied, "Hello Josiah."

  Looking slightly embarrassed, Josiah nodded at Thomas and continued toward the barn.

  Thomas returned his attention to his eight year old daughter and the middle-aged woman who was another godsend he had serendipitously stumbled upon. During an examination of an elderly patient known for her gossip, he'd learned of a woman being evicted from her home because of an inability to make mortgage payments after the death of her husband. Mrs. Wilder, his nosy patient, had praised the woman's upright personality and stoic resolve that "God would make a way." Being newly widowed himself, Thomas had been interviewing matrons to care for his child and home. As it turned out, Polly had been the perfect fit for them.