Effie Starr Zook Has One More Question

by Martha Freeman

  “Good morning! Good morning!” called a man’s voice from the top of the stairs. “Why,” he said when he saw her, “you’re Miss Zook, aren’t you?”

  Effie realized she had seen the man in the crowd at the BFA booth at Fourthfest. In a sea of T-shirts, his neat polo had stood out. Also, he was one of the few men there without a beard.

  “Good morning, uh”—she squinted at the name tag on his lapel—“Mr. Barnes. Do I need to buy a ticket?”

  “No charge,” said Mr. Barnes. “When your great-grandparents donated the building, they also donated money to sustain operations.”

  “I didn’t know they donated the building,” Effie said.

  “Oh my, yes.” Mr. Barnes was a young man with light hair. He spoke fast and moved with birdlike quickness. “Mr. Zook was a great man, a wonderful civic booster, and very generous. Are you here to learn more about him?”

  “And my great-grandmother, too,” said Effie, “but I’m sure the other exhibits are also excellent.”

  “They are,” Mr. Barnes agreed, “but the average person is more interested in the inventor of the barf—that is, the emesis—bag than in the regional history of alfalfa production. I assume you already know the basics of your family story?”

  “I know Gus Zook was a great man,” said Effie, “and his wife was kind. And I know that because of his patent on the invention, my mom and my Aunt Clare get 1.7 cents for every emesis bag that’s ever sold.”

  Mr. Barnes’s eyebrows shot up. “Why, there must be millions of emesis bags sold!”

  “Many millions,” Effie agreed. “And I have a question if it’s okay. Do you know anything about bad blood between the Zook family and the Yoders? Bad blood means something bad happened a long time ago and everybody is still mad. Since this is a museum, I thought you might have ‘long time ago’ covered.”

  Mr. Barnes frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said. “And frankly, bad blood would surprise me. You may not realize what an admirer Rob Yoder is of your great-grandfather. He’s delved into our Zookiana archive more than once.”

  “Zookiana?” Effie repeated.

  “By that I mean Mr. Zook’s papers and effects,” Mr. Barnes explained. “We have the world’s most comprehensive collection—even if there is a gap in the record.”

  “A gap? What do you mean?”

  “Sadly, we don’t have a lot from Mr. Zook’s later years,” Mr. Barnes said. “It happens. The family doesn’t recognize the historic significance of a piece of paper or photo; things are lost or thrown away. We in the museum game are used to it.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Effie.

  “I am too,” said Mr. Barnes, “but rather than getting maudlin over what we lack, let’s focus on what we have. If you like, I could give you the same speech I give to the school groups. Then you can tour the exhibit on your own.”

  “I would like that,” Effie said. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Barnes stood up straight and looked over Effie’s head as if a crowd were in the room behind her. “Can you hear me all right?” he asked.

  “Just fine,” said Effie.

  Mr. Barnes cleared his throat. “Gustavus ‘Gus’ Zook was born in 1910 and grew up at nearby Zook Farm, which is still in the family and still a going agricultural concern. As a boy, Gus displayed a talent for engineering, and in time he left this rural redoubt for the bright lights of Pittsburgh and its educational opportunities. In college there he met Effie Tsikitas, who would become his wife.

  “Gus Zook’s young manhood coincided with the early days of commercial aviation. As he climbed the career ladder in his chosen field of engineering, this self-described country boy availed himself on numerous occasions of this innovative and efficient mode of transportation. Each time he did so, he discovered to his dismay the unfortunate consequences of having been born with a delicate stomach.

  “Gus Zook was only twenty-six years of age when he took sharpened pencil to paper and drew the specs for a safe, sanitary, inexpensive, and compact container that would lessen the sufferings of air passengers such as himself—a safe, sanitary, inexpensive, and compact container that would become, with further refinements, the emesis bag all of us know and love today.”

  At this point Mr. Barnes, obviously awed and humbled by Gus Zook’s achievement, paused and bowed his head. Effie, who had been to plenty of Broadway shows, recognized the cue and applauded.

  Mr. Barnes raised his eyes and looked to the far distance. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “The rest, as they say in academe, is history. Enjoy your visit today. Donations are gratefully accepted. Please feel free to visit the gift shop conveniently located to the rear of the building by the restrooms.”

  “Oh, wow—there’s a gift shop?” said Effie.

  “It’s really just a rack of postcards,” Mr. Barnes confided. “My particular favorite shows the original plans for the emesis bag. Twenty-five cents, or five for a dollar. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to working on my project upstairs. Call if you need me.”

  Effie thanked Mr. Barnes again, took a breath, and went through the doorway to the Zook Room. There seemed to be butterflies contending in her stomach. Maybe now she would get answers.

  CHAPTER

  19

  The Zook Room was dominated by a portrait of Gustavus Zook himself staring down from over the fireplace. In the picture, the great man leaned against a fence with his arms crossed over his chest. There were black goats in the background. He was dressed in a blue work shirt, jeans, and boots.

  Effie had never seen this painting and studied it for a moment. Her great-grandfather had had the same round blue eyes as her mother and aunt, the same apple cheeks and square face.

  More striking than any of that, though, was his abundant, light brown beard. Effie couldn’t help but think of Rob Yoder. Did her great-grandfather resemble him? Or was it only that they had similar beards?

  Effie sighed and shook her head. This is not good, she thought. I have more questions now than I did before.

  In the middle of the room were a settee and chairs, uncomfortable like the ones in the parlor at Zook Farm. On either side of the fireplace were bookcases. Along the window wall and the one opposite were four glass display cases. Framed pictures, paintings, and maps hung here and there, some labeled and some not.

  Posted at intervals on the walls were text panels, each one telling a portion of Gustavus Zook’s life story. The information on the first one, “Childhood,” was familiar. Gus was an only child, his parents had farmed, his father had had a knack for machinery and eventually opened the town’s first garage and auto repair shop.

  In the first display case were white leather baby shoes, an embroidered christening gown, a faded certificate for good citizenship from Penn Creek Elementary School, and two handwritten report cards, one from second grade and one from fifth. Gus Zook’s grades, Effie noticed, were no better than her own—and she wasn’t even a genius inventor!

  Between the report cards lay a class picture. Effie counted eighteen kids in two rows standing solemnly on the steps in front of the school. They looked to be about Effie’s age, maybe fifth or sixth grade. Bangs were popular. The girls and the teachers all wore dark dresses; the boys wore jackets and white shirts. Gus Zook was identified by a white arrow drawn on the glass protecting the picture.

  To Effie the kids all looked similar except for one, the girl standing next to Gus Zook. She was black.

  Maybe that’s Mr. Odbody’s grandmother, Effie thought, Sadie Pendleton. Has Mr. Odbody been here? Has he seen this picture?

  Also in the case were front pages from the local newspaper. The one from 1917, when Gus had been in second grade, was headlined US ENTERS THE WAR ON SIDE OF ALLIES. The one from 1918 said KAISER SURRENDERS!

  The last thing in the case was a well-worn mitt displayed with a newspaper page. The headline read, PENN CREEK FLASH ON FIRE! The article began, The Red Flash crushed Bellefonte last night in a 7–0 rout that als
o saw standout pitcher Gus Zook come within a fare-thee-well of a no-hitter.

  Effie grinned. I guess I inherited my throwing arm from Gus Zook, she thought, even if my looks all come from Effie.

  Effie was moving on to the next display case when she heard the front door open, then the ding of the call bell.

  “Holy crumb! More company!” said Mr. Barnes as he came down the stairs.

  Effie took a step back and looked into the entry hall. “Hey!” she said, all smiles. “What are you doing here?”

  Moriah smiled back. “Same as you.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  Moriah’s mom had a dentist appointment. Moriah had talked her into a trip to town. When Moriah found that Sadie’s was closed, she had tried to think where Effie might go. There weren’t many places in Penn Creek where a kid could hang out. She had checked the diner first and then the museum.

  “Do you know what happened to Sadie’s?” Effie asked.

  “I was hoping you did,” Moriah said.

  “So I take it you girls know each other,” said Mr. Barnes. “And I believe you’re Mr. Yoder’s daughter? I had the pleasure of talking to him at Fourthfest. He’s a friend of the museum, you know.”

  “He is?” Moriah said.

  “Oh my, yes. He has such good suggestions. I assume you’ve been here before, Moriah?”

  “Field trips,” said Moriah.

  “Then you’ve certainly heard my little talk. Would you mind terribly if I went back to work upstairs? We have funding for a new exhibit: ‘Men’s Grooming in Pennsylvania, Early Trends.’ ”

  The girls said they’d be fine on their own, and Mr. Barnes left them.

  In the Zook Room, Moriah asked, “Why do you think Sadie’s closed all of a sudden?”

  “I hardly want to think about it,” Effie said. “Now what will I do all day? Also, I’m worried about Mr. Odbody.”

  “Why?” Moriah said.

  Effie told her how Chop Suey was still at the store. “So Mr. Odbody left in a hurry,” Effie said. “And it’s crazy, but yesterday I told my aunt and uncle that I’d been hanging out at Sadie’s. Did they cancel his lease, do you think? Did they do it all of a sudden because they found out I was going there?”

  “That can’t be right,” Moriah said.

  Effie shook her head. “Another question I can’t answer.”

  Moriah’s eyes were drawn to the big portrait. “Your great-grandfather’s beard is like my pa’s,” she said.

  Effie nodded. “I noticed that,” she said. “I like it here, do you? The old-timey-ness is interesting, the newspapers and stuff. I guess I like history.”

  “Me too,” Moriah said. “What answers are you looking for exactly?”

  “Clues,” said Effie. “At Fourthfest Mrs. McMinty said something about legal drama. Does it have anything to do with what happened between our families, the bad blood? The grown-ups are keeping secrets, Moriah. I want to find out what.”

  Moriah knit her brows. “Maybe it’s something we kids shouldn’t know, Effie. Papa says—”

  “I know all about what your papa says,” Effie interrupted. “He thinks kids have mush for brains. But he’s wrong, Moriah. Kids should ask questions. We deserve answers, just like anybody else.”

  Effie hadn’t meant to be rude, but Moriah made a face like she’d been slapped.

  Oh, no—she’s going to cry! Effie thought, and got ready to apologize, but before she could, Moriah got mad. “You’re from New York City, and you have rich, famous parents, Effie, and I’m just some kid who lives on a farm. But I’m as good as you, and my pa is plenty smart, and I don’t have to be your friend if I don’t want to.”

  Effie said, “Moriah . . . ,” not knowing exactly how the rest of the sentence was supposed to go. The way it turned out, it didn’t matter. Moriah turned her back and headed out of the Zook Room and out the museum’s front door.

  Effie was left all alone, breathing hard and feeling slapped herself.

  Who wants her around anyway? she thought, trying to calm down. She and I could never be real friends. We’re too different. Her family’s too crazy.

  The museum door closed with a click, and Moriah was really gone. Anyway, I don’t have time for friends, Effie thought, wiping her eyes. I am much too busy.

  As if to prove it, she stared back into the display case. For several moments, though, the items she was looking at refused to make sense. It was easy to say you didn’t care and you didn’t need friends. It was hard to make yourself feel that way.

  At last, though, Effie’s brain allowed itself to be distracted. There in front of her were Gus and Effie’s caps from college graduation, their wedding notice from the Pine Creek Weekly, and a California picture postcard, propped up so both sides were visible.

  The photo was an orange blossom. Effie had to walk around the case to read the note on the back, handwritten in small, precise print: Dear Ma & Pa, The weather is always beautiful here, and the orange blossoms on the trees smell nice. But it ain’t home! Warm regards from Effie. Love, Gus.

  Grandpa Bob’s birth certificate from Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles was also in the case. Robert Gustavus Zook had been born at 6:11 a.m. on December 1, 1939. He had weighed seven pounds, six ounces, a pound less than Effie herself.

  Later, he made up for it with all those seafood platters, Effie thought.

  The newspaper headlines were about breadlines and bank runs, migrants from the dust bowl, the German army in Czechoslovakia. There were photos of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt.

  Framed on the wall behind the case was a drawing of a barf bag, including dimensions and manufacturing specifications. Effie remembered what Mr. Barnes had said about Gus Zook’s sharpened pencil. The round, loopy writing was faded but legible. Included was the chemical formula for a “vulcanized water-repellant coating.”

  On the wall next to the sketch was a printed museum label: This is the original design for the emesis bag, sketched when Gustavus Zook was a resident of Los Angeles, California, and later patented by him.

  The great man’s life story continued on the next panel: World War II saw dramatically increased demand for emesis bags to ensure the comfort, hygiene, convenience, and safety of thousands of Allied airmen. While Mr. Zook occasionally expressed disappointment that none of his other inventions were enjoying comparable success, he took heart in knowing his work had made a special contribution to the Allied victory.

  A photo in the third display case showed Gus, Effie, and Robert smiling beside a big black car in the driveway of this very house. A later photo, dated 1950, showed the family in the driveway of the pretty yellow farmhouse. Father and son were smiling, but Effie the First was not. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at the camera. She was looking to her left, toward what was now Moriah’s house, as if a noise in that direction had disturbed her.

  I wonder if maybe she heard Boris’s great-great-great-great-great-grandfather barking, Effie thought. I wonder if something was after her goats.

  The final display case contained mementos of her great-grandparents’ good works in Penn Creek: scissors from the ribbon-cutting that opened the new museum; a test tube from the new science lab for the high school; ribbons from county fair 4-H Club auctions. It seemed that Effie’s great-grandmother had bought more than her share of prize-winning goats.

  By this time Effie had read a lot and seen a lot. All of it—not to mention Sadie’s being closed and Moriah being angry—made her head spin. There might be clues right in front of her nose, but at the moment she was too stupid to decipher them. You have to forget Moriah and forget Sadie’s, she told herself. You have to think!

  The fifth panel of Gus Zook’s life story began: Gustavus Zook approached the personal, political, and societal challenges of the late 1960s and the 1970s with characteristic flexibility of mind, creativity, and goodwill. Sadly, many of his ideas were so far ahead of their time as to guarantee misunderstanding by those with lesser vision. Along with . . .
>
  And that is what Effie was reading when the sound of an opening door interrupted and she looked up. From where she was standing, she had only to turn her head to see the new visitor.

  Uncle Ted?

  “Oh, Effie, thank goodness!” he said. “I thought that was your bicycle. I’ve been looking everywhere.” He waved her toward the door. “I have some news, but I don’t want you to worry. Your aunt is setting up the Skype call. Everything”—his voice caught—“is going to be fine.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  Effie hardly knew what she was doing as she walked outside and climbed into the truck. Her uncle got in. They fastened their seat belts. He started the truck and steered it out of the parking lot. Effie didn’t trust her voice to speak until they were on the Penn Creek Bridge.

  “What happened? Are my parents all right?”

  “How about,” her uncle said hopefully, “if we let your aunt explain when we get home?”

  “I want you to explain now,” Effie said. “Please.”

  The road hummed beneath the truck. Uncle Ted shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “Something went wrong with the plane, and—”

  Effie wanted to hear the rest, but she couldn’t because somebody was crying. Only when Uncle Ted handed her a tissue did she realize she was the somebody. The second time through, the words sank in. Her mother had been flying when Sunspot I lost altitude over the Pacific. Her distress call was relayed to the US Navy. The nearest rescue vessel was on its way to the plane’s last-known position.

  “That does not sound good,” Effie murmured.

  “Your dad was able to monitor most of the descent,” said Uncle Ted. “He told your aunt it was controlled. So that’s a good thing.”

  “Where is Daddy?” Effie asked.

  “En route from Japan to Honolulu,” said Uncle Ted. “The signal was poor; that’s why what Clare found out is a little muddled. When he lands, I’m sure he’ll Skype so he can talk to you.”