Effie Starr Zook Has One More Question

by Martha Freeman

  Effie nodded, then thought of something. “Have you lived here a long time, Mr. Yoder? Did you know my great-grandparents?”

  Mr. Yoder turned right once more. The truck ascended the Zooks’ long driveway. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you, Effie? But no. She died long before our family moved in. I grew up in Johnstown, but my little farm once belonged to my grandmother. I bought it back a few years ago. The story’s similar to your aunt and uncle’s, in fact.”

  Mr. Yoder pulled the truck up beside the yellow farmhouse. Aunt Clare and Uncle Ted must’ve been watching through a window because they came out the front door right away.

  Knowing it was probably hopeless, Effie tried one last time. “Can’t Moriah come over someday? Or I could come to your house when it’s more convenient. I’m a good guest. Honest.”

  “Visits won’t be possible, Effie,” Mr. Yoder said. “I’m gonna get your bicycle now, and then I’ll be going. You have a nice summer.” He swung out of the truck, raising a hand at the same time to acknowledge Effie’s aunt and uncle on the porch. Behind the beard, he might’ve been smiling, or not. A moment later, Effie had her bike. The last Effie saw of Moriah’s dad was a red, white, and blue sticker on the truck’s back bumper: BEARDS FOR AMERICA.

  I wonder what that’s all about, Effie thought. She had about a thousand additional questions, but her aunt spoke first.

  “Are you okay? What’s with all the Band-Aids? Please tell me you didn’t fall off your bike on the road. Your mother wouldn’t like it if I let you do that.”

  “Not on the road,” said Effie truthfully. “And I’m just gonna change my clothes if that’s okay.”

  “Go right ahead,” said her uncle. “And then come on back downstairs. You know what time it is, don’t you, sprite? It’s time for hors d’oeuvres!”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Effie washed in the upstairs bathroom, then changed her clothes. In her room, she noticed that the book she was reading, Pippi Longstocking, still lay in the chair where she’d dropped it to go save E.J. from Alfred the Goat. It was an ancient hardcover she had found on a shelf in the bedroom. On the flyleaf was a note written by the first Effie to Aunt Clare when Aunt Clare was a little girl: Dearest Clare, May you always be as brave as Pippi! Best love, Grandma.

  Effie had studied the note and even traced the handwriting with her finger. What had her great-grandmother been like? She was kind. She was sad. She believed girls should be brave. Her handwriting was round and loopy.

  When Effie got downstairs, her aunt and uncle were waiting for her in the parlor, which was across the entry hall from the dining room. Unlike the rest of the house, the parlor looked the same as when Effie’s mom and aunt were little girls visiting their grandparents: fussy, uncomfortable furniture. Gilded mirror. Striped wallpaper. Room-sized floral rug with a gold fringe.

  Uncle Ted jumped up when Effie came in. “One cherry or two, sprite?” he asked.

  “Two, please,” said Effie.

  In the corner of the parlor was a wooden cart with an ice bucket, bottles, and glasses. Uncle Ted dropped cherries into a glass, added ice and ginger ale, then handed the drink to Effie. Effie sat down on the little couch that the grown-ups called a settee. In front of her on the coffee table was a tray with slices of cheese, crackers, olives, and salted nuts—in other words, hors d’oeuvres.

  Effie hadn’t realized how hungry she was till she saw them.

  “Now, then, sprite.” Uncle Ted grabbed a handful of nuts and sat down beside Aunt Clare. “We have put you off long enough. What is it you want to know?”

  “Easy questions first, please,” said Aunt Clare.

  “What is Beards for America?” Effie asked.

  Aunt Clare nodded and sipped her drink. “I am no authority,” she said after a moment, “but I guess you would say it’s a cross between a political party and a philosophy.”

  “A political party is like the Republicans and the Democrats,” Effie said. “I’ve heard of them, so how come I’ve never heard of Beards for America?”

  “It’s tiny, only exists right here around Penn Creek,” said Aunt Clare.

  “The Facebook page has 157 likes,” her uncle added.

  “Is Mr. Yoder in charge?” Effie asked. “He has an amazing beard.”

  “I believe one of their ideas is that all men ought to grow beards.” Her uncle rubbed his own hairless chin.

  “What does that have to do with politics?” Effie asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” said Aunt Clare. “It’s just one of their ideas—precepts, they call them. Maybe they think that shaving is a waste of time and water.”

  “I think I know another precept,” said Effie, “one that goes like this: ‘Clean feet are happy feet.’ I saw it on a paper in the Yoders’ kitchen.”

  “Hard to argue with keeping your feet clean,” said Uncle Ted. “As for shaving, I think there might be symbolism involved. Have you ever heard of Samson and Delilah?”

  “Sure,” said Effie. “It’s a Bible story. Samson was a strong man, a warrior long ago. Delilah was his wife. One night she cut his hair while he was asleep, and when he woke up he wasn’t strong anymore. But that’s a story! Nobody really believes that hair makes you strong.”

  “Some religions require the men to wear beards,” said Aunt Clare. “The Sikhs in India, for example, and orthodox Jews. Amish men grow beards when they get married.”

  “I think Mr. Yoder might see beards as a symbol of strength—male strength, that is,” said Uncle Ted.

  “Well, then, he’s a sexist,” said Effie. She knew from school that a sexist believes one gender is better than the other. It was bad to be a sexist. Thinking about that, Effie remembered how Moriah got mad at E.J. for being stuck-up and sure of himself.

  “I don’t know if Mr. Yoder considers himself a sexist,” Uncle Ted said, “but maybe it’s significant that all the BFA members I ever heard of are men.”

  “There’s one more thing, Effie,” said Aunt Clare. “It’s difficult to explain, but here it is: Mr. Yoder claims that BFA was inspired by the ideas of your great-grandfather.”

  Effie was so surprised, she almost choked on a breadstick. “How can that be? Gus Zook was a great man. He wasn’t a sexist, was he?”

  “He was a great man,” Aunt Clare said.

  “And like Mr. Yoder, he had a great beard,” said Uncle Ted.

  “I’ve seen it in pictures,” said Effie.

  “But ideas can be slippery things,” said Aunt Clare. “Your great-grandfather had a lot of them. I think Mr. Yoder picked the ones he liked best, then added some of his own.”

  “Voilà!” said Uncle Ted. “BFA was born.”

  Effie fished a cherry out of her ginger ale, put it in her mouth, and chewed it thoughtfully. “If BFA is like a political party, does Mr. Yoder want to be president?” she asked.

  “I think his sights are set a little lower,” said Aunt Clare. “I think he wants to be mayor of Penn Creek.”

  “Are you serious?” Uncle Ted raised his eyebrows.

  Aunt Clare shrugged. “So says my hairdresser.”

  “He can’t possibly win,” said Uncle Ted.

  “He can if no one else runs,” said Aunt Clare.

  “Who’s the mayor now?” Effie asked.

  “Nobody,” said Aunt Clare. “The old one dropped dead shoveling snow last winter. The election’s in November, but most people can’t even be bothered to vote. I’d say Mr. Yoder has a good chance.”

  “Will you vote for him?” Effie asked.

  “I’d rather vote for a rattlesnake,” said Aunt Clare.

  Effie took a breath and tried to organize her thoughts. “I don’t get it. If Mr. Yoder admires Gus Zook, it means our families ought to agree on stuff. They ought to be friends. But you say Mr. Yoder’s worse than a rattlesnake. And it was really weird the way they acted when I was over there, like Zook is a bad word or something.”

  “Were they mean to you?” Aunt Clare a
sked.

  Effie shook her head. “Not mean. Just bossy. And I’m not allowed to see Moriah or go over there anymore—so that’s my next question. Why not?”

  “Oh dear,” Aunt Clare said again. Then she shot Uncle Ted a look.

  “It’s difficult to explain, sprite,” he said, “but what it comes down to is bad blood between our two families.”

  Picturing a bloody creek in the woods, Effie said, “Gross.”

  “ ‘Bad blood’ is a figure of speech,” her uncle explained. “In other words, long ago our families disagreed, and the disagreement is still causing problems, and everybody’s still mad.”

  Effie remembered a story from Sunday school, the one about Isaac and Ishmael. Their father was Abraham, but they had different mothers, and the mothers didn’t like each other. When the boys grew up and had families of their own, the families didn’t like each other either. There was bad blood between them, just like Uncle Ted was saying.

  “What did our families disagree about?” Effie asked. “Are you and Aunt Clare mad? Are my parents? Am I supposed to be mad too?”

  “Oh dear,” said Aunt Clare.

  Uncle Ted sighed. “Has anyone ever told you, Effie, that you ask a lot of questions?”

  “Pretty much everyone,” said Effie.

  Aunt Clare jumped up. “Would you look at the time? Shall we order pizza? Alternatively, we could order pizza.”

  Around Penn Creek, there were only three places to eat: the diner, which closed at three in the afternoon, and two pizzerias. You had to drive to pick up the food too—no delivery service. It was nothing like Brooklyn, where Effie was used to ordering any food she wanted anytime from her phone.

  Even though Effie was hungry, she had more important things than food on her mind. Was there some kind of family secret? If there was, Aunt Clare and Uncle Ted should tell her. She was part of the family. Why were the grown-ups acting so mysterious?

  “Wait a second!” she protested.

  But it was too late. Her aunt was pulling out her phone to dial a pizza place. Her uncle was clearing away the glasses.

  “We’ve got all summer to talk, Effie,” said Uncle Ted. “Right now I am going to set the table.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  Effie tried to Skype her parents before she turned out her light that night. Where they were, it was seven in the morning. They would be wide-awake and prepping for the big departure. The plan was for her dad to pilot Sunspot I first and her mother to fly on a commercial jet to meet him. At the next stop, they would trade off.

  Effie got no answer on Skype, only the singsong ringtone. She gave up, but she wasn’t worried. Her parents had warned her that connections might be unreliable. Still, it was a frustration. She had hoped maybe they would answer her questions about her family.

  Probably it doesn’t matter, she thought. They would have said they’re much too busy.

  On the wall above Effie’s bed was a world map. She and her mother had hung it up just before her mother left to go back to New York. Sunspot I’s route was marked in orange dashes. It started and ended in Abu Dhabi on the Arabian Peninsula. In between, there were stops in India, Burma, China, Japan, Hawaii, Mexico, and Morocco.

  “I’m leaving you pushpins, too,” Molly had told Effie. “You can plot our progress right here”—she put her finger on one of the latitude lines—“along the twentieth parallel. That will be fun, won’t it?”

  Effie had thought, Fun is the wrong word.

  Effie had said, “I guess so. Thank you.”

  Then her mother had pulled her close to say good-bye.

  Effie was usually brave, but this was hard, and she’d had to squeeze her eyes shut to stop the tears. “Are you sure I can’t go with you?” she asked, but her mouth was pressed against her mother, muffling her voice.

  “What?” Her mother let go. “I didn’t hear that.”

  Effie stepped away and sniffled. “Never mind. Have a good trip. Tell Dad I love him. Don’t forget to come back.”

  “I promise to come back,” her mom had said.

  By today—Thursday—there should have been two pushpins in the map. Instead, there was only the one that marked the starting point. Her parents had been delayed by sandstorms. But Effie shouldn’t worry, they had reassured her. There was wiggle room built into the schedule. They would still be home on time.

  With one last look at Abu Dhabi, Effie turned off her bedside lamp and settled back into her pillows. She had just closed her eyes when she was startled by a goose’s honk, the alert on her phone that meant a text from her dad. Effie fumbled in the dark and read: Wi-Fi out. All improving. Hope talk tomorrow. Lots love.

  • • •

  The big window in Effie’s room faced east, so the sun awakened her early. She felt better than she had when she’d gone to sleep. Overnight, a plan had formed in her brain. She would ride her bike to Penn Creek and have breakfast at the diner.

  When Effie’s parents had told her about spending the summer with her aunt and uncle, she had imagined doing farm chores. She would dress in overalls—same as Moriah Yoder did—spear hay bales with pitchforks, gather eggs and drive a tractor, pull weeds.

  But when she’d gotten there, her aunt and uncle had had other ideas.

  “I don’t mind helping you,” Effie had told them after the grand tour.

  “Oh, no, no, no, sprite,” Uncle Ted had said. “We didn’t invite you here to be a hired hand.”

  “We have plenty of help already,” Aunt Clare had said. “Two boys from down the road do the heavy stuff, and we bring in extra help for planting and harvest time.”

  “Your job is to have fun and get some R & R after a tough year at school,” Uncle Ted added.

  “Think of all the lovely peace and quiet compared to where you live in Brooklyn!” said Aunt Clare.

  Effie suspected that secretly her aunt and uncle didn’t want her help. After all, she didn’t know how to do anything useful. And it looked as though they didn’t have the patience to teach her. She was very glad she had asked her mother for a bicycle.

  Getting dressed, she thought of Jasmine. Going out to breakfast was something the two of them did on weekend mornings in the city. One of their moms would come too, or Jasmine’s nanny. Effie wasn’t allowed to do much on her own. But here in Penn Creek things were going to be different. Since her aunt and uncle didn’t know much about kids, Effie had the feeling she’d be on her own a lot.

  And in that case, she had better get used to it.

  From Jasmine, Effie’s thoughts drifted to Moriah. We probably couldn’t have been friends anyway. We probably are much too different. What would we have talked about? Goats?

  Downstairs, the clock on the stove said 7:02. Effie knew her aunt and uncle would be outdoors watering before it got too hot. She found them with the strawberries and told them she was going into town.

  “Good idea, sprite,” said her uncle.

  “Wear sunscreen,” said her aunt.

  Alfred must have heard her walk past on her way to get her bike because he looked up and bleated and gave her a nasty look. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.

  Then Boris hobbled toward her from the far side of the barn. He was preceded by the cloud of stink that was his special friend.

  “Gross,” Effie said, but she petted him and scratched his ears anyway. It wasn’t his fault he smelled the way he did.

  Effie got the bike out of the garage, tightened the straps of her helmet, tugged at her backpack, and thought of her parents. Earlier that day, if all had gone well, they would’ve been preparing to embark on an adventure too. Had it gone okay? Was her dad flying over the Arabian Sea right this very minute? Solar planes fly much slower than jet-powered ones. The first leg of the trip would take about twenty hours.

  She knew—without wanting to think about it—that if things went terribly wrong, her aunt and uncle would find out and phone her. If all went well, she would talk to her parents later.

  S
ame as the day before, Effie turned the bike left at the bottom of the driveway. Today, though, she was going about three miles beyond the Yoders’, and soon she had sailed past their mailbox. After that came a couple of dilapidated houses, a small dairy farm that smelled like Boris, an abandoned church with peeling paint, a blue house so new it seemed to have fallen from the sky, and a barn-red house, old and sagging, with a sign out front that said FIREWOOD.

  Effie had been to Penn Creek with her aunt and uncle, of course, but never by herself till now. The town’s northern boundary was the creek itself, spanned by a one-lane bridge. With no cars in sight, Effie rolled across slowly so she could take in the view of mossy boulders and dull green water below.

  On the town side of the bridge was a mini-mart with a neglected sign out front, its missing letters like missing teeth: AIT & T KLE & OL SOD . OME ON IN!

  Beyond that was a flat-roofed church made of stucco. In its parking lot was a similar sign, but this one had all its letters: GOD HELP ME BE THE PERSON MY DOG THINKS I AM.

  Effie was glad she had paused to pet Boris.

  Past those buildings, the highway became Main Street, with storefronts on either side, some boarded up. On the square in the center of town, the courthouse and city hall shared a building. Made of brick with a squat white bell tower, it had two stories but looked taller because of the steps leading to the entrance doors. Effie counted five people on the sidewalks that morning.

  Where is everybody? she wondered, thinking of the crowded sidewalks at home.

  Effie had entered Penn Creek from the north. The diner was located at the other end of town. The sign that ran the length of its roof read THE ALPHA AND OMEGA OF PENN CREEK.

  What does that mean? Effie wondered as she turned into the parking lot and rolled to a stop. Only after her feet were on the asphalt did she notice that the restaurant was dark inside, and no cars were around. A hand-lettered sign taped to the glass door explained: CLOSED FOR SUMMER VACATION. SEE YOU JULY 5.

  Now what? Effie thought, doubly annoyed because her stomach was growling. Stupid small town! She pictured a breakfast of peanut butter crackers and chocolate milk from the mini-mart. And what was she supposed to do after that?