Amity & Sorrow by Peggy Riley

Himself, but now it was broken.
    The Oracle bowl was there to show Sorrow the seven seals and all of God’s signs. She watched them, in its water, and spoke of what she saw to her father and his church. ‘Blessed is she who reads aloud the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, for the time is near,’ she’d say. Amity hadn’t known the bowl could be broken. She didn’t know it was possible to break such a thing, any more than it was possible to break a church or a family. ‘What do you see, Sorrow?’ Amity had whispered, but Sorrow had only stared at the blue shard, eyes wide.
    Mother dries her hand and strokes a finger down Sorrow’s cheek. ‘What shall I do with you, daughter?’
    Sorrow leans into it, so that Mother will cup her face. ‘Pray with me.’
    ‘No, Sorrow,’ but already Sorrow is taking her mother’s two hands and pulling her up. Already she is walking her in a slow circle, around and around before the fire.
    Amity itches for them to open their hands and take her into their ring. She wants them to spin her proper, but they will not. They cannot. She is a child still and cannot be spun. Only women and wives can spin in worship. Another rule.
    Now Sorrow and Mother speed their circle. Their skirts flare out and their clogs pump the dirt. They spin their circle faster and faster, twirl until they are a blur and the red dust rises to surround them like rusty angels. Amity watches as they fling their heads back, pulling hard against one another’s hands, and Sorrow opens her mouth in prayer. Then Mother releases her, so that she spins off toward the tree, toward the house, like a red dust whirlwind.
    Mother stops suddenly, panting, as if trying to catch her breath.
    ‘I miss this! Mother, don’t you? The temple?’ Amity hops to her, to catch hold of her hands and swing them. And then she can see that Mother has stopped because of the man, the man who has come from his fields to stare at them.
    ‘The dust,’ Mother calls. ‘Stop, Sorrow! Look at the dust we raise!’
    It coats the house boards, the railing of skirts and petticoats. Sorrow swings back around the house, spinning still, shouting her guttural prayer as she winds and wheels, caterwauling. Then she freezes. From above her, there comes a scraping sound, from inside the house. A window yawns open.
    ‘God,’ says the farmer.
    The devil, thinks Amity.
    Through the window there comes flying a large brown leather shoe. It drops square at Sorrow’s feet.
    The man stomps toward his house, then turns back to Mother, pulling something from his pocket and shaking it at her.
    ‘What’s this?’ Mother asks.
    ‘For your car.’ He crosses to the porch steps and Mother follows.
    ‘What do you mean for our car? You said you couldn’t fix it.’
    ‘Sold it for scrap. Got you some money – so you can go. Just go.’ He opens the screen door with a whine. He pokes the money at Mother and goes inside.
    Sorrow picks up the leather shoe and puts her hand into it. She waggles it at Amity. ‘I have the devil by his shoe. This is the devil’s house and he will hobble now, when he comes.’
    Mother looks at the screen, fists clenched, and then she plunges straight inside it.
    ‘Mother!’ Amity calls. ‘Don’t!’
    Sorrow drops the shoe and takes Amity by the hand.

    Amaranth is inside his house before she can be frightened of it. And then she is only angry. ‘Where are you?’ she calls. He has kicked his boots off. They lie, fallen, behind the sofa. Dirt from the treads lies like worm casings. ‘Bradley!’ she calls.
    He bounds down from upstairs two at a time, in his dirty socks. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
    ‘I’m sorry, I—’
    ‘You don’t just walk into people’s houses.’
    ‘And you don’t just sell people’s cars! You – you take this back.’ She holds out the sweaty ball of money.
    ‘I can’t.’ He walks past her into the kitchen and flicks a buzzing light on.
    She follows him in. ‘I didn’t