Chapter 2: Grace
He didn't go far. As soon as he was confident she couldn't hear him, he stepped into the tall (and thankfully thorn-free) grass by the cleared path she had made through the graveyard and waited. After a few moments, the grass rustled as she got up. Her slow footsteps plodded slowly down the cleared space, and turned a corner before she was out of sight. Using all the skill at sneaking he'd learned from years with the X-Men, he followed her.
The path through the tall grass opened out finally to a small cleared space. A small, clear stream ran beside a battered, old, rusted, corrugated metal shed that looked, at one time of another, to have held gardening tools. She ducked into the dark shed and came out moments later with a ball of the twine. Sitting down in the grass by the stream, she unwound the end of the twine, stretched it out across a flat rock, and patiently pounded it with another rock for a long time before it gave. She tied the other end of the twine around a long thorn, then took the torn edge of the dress and poked the makeshift needle through it. Painstakingly she tried to sew the edges of the rotted, rough material together.
Kurt bit his lip, appalled. Was this all she had? No decent clothes, no shoes, no coat to ward off the November chill, nothing. He moved around quietly behind her, then teleported himself into the metal shed.
The earthen floor was bare, that much he could see from the light that filtered in through the chinks in the walls. There was a bed of dried grass in one corner, with a slightly larger pile at one end for a pillow; and a tattered plastic bag was pulled over it as a cover. Nails had been driven in around the walls, and bunches of weeds and different kinds of roots hung from them. He guessed that this was what she ate. No wonder she looked so skinny.
In fact, as he looked around the tiny shed, it looked like she lived in here. Why had she run away from these people, the 'Chosen Of God'? He tried to put all the pieces together, but there were gaps in his knowledge, and the picture was incomplete. He wondered what it would look like when it was complete.
The door to the shed opened. He didn't have time to teleport himself out before she looked in and saw him and he blinked shamefacedly as the bright sunlight came in. She paused in the doorway, staring at him, then snapped, "Get out! Get out! What right do you have to invade here!?"
He stepped out. "Please, fraulein, I just wanted…I was curious…fraulein, why do you live like this? Is there nowhere else you could go? What happened? I do not want to be rude, but this…this is no way for you to live!"
"Why do you care!?" She screamed at him, tears flowing down her cheeks. "God doesn't even care! They turned against me because of how God made me, because of what He made me look like, and I have nowhere to go. He has deserted me because I don't believe in Him anymore!"
"No, no, God would never desert you, He would never desert anyone, He loves you," Kurt stared at her, distressed. Why would she think that?
She turned away from him, tears streaking her face, and went to sit on the flat rock she had been using earlier. Kurt followed her, sitting beside her, and tentatively reached out to touch her as she cried into her hands. She didn't resist the touch this time, although she did stiffen. "Please, liebchen," he said gently. "Tell me what is wrong."
"My parents belong to this cult called the Chosen of God," she whispered slowly. "They teach genetic purity. Everything was okay, I was happy. I reached puberty when I was sixteen, later than everyone else, and when I did I started hearing the voices. Father Borden took me into the testing room, and after a week he came out and told my parents that I had invited the Devil into my body and I was possessed. He told them that for my soul's sake he had to try and cleanse my spirit and my body.
"I don't know how long he tried. He did everything he could, he hurt me terribly. I begged him to stop, I told him I hadn't seen the Devil, that I hadn't invited Satan in, and it was useless, but he told my parents that was the Devil speaking and he had to drive the Devil out. Finally he attempted an exorcism done in the way he told us God told him to do it. I think I went mad with the pain for a time; he told them the only way to get rid of the Devil in me was to purify my flesh. They put me in The Pit and did terrible things to me until I finally told them I wasn't hearing the voices any more and to let me out. Father Borden took me out of the Pit and they saw my eyes were back to normal.
"Father Borden said the Devil had left me and that now that my soul was clean they just had to get God to accept me back. And in order for me to be cleansed of my sins I had to be crucified. So they did a crucifixion like the one in the Bible; they whipped me and hung me until I was as close to dead as they thought I could get, then he said I was cleansed and they took me down, let me heal, and I went back to my former life.
"Then on my eighteenth birthday my eyes changed color again, and this time nothing they could do changed them back. Father Borden told them my body was pure…I wasn't even having woman's monthlies anymore…and the only thing he could think of was that my eyes must be tainted by the devil. He whipped my face. It hurt so bad I passed out. When I woke up, I was outside the commune on the pile of trash. I could barely see; I was in so much pain. I got up and stumbled away. I didn't know where I was, I just kept walking and walking until I finally found this stream. I bathed my eyes and face in it, and I figured I'd rest while I healed. But they came looking for me. I ran again, because I didn't know if my eyes were still yellow, and I didn't want to go back anyway. They were God's Chosen; I was the devil's chosen. I didn't belong there. I hated God for making me with yellow eyes. It wasn't fair, that I should get punished for what He made my body look like. So I ran. I finally found this place, this cemetery, and I stayed, because it's quiet, and no one comes here. It's old; the only tombstones I can read come from the early 1960's; whatever was on the older tombstones has worn off with time. Here, the only voices I hear are Mabel's and a few of the others."
"You…" Kurt blinked. "You hear the voices of the people buried here?"
She didn't look at him. "Only a few. A lot of the others are completely gone. The only reason I hear Mabel's is because there's still a bit of her skull left under her tombstone. And Lester's, because a part of him is still left. But Mary's voice is almost gone now, and so is Hester's. And John's."
Kurt blinked. His mind tried to wrap around the concept of how a living girl could hear dead voices, and couldn't come up with any explanation. "How?" he finally asked, careful to keep all emotion out of his voice. If she thought he was being judgmental she might stop talking altogether. "How can you hear them?"
"I don't know," she shook her head. "It was bad at the commune, because everybody who died there was buried in the backyard. It's not as bad around living people; I can't hear you at all, except physically. But I'm afraid if someone finds me here they'll give me back to the commune and my parents, and they'll kill me for sure because of how I look. And I don't want to die. I'd rather live here like this than go back." There was a fierce determination in her tone. "You won't tell anybody I'm here, will you? If they find I'm here they'll come and get me and kill me."
"No. I wouldn't do that," Kurt said quietly. "They will not find out you are here from me."
The heat of the sun on his back reminded him that time was passing, and someone might be looking for him soon. "I have to go," he said. "My friends… the people I live with…will miss me if I'm gone too long. But…may I come and see you again?"
She nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "I…would be pleased. It's been a long time since I had someone to talk to."
Kurt got up…and stopped. "It was not fair," he said softly to the figure still sitting on the ground. "God made you the way you are for a reason. God had a reason for the way He made me look the way I do; it took me a long time to realize that my mutation was a gift, not a curse; but I did come to realize that, and I came to realize that He loves me no matter what I look like. He holds me in the palm of His hand just as he holds you. Maybe someday you'll realize that." He gave her a last look, then walked away.
* * *
He walked into the back door amidst the bustle and preparations for lunch. Ororo handed him a plate of sandwiches to take into the dining room as he passed, and he simply stood in the doorway for a minute, staring from the plate to the table full of food and back again. Half of the food on that table wouldn't be eaten that day; he saw the pot of soup sitting full and steaming, and knew that half of that would be eaten, and the rest dumped out after it had sat in the refrigerator for a couple of days. He was suddenly struck by the wastefulness of it. They had so much…in his mind's eye he saw the bare walls of that tiny shack, the weeds and roots Grace was eating because she couldn't buy regular food…and pity twisted his heartstrings. When he said grace at the table that afternoon, his prayer had a special fervency in it. Xavier sensed it, and looked at Kurt quickly before returning his eyes to his plate, but when the meal finished and Kurt got up, Xavier accosted him on his way into the kitchen. "Kurt," he said.
Kurt followed the hoverchair, and its occupant, into the small informal breakfast room. "Yes, Charles?" he said.
"You…seem to have had an interesting morning," he said carefully.
Kurt had to smile. Interesting? "Ja," he said, nodding.
"Might I ask the details?"
Kurt considered. He had promised Grace he would tell no one who or where she was, but this was Charles asking…He decided on an edited version of the truth. "I met a girl this morning," he said. "She is hiding from mutant haters, and is currently homeless." And he might as well ask Xavier what he wanted to ask him, although he knew already what Charles would say. "I was wondering if I might take some of the leftovers to her."
"Of course. Is there anything else you can tell me?" Xavier could feel Kurt's hesitation. He didn't want to pry, but a girl who could capture Kurt's attention… "Her name?"
"I am sorry," Kurt's tone got very formal, "but she made me promise not to tell anyone. Her life would be in danger should the people who are looking for her find her."
"I understand." Xavier sighed. Kurt took his promises very seriously. "Well, I will not ask then. But Kurt…if there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate to let me know."
"She has no clothes," Kurt blurted before he could stop himself. "She wears a dress made of a cloth sack. We have a lot of outgrown things in the attics…Charles…"
Xavier smiled. "Anything we have in storage can be donated," he said. "I had actually thought of asking Jean and Ororo to pack a few things to take to the shelters. By all means, if there is anything your friend can use, take it with you."
Kurt went upstairs and started rummaging through the stored things. He was tugging out a box marked 'old clothes' when the door to the room opened, and Ororo and Jean came in. He groaned silently.
Ororo saw his look. "We will not ask," she said, going to the stacks of boxes against the wall and taking another one down. "Charles informed us that you knew someone who needed these things, and that she asked to remain anonymous. We are simply here to help you select things to take."
Kurt was glad for their help, and their respect for his privacy. "I cannot take much," he said. "Where she is living, she doesn't have space for a lot of things. I was thinking maybe a couple changes of clothes and some food would be all she had space for."
"Does she have anything to sleep on?" At Kurt's negative shake, Jean pulled a crumpled camp mattress from the box she was holding. "Perhaps she could use this then. The batteries are still in it, fortunately, or she'd have to plug it in." Kurt shook his head again. Jean looked at him. "She doesn't have electricity?" she looked at the things in her hands, at the carpet under her feet, out the window at the sprawling property, and murmured, 'I never realized how much we have, and how lucky we are."
They set to work with a will.