Spring 1844 – Waiting on His Mistress’ Whispers

The golem turned its head. It was an eerie thing to watch. Though sculpted to appear to be a man; it was still sculpted. It had no muscles, no flesh, no skin stretched over inner workings. The clay moved. 

Father hopped back, putting himself out of the golem’s reach. He clenched his fists. 

I said, “Stand aside Father. I carried my hammer across an ocean. Let me put it to use.”