One Saturday morning, a couple of weeks after school had begun, I walked alone down to the city library. Using the microfilm reader, I read though the...old newspaper accounts of the Westervelt family. It was like a wonderful walk down memory lane as I read about my former life. I wept uncontrollably when I read the accounts of my son Peter's death in the skies over France, and I again relived the agony of that day when I had received the telegram informing me. Peter had been my youngest, my. ‘…As has the shaman,’ said the Chief. ‘Although of the two of you, it is the shaman who is the more expert and the most confident lover, you are the one who benefits from the blessing of youth and are therefore to be preferred.’ Ivory could see from her face that Glade didn’t relish the Chief’s remark and this provided the younger woman with a small amount of satisfaction. Ivory knew she had to accept the ways of the shaman. There was no other tepee in which she could sleep and it was. More

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