The Sermonizer has been priest of Steamtown for a hundred years, presiding over weddings and funerals, delivering the Sunday sermon without fail.
Until today.
Pressure tank exploded overnight. Punchcards strewn everywhere.
Looking down from the equipment loft, I stare at Sermonizer’s marionette, slumped over the pulpit.
I climb down the stairs, and I lift it.
Not heavy at all, really.
I climb back up and tug at the support ropes.
Sermonizer wobbles to his feet.
“Dearly beloved,” I groan loudly.
Every child mimics Sermonizer in Steamtown, you know.
Clean up the cards, Deacon, and ring the bells.
Time for church.