Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company belong to JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is meant.
Summary: An expected gift comes to Pine Ridge in an unexpected package
Warnings: Contemplated Infantcide, Tissue warning
AN:This is the story of Grant's birth and the first 30 minutes or so of his life. He was born into abject squallor of the Oglala Sioux reservation of Pine Ridge in South Dakota. The year is 1935 and the United States is held fast in the Great Depression.
Monday's Child
The early morning in mid September was soon rent with the fierce grunting and low groaning coming from a dilapidated shack that housed at various times from nine to fifteen people outside the village of Pine Ridge on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, and soon the number would be one more.
Mourning Dove knelt by her daughter Rachel’s head as she mopped the young woman’s brow, trying to keep her from screaming and shaming herself and the child coming into the world. It was her first child and so far it had been a difficult pregnancy and now the delivery was close to taking both mother and child before the sun rose enough to light the land.
Three other women were there with her, all relatives and all experienced at child bearing. Rachel’s husband, Marvin Still Water waited with the men across the road. As a male he had no business being anywhere near a woman giving birth and truth be told, he’d rather be anywhere but the reservation.
Mourning Dove shook her head worriedly at her sister, it seemed the child was taking too long, was being stubborn about making an appearance in the world. It didn’t surprise her actually; she’d gotten odd feelings about her first grandchild since Rachel had announced she was with child. Each time she’d tried to ascertain whether it was a boy child or a girl, the readings would be mixed, jumbled with no clear answer for her to read. She had her suspicions, but had not voiced them to her daughter, she wanted to wait and see if perhaps Power was simply being a Trickster and letting her think something that was not there.
At only twenty-two, Rachel was in line to be the next Medicine Woman, training with her mother daily in the old ways and learning how to use her gift of Power. She fervently hoped the child within her would be powerful and able to carry on the family lineage.
As the sun peeked over the buttes, Rachel reached down between her legs and felt the crown of her child’s head and gave a shout of joy that could be heard by all those waiting nearby. With help from her mother, aunt, and sister, she got up into a squatting position and soon delivered her babe into her mother’s waiting hands that were draped in a clean deer hide.
Mourning Dove quickly took the child to the other side of the room where she cleaned the baby carefully, smiling as she saw she had a grandson. The smile however left her face as she turned the baby boy over and saw a large tell tale patch of nearly white skin on his left hip and buttock, she closed her eyes and opened them again as she turned the child over and looked down into the deep blue eyes set within the quiet infant. He’d yet to cry, but he was breathing well, just regarding her with age-old eyes and a sense of sadness.
Soon Rachel was asking for her baby and Mourning Dove quickly wrapped him before placing him in her arms. She shooed the other women out of the shack before she told her daughter that the boy in her arms was a winkte, that he held the spirits of both male and female within his little body. Rachel quickly unwrapped her child and the joy she’d had in her heart froze at the sight of the mark. How was she to raise a child like this? How was she to explain to her husband that their first child may look like a little boy, but would be raised as a woman?
Rachel wrapped the silent baby back up and offered him back to her mother, her eyes pleading what she couldn’t put a voice to. Take him out the back and drown him as one would an unwanted kitten. She made no sound as Mourning Dove took the little bundle and then slapped her hard for the unspoken question she’d asked.
The old woman looked down at the baby and sighed softly, she could remember the last true winkte that had lived in the area; unfortunately, they’d died over thirty years ago without leaving an heir. Mourning Dove left her daughter laying there in her mess as she stepped out of the door into the chilly morning air. With a nod, she sent her sister in to tend to Rachel and shielded the child from view.
Still silent, the babe looked up into her face, seeming to wait for her make the decision as to whether he would live or die within the next moments. The old woman’s eyes darted to where she heard a whirring noise to her left and there she saw it. A little ruby throated hummingbird looking amongst the dying morning glory vines for the last of the nectar to be had. She watched as it darted tenaciously from one dead bloom to another until it finally found nourishment to survive. Mourning Dove looked back to the waiting child with the young old eyes and nodded. “Welcome into the world little Hummingbird, you shall be someone special.”