Banks of the Saginaw River 1840

Pennock Passmore wasn’t long on hope that the situation would sort itself out. He had set out for Michigan Territory filled with hope that he could secure enough new land for himself and his family but his days were now filled with dark and rot. He set his mind to grind through the days yet often Philip drinks whisky and gets himself into desperate spirits.

Phillip Metz, if that’s even his real hame, is the other shantyboy assigned to this section. He drools and wipes his lips constantly with the back of his hand. It’s a loathesome habit and Pennock hates him for it.

They are here for a year by contract.

Phillip has taken to drinking and arguing. It always starts over something like crumbs in the butter, the strength of the coffee, or the brightness of the light. Then it inevitably leads to stern crticism and then finally the black anguish of self-loathing.

But today was different. Philip, in a fit, struck Pennock. Up early drinking, Phillip, in his haste to use the outhouse, broke the latch. It would no longer stay closed at all. Pennock had hoped to fit a new latch but Phillip tore the toolbox out of his grasp and struck him soundly under the eye with the back of his hand. In that moment of violence with tiny burning stars swirling and nerves all firing in pain, Pennock imagined taking the spanner to Philip’s jaw, breaking all of his loathsome teeth. He imagined a cannon blast ripping the man to shreds, the cracking of bone, and the white of brain wet in the cool air. After a moment our Penock found reliefe as the feeling passed and he could take stock of himself.

Pennock never understood why violence surfaced in long-peaceful people until this moment. He asked God for forgivemess.

Over the next day, a brusied, black with wash of sick yellow that crept onto the lower lid of Pennock’s left eye and angry pain that sometimes shot into his teeth. Pennock said the Lord’s Prayer.

In his mind, at night, while Phillip’s wet snores kept Pennock awake he would just talk to God. Sometimes he asked why or confess his sinful anger and thoughs of bloody vengence. He would tell himself the story of David and Goliath, always rushing to the end. He imagined that stone leaving the sling, a making noise like an giant unholy dragonfly as it cut through the air. Sometimes he would make it hit square in Goliath’s forehead, sometimes it was the temple or the bridge of the nose but it would always hit hard enough to crack his skull with a little more force than the last time. When the giant fell he fell on rocks, or pikes and somtimes dogs would come and pull his head and body apart in a frenzy.

Autmn brought rain to the banks of the Saginaw. It was too wet for wagons, too warm for the sleigh. The shantyboys had to make their provisions last until some snow fell and the mud froze up. They ate pea soup with a sliver of salt pork. They ate beans with wild onions and musrhooms that sharp-eyed Pennock would find. Or he would hike up to the

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Philip, routing in the larder, knocked over some of the canning