American Ghost by Janis Owens Page A

but advised him with all seriousness, “Well, tell him to hush awhile. I’m moving as fast as I can. And who’ll take care of Daddy if I leave? Carl? A nursing home?”
    â€œJol—you’d have already moved to Savannah if things had worked out. He doesn’t want you stuck in Hendrix—and the term is almost over. I’ve got to get the camper back to Miami and file my great Indian study—and, shit, Jol, I don’t want to leave you. Let me talk to him, in private. If he doesn’t bite, I’ll give it a rest and come back after Christmas and try again.”
    Jolie finally gave in the weekend before Thanksgiving and let him call her father and request an official appointment with the pastor, like everyone else. Brother Hoyt didn’t realize the import of the request and had Sam meet with him in the same place he met anyone in need of pastoral counsel: in the sanctuary on Sunday afternoon, when it was deserted, in the first couple of pews. El Bethel was too small to have a vestibule and opened right to the pews from the front doors, and when Brother Hoyt came in that afternoon, early, after lunch, he was amazed to find Jolie there, too, sitting quietly at Sam’s side.
    He’d eaten dinner with her in the parsonage, and not a word of the meeting had been mentioned. Only when Raymond saw them sitting there together, looking so shifty and cornered, did he realize what was upon him. But he didn’t shy away from it, just sat down on the pew in front of them, Sam not making any mention of their afternoons at the river (heaven forbid), but just asking in all humility and sincerity for his daughter’s hand in marriage.
    The Old Man absorbed this incredible news with his usual calm, only asking one question: “D’you love her?” which was the same thing he asked all potential grooms, hardly ever the brides. In his experience, women were moldable to marriage and could be happy in any situation if there was security and love. Men were another matter. They had to start out in love, or it’d never last.
    Sam was quick to assure him that, yes, he loved her and went on to speak of his bright future in academics, even produced the letter from Professor Keyes that mentioned the teaching assistantship and handed it over the pew.
    Brother Hoyt hadn’t brought along his reading glasses and gave theletter the merest glance, then moved to his next question and asked if they’d set a date.
    â€œSoon,” Sam stammered, glancing aside at Jolie, who was sitting there, pale and quiet, not offering so much as a word. “By the first of the year,” he added, the nearness of the date making the Old Man sit up and take notice, actually turn toward his daughter and peer at her a long moment.
    â€œWhat’s the rush?”
    She wouldn’t meet his eye, and Sam hastened to answer, “Well, I have to be back at UF by January, to start the winter term.”
    Brother Hoyt’s eyes were still on his daughter, his expression not unkind, almost teasing. “Well, sister? Ain’t you gone say a word? You want to marry dis boy?”
    Jolie was more devastated by his kindness than if he’d railed at her and called her names, for she had an inkling that he knew about the camper and the river. Maybe not in detail, but he wasn’t an idiot, her father. He was a Hoyt. He knew about the mysterious lure of the fast-talking outsider, and all that it entailed. She couldn’t speak for a moment; finally answered in a small voice, “Yessir. But I don’t want to leave you.”
    Brother Hoyt didn’t argue, but nodded his head slowly, then reached over the pew and patted her leg. “It’ll be all right, baby. It’ll be fine.”
    And that was about it.
    He braced himself on the back of the old pew and came massively to his feet, handed Sam back his letter, and told him that he’d have to pray about it—for them to keep it to