The Bright Unknown

by Elizabeth Byler Younts

  “It’s time for me to go,” I said as we sat together.

  It was finally time for me to make my way to my aunt and into the unknown that was hidden with expanding and growing hopes. In the weeks since I’d lost Angel, I began to realize that my next steps would be alone. Hope and sorrow braided together into one path. But standing still was not an option.

  But oh, how I missed him. Where was he?

  When I’d been with Natty for nearly two months and Hope was a few weeks old, I accepted the money from the church ladies. They gave me new clothes to wear and many hugs and prayers and requested a visit back someday. And they told me that if it didn’t work out with my aunt, I had a permanent home there, with them.

  I arrived at the Brighton Depot with a shadowy black sky overhead. My fingernails were nubs. My jaw ached. My mind raced. My ears rang. More so than when I left Riverside and when I was about to meet Ezra. Maybe it was because this was my last hope, or maybe it was because an aunt was the closest thing to my own mother I would ever get. And maybe she would know how to find Angel.

  But what if she didn’t want me? What if she didn’t even live there, even though Ezra said she did? What if she was dead? What if by tonight I was still alone? Natty said I could come back. That she would take me in as long as I needed.

  But I had to take this chance. I’d given up everything for this—even chasing after Angel for now. My breath caught in my throat when my loss surfaced in my soul, and I swallowed to push it back into place. He was always on my mind. Every thought I had was hemmed in with wondering about him. Every sleepless night was filled with memories and tears like the scattered stars. Was he trying to escape? Or had he just accepted his new life? When I knocked on Margareta’s door and knew if she’d accept me in or not, maybe then I would know if it had all been worth it.

  I went to the ticket clerk and slid my aunt’s address to him.

  “Is this nearby?”

  He picked it up and looked through his small round glasses that sat at the end of his nose. He nodded.

  “Ithaca Drive. Well, it’s a bit of a walk, maybe ten blocks away.” He pointed past the depot. “For a nickel I’ll give you a map.”

  I pulled out a few coins and ran through my mind which one was the nickel. I found one—proud of the lessons I’d learned with Natty. He took it and slid a town map toward me. In a few minutes I found the depot on the map and then under the light of the train platform my finger traced the line of streets until my aunt’s road was at my fingertip. Ten blocks was nothing compared to how far I’d come. I wasn’t going to stop now.

  So I started walking. As I walked through the neighborhoods I could see shadows and outlines of people behind curtains of a few dimly lit windows. When I finally turned onto Ithaca Drive, I stopped and caught my breath. I was in what appeared to be a simple and quaint neighborhood. The tall ash trees hung over the road like a magical pathway.

  I inhaled and caught the scent of rich, damp soil, evidence of an earlier rain. Then I took a step off of the curb and crossed the street toward the house number Ezra had given me. A yellow light cascaded out onto the front yard. This house stood out from the rest of the gray shadowy houses.

  I didn’t have to look at the envelope with Margareta’s address because I knew the house number was 102 and the lit window was the place I had walked this long journey to find.

  In the dim light of the moon, with old wispy clouds passing over, I just stood there. I closed my eyes and imagined that when I opened them I’d find Angel ambling along and that he’d tell me that he had only been a step behind all along. A naïve dream, I knew. When I opened my eyes, I was still alone and my eyes burned brightly with tears that I blinked away.

  My eager toes wiggled in the shoes Natty had found in something called a missionary barrel. I was clean and looked unlike myself in the white blouse with lace at the cuffs and a blue skirt. I even wore stockings. Natty had cut my hair into a real style, and I had been taught how to fix it. I’d learned what Nell looked like. Perhaps I should’ve journeyed wearing the hospital gown with my hair hanging around my face—maybe that was the way my long-ago aunt should have met me because that was the me I knew. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. She was gone now. Lost and far away.

  I looked back at the house. The bright window. Then up to the moon, my only companion but for the little cross that was shining up there somewhere, reminding me to endure.

  Halfway up the sidewalk path, leading to the front door, I still didn’t know what I would say. How would I tell her who I was and where I’d come from? How would I even know that it was, in fact, my aunt? As I got closer, the strains of a piano came through the golden window. A ragged voice sang, and I waited at the front door until the song was done. It seemed rude to interrupt, and I liked hearing her sing. Then I took my chance to knock.

  At first I was afraid it was too quiet. But then I heard movement, shuffling, a creaky floor, something inside that had stirred at the sound of my knuckles against the door.

  When the rattle on the other side of the door sounded, I inhaled and almost ran away. The porch light turned on, then the door opened and there she was—a small woman, shorter than me, leaning on two canes. She had white hair that was cut to her chin and round, soft features. She didn’t look like my mother at all except in the shape of her eyes, but hers were brimming with life.

  “Hello,” she said musically and with a smile.

  My mouth was open, but nothing came out for a few beats.

  “Are you Margareta Friedrich?” I finally said softly.

  “I am.” She twinkled and smiled.

  “I’m—” I stopped. Who was I? “I’m Helen Friedrich’s daughter.”

  Her hand shook and went to her mouth with a gasp, and one of her canes hit the floor with a slap. She fell against the doorframe. Her other cane also fell. Her face twitched. And her tears were like stars as she opened her arms to me, and I bent close to her and rested there with my head on her shoulder. She was soft and warm, and she was my home.

  Then there was a shadow of a man behind her. I straightened and looked more closely.

  When he stepped out of the dim light, everything became bright.

  “I got away. I told you I’d never let you go.”

  He’d found his way back to me.

  Angel and I were finally home.

  1990

  All Because of Grace

  I’m not afraid to make my final stop anymore. The sun is half set by the time I get there, and the broken old buildings don’t scare me this time. I don’t need to creep around, but instead I walk freely onto the property that used to hold my soul. That used to hold me captive. But doesn’t any longer. Not me or anyone. The long grass brushes against my legs, and I enjoy the gentleness of it and I don’t rush the walk back to my haunts, back to the graveyard.

  From a distance I can see that many of the gravestones have fallen and it is in great disrepair. But as I get closer I realize that it isn’t the same place it used to be for another reason.

  Where once only dried grass and death had persisted now a meadow grows, bursting with color, not unlike the sunset that washes over me. Wildflowers now grow where nothing else could. The old ground has found a renewed purpose. The breeze rushes over the tips of the tall flowers and grasses, and they dance for me. There is new life. Uncultivated and rogue and unfettered. Free.

  Then I see him.

  He’s walking around to the front of the angel statue that he is repositioning back on the pedestal. The angel figure looks so small now—it is so much bigger in my memory. With his hands he brushes away old dust and dirt. He has a smile on his face.

  His ever-pure white hair moves in the breath of the evening air. He’s as handsome as he ever was.

  Angel.

  “You’re here?” I walk up to my husband, and he takes my hands in his. “But how?”

  “From the Pittsburgh airport I took a train and two cabs to get here.” He can’t drive because of his vision, so
he’s always finagling ways to get around. Nothing slows him down. “I knew you’d come here.”

  He takes in everything around us. I’m not the only one who needs to heal from those hard days.

  “You were amazing up there.” He looks back at me. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “How could I have missed you?”

  “There were a lot of people and I’ve learned ways of going unnoticed.” He winks, and it’s almost too innocent for a man of his age but so believable. “This was your promise to keep, not mine. I didn’t want to be a distraction.”

  He gestures with his head for me to follow. The dried-up grass against our feet is so familiar that I wonder if the blades remember us. The sun is setting off to our right, casting bright rays upward across the sky.

  “I found your mother,” Angel says, and we stop in front of a marker. “H. Friedrich.”

  We both bend over. In my mind the stone should be brand new because I’ve never seen it before, but it’s decades old, sun worn and chipped. I trace her name with my finger.

  “H. Friedrich,” I repeat, thinking of our old game. “Dirty blonde. Hums. And loves her daughter.”

  We sit together and I rest my head against his shoulder.

  “I’d like to move her. She should be buried next to Dad, Aunt Marg, and Rebekah Joy.” Angel and I had so many years with my aunt and my dad once he moved to Michigan. The four of us made quite a family before our own children came along.

  “Do you sometimes wish you’d kept in touch with Joann?”

  I don’t need time to think about this because this choice has been part of me for so long. “Knowing she was okay through Bonnie’s news was enough for me. I’m sad that she’s gone, though.”

  Cancer took her five years ago.

  The silence bears aged voices that say my name in that abiding and surviving way that reminds me that souls are eternal and our stories don’t cease to exist after death.

  “Kelly found Grace.” I tell him everything I learned about our friend as I gather a handful of wildflowers around me and put them by Mother’s grave.

  His sigh is so heavy it makes a hole in the ground. “She had joy.” He pulls me closer. “I’m so glad Kelly found her sister. Though I’m mortified that she had to experience those barbaric surgeries.”

  “I know.” We’re quiet for a while. “We’ve had such a good life, haven’t we? Mostly as Dr. Angel Sherwood and Nell Friedrich.” We both laugh a little, having had such angst about our names and making independent choices that worked the best for us.

  “We had to fight for everything,” he adds. “There was so much pain then, but there was always a light on our path to keep us from giving up.”

  I nestle closer to him, knowing all about slivers of light and the courage hope gives. But the losses have been great.

  “Oh, what a life Grace could’ve had if she’d never been admitted in the first place,” I say.

  “But if it wasn’t for Grace,” Angel suggests.

  “I never would’ve had all those photos and no one would’ve ever known them. Known you. Known me.”

  “If it wasn’t for Joann putting you in solitary, you might never have forged the relationship with Grace that you did.” He kisses the side of my head. “A lot of bad had to happen for us to have all the good in our lives. For the truth to be told. For people to know.”

  I nod. “Yeah.” My little word is featherlight in the air and travels around the graves, greeting them. My throat is filled with knots and tears and a bittersweet joy I can’t explain. For several long minutes we sit there. We don’t speak but let the voices from our past rise up to meet us, to welcome us, and to be grateful that we’ve shared so much life and love.

  Angel stands, but I don’t know if I’m ready. We could sit together on the dry earth and reminisce forever. I know we won’t be back. I know when I leave I’m done here.

  “Come on, Nell.” He puts his hand out to me and helps me up.

  I inhale and shake my head and speak the words I’ve longed to say since I was eighteen.

  “It’s okay now, Angel. You can call me Brighton.”

  Discussion Questions

  The Bright Unknown begins with an epigraph from Emily Dickinson: “I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.” How does this quotation foreshadow the story?

  Describe the relationship between Brighton and Nursey as compared to Brighton and her mother. How do both women fulfill the role of mother for Brighton?

  Why is Brighton reluctant to escape? What holds her back, and what is she afraid of confronting and leaving behind?

  When Brighton and Angel meet, they form a unique friendship. How would you describe the type of bond they have? Why is it different from her friendship with Grace and Nursey?

  Grace comes from an affluent family and is punished because she doesn’t want to keep their family secrets. How have you seen secrets dividing people and families?

  At one point in the novel Brighton wants to give up. She believes that letting her mind roam will be less painful than engaging with her reality. How do you understand Brighton in these moments? Where do you see yourself gaining strength when in the midst of sorrow and pain?

  Angel talks about feeling free among the Fancies and Fears because his differences are celebrated instead of demeaned. How does this ring true? If it is true, why would staying with the troupe have been dangerous for Angel and Brighton?

  Nell challenges the definition of normal. In what ways do you see society defining what’s normal or abnormal? Do these views help or hurt individuals?

  Mental illness and its treatment play an important role in The Bright Unknown. In what ways have views changed since the 1930s and 1940s? What stigmas exist that still need to be overcome?

  Do you believe that the novel ends with hope? Why or why not? What do you think happens next in the story?

  Acknowledgments

  With the completion of each book I’m always at a loss for how to really thank and acknowledge all the people who made it come together. It’s never a solo effort. Without so many this book would never have come to be. And more than with any other book I’ve written, I needed every bit of the light these people shared.

  To God, the Father of lights: Every reference to light in these pages is a reference to You and Your goodness.

  To my grandma-in-love, Joann: It was the true story you shared with me at my kitchen table that was the seed of this story. I honor you with this book.

  To my husband, Davis: You are my Angel, and you are the brightest person I know.

  To my daughters, Felicity and Mercy: You are both hope wrapped in skin, and the future is in your eyes.

  To my family: Your constant encouragement and persistent belief have been a buoy to me.

  To my agent, Natasha: You are Natty, delivering wisdom and love with great conviction.

  To my friend Kelly: You know what this book has meant to us. The path is bright and filled with grace.

  To my editor, Jocelyn: Your faith and confidence in this book carried me when I lacked the faith and confidence in it myself.

  To marketing and sales and Kristen for her cover design: You’ve all put so much of your wisdom, knowledge, and understanding into this book. I am humbled and grateful.

  To Julie Breihan: I am in awe of your editing ninja skills. Know that you were a bright spot in this book journey. Thank you so much for your hard work.

  To my friends: So many have gone out of your way to pray for me, encourage me, and help me spread the word: Alicia Vaca, Pam Weber, Carolyn Baddorf, Carla Laureano, Jennifer Naylor, Susie Finkbeiner, Carrie Fancett Pagels, Becky Cherry-Hrivnack, Jolina Petersheim, Rachel Linden, Amanda Dykes, and Cathy West and my launch team. Even if you didn’t realize it at the time, your kind words or simple messages have meant a lot to me.

  To the Community Evangelical Free Church Book Club, for your sweet encouragement and support. It was so unexpected, and I’m so grateful to call you my home church.

&nb
sp; And finally, to my readers. May each of you find the brightness and hope you need in your life. May it come from the Father of lights, and may you find peace within the lines of this story. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading.

  About the Author

  Author Photo by VPPhotography

  Elizabeth Byler Younts gained a worldwide audience through her first book, Seasons: A Real Story of an Amish Girl. She is also the author of the critically acclaimed novel The Solace of Water and the Promise of Sunrise series. Elizabeth lives in central Pennsylvania with her husband, two daughters, and a small menagerie of well-loved pets.

  Visit her online at ElizabethBylerYounts.com

  Twitter: @ElizabethYounts

  Facebook: AuthorElizabethBylerYounts

  Instagram: @ElizabethBylerYounts

  Praise for The Bright Unknown

  “A beautifully woven story of a young woman’s journey to understanding that the past shapes us but does not define us, and that it is love that gives us the courage to live like we believe it. With prose that is luminous and lyrical, The Bright Unknown is a compelling read from the first page to the last.”

  —Susan Meissner, bestselling author of The Last Year of the War

  “Elizabeth Byler Younts writes with heart, a poet’s pen, and courage. This I knew when I read The Solace of Water. This was reinforced with my reading of her newest offering. Younts has given us a story that is at once powerful and compassionate, revealing and dignified, heartrending and lyrical. Compelling and infused with hope of redemption, The Bright Unknown ushers readers on a journey of empathy. I, for one, am grateful to have read it.”

  —Susie Finkbeiner, author of All Manner of Things

  “With evocative prose and rich detail, Younts draws us into the humanity and hurt of a little-examined chapter in American history. Her poignant details will break open your heart, but with skillful beauty she makes Brighton—and us—whole again in this wonderful story of hope, grace, and love.”