Belles of St. Mary's

Belles of Saint Mary's

Chapter 2. From the Papers of Rev. Msgr. Thomas Kelly,

Diary Entry, Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time, 1917

So my time of exile up here in Houston is drawing to a close and at long last I have been ordered to return home to Gulfcoaston. The high and mighty Right Reverend Nicholas Gallagher is failing, he who has been so harsh on me and has permitted so much sin to spread. Ruler of the Catholic faithful for the best part of a quarter of the State of Texas whose reign is coming to an end. The word is out that Chris Byrne will get the cozier and miter. That was enough to nudge the Chancellery to call me back They know whose boy Fr. Kelly is. And they know that Bishop Gallagher's vendetta against me is over. So tomorrow I will fire up the Ford and do the three hour drive down to 20 ^th and Post Office and see what they can do for me at the Chancery. I want St. Mary's. And not St. Mary's in Texas City. I want St. Mary's at 14 ^th Street and Broadway. And with Chris coming into his own, I will come into my own. Concupiscence! The sin of rampant female sexuality will be beaten back. The bleeding wound of that circle of overweening women will be staunched.

The "Belles" of St. Mary's thought they were rid of me for good that day in 1899 when Bishop Gallagher sent me off the Island to St. Joseph's on the Brazos, a more godforsaken spot not to be had elsewhere in the diocese. But bishops are seldom appointed when young. They are appointed when old. And they get older. If one is patient the bishop changes his mind or the bishop loses his mind. And now my friend, my fellow seminarian, my boon drinking companion, is to be appointed Bishop of the Diocese of Gulfcoaston and I can come home.

Back to Gulfcoaston, back to The Island, back to where I started. Gulfcoaston was my first stop in America after I immigrated from Ireland and before I did my Theology in the Major Seminary in LaPorte. After I was ordained in 1897, my first assignment, Parochial Vicar, was to St. Mary's on Broadway. Not to Sacred Heart Cathedral downtown. I didn't have the political or social connections for that. But Sacred Heart on the East End of the Island was the second best vicarate that a graduate straight out of the seminary could hope for. An impressive establishment occupying two whole large square blocks on the northeast corner of 14 ^th and Broadway. A magnificent church, the construction of which was almost finished, designed by Nicholas Clayton, the foremost architect in Gulfcoaston, and Texas, and an Irishman to boot. A school, the oldest in Texas, founded in 1847. Twelve grades, one through eight of boys and girls and four years of finishing school for girls. A men's college, the oldest in Texas, fought over by six different religious orders since 1852. And a huge Convent for the many nuns and a small rectory for the three of us priests.

It's hard to imagine, even now-a-days in 1917 what it was like to be a Catholic priest in Gulfcoaston in 1897. Not today with the rise of secularism and the great storm of 1900 and the ascendancy of Houston. In 1897 Gulfcoaston was the bright center of life in Texas. Houston was a struggling swamp. Fort Worth was a cattle yard. Dallas was a prairie crossroads. San Antonio was a sleepy army post. Half of all college students in Texas were in Gulfcoaston which boasted two colleges – St Mary's College which was the oldest institution of higher learning West of the Mississippi and the Medical Department of the University of Texas. And the Dominican Sisters at St. Mary's were petitioning to establish a women's college. No other city had more than one college and most had none. We had more Catholic parishes than any other city in Texas, Sacred Heart Cathedral, St. Mary's, St. Joseph's for the Germans, St. Patrick's for the West End Irish, St. Peter's west of the city for the Mexicans, and Holy Rosary for the colored. Then there was the largest hospital in Texas, St. Mary's Hospital run by the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word and the biggest orphanage, way out on the West End run by the same Sisters. We had two high schools for girls (Ursuline and St. Mary's Dominican) and one for boys (the High School Division of St. Mary's College) and five elementary schools. We dominated the culture of this town to a degree that twenty years and several disasters later is hard to imagine. And this town ruled the state.

Guflcoaston! That's where I met the Belles of St. Mary's, for that's what they called themselves. They were the graduating class of 1898 of St. Mary's Academy.

Diary Entry, Monday, Sixth Week in Ordinary Time, 1917

The Chancellor has signed off on it and that doddering old fool, His Excellency Bishop Gallagher signed the writ. The change is official next week and I say my first Mass on Ash Wednesday. How wonderful – a call to repent, a call to penance, a call to mortify the flesh and restrain carnality. Vindication! I will start immediately on them as my first priority.

I remember them so well. Mary O'Brien, now married to John Kirwin. She was always the ringleader, tall with a head of flaming red hair, an ample bosom and a fiery temper. She was the first among the 'Belles of St. Mary's' and she must be the first that I must bring under control. For if I have her, then I have the other four. And once I have the five of them, all of the rest of the women of St. Mary's will fall in line. But if I cannot bring her under The Church's discipline, then all will fail. She is the key.

Then there were the other two Irish girls. One was Frances Connor who married into the O'Riley family. She was black Irish through and through. With thick black curly hair she was black Irish to the core. Of medium height she was just a bit shorter than Mary. Ah but she was large breasted, which elicited my lust for her tits. She was quiet but sullen. A totally nasty bitch. The third Irish girl was Kathleen Ryan who married into the O'Briens. She was totally unlike either Mary or Frances. Kathy was a blonde of short stature and quiet demeanor who was totally pleasant, unlike Mary and Frances her two bitchy colleagues who could drive you to bejesus. Ah, she may have been short but she was so pleasantly constructed, everything of a piece. Nothing too big, nothing too small and she moved with such grace.

Of the last of the five 'Belles', neither were Irish. The German girl, Elaine Gross had many of the same attributes as Kathy, blond and graceful but unlike Kathy she was cold. Elaine was a snow queen, of medium height but of a slight build and willowy, almost diffident. Her cold beauty attracted Kathy Ryan's brother Jack, I wonder what their marital relations are like for I fear that Elaine is as cold in bed as she is in person. The fifth 'Belle'. Lucia Maceo, was the complete opposite of Elaine. She was the first Italian girl to ever graduate from St. Mary's Dominican Academy. Although now I must admit that the high school is full of them. And in fact about the only non-Italian girls there are the daughters of the alumnae. Anyway, Lucy was short with thick black curly hair. I suspect that her nether regions must be a veritable forest. She had the most voluptuous body of the three, truly put here by Satan for the torment of men. The very embodiment of Concupiscence! And the loudest voice, beautiful in song and always laughing.

I it has been almost twenty years since they graduated from St. Mary's and almost 19 years since they almost destroyed me as a priest. I have not seen any of them in such a long time. I wonder how they have fared.

Today I began putting together my sermons for Ash Wednesday and the First Sunday in Lent. It will be a call to return to penance, to the mortification of the flesh, to a rejection of carnality. As the world is consumed in war, Satan rampages over the entire globe and Concupiscence reigns. We must face these times of peril, not in debauchery but in penance lest we too be torn apart as Britain, France, Italy, Germany, Austria and Russia are being. Unless we repent, all will come tumbling down around us.

Diary Entry, Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, 1917

They were there this morning at Mass. All five of them. With their daughters in tow. The O'Brien bitch, no I have to remember she is Mrs. Kirwin, even dragged her servants along to see the famous Msgr. Kelly. I wonder if they have been telling stories about me. It has been almost twenty years and yet the lust came welling up within me, just as strong. It was amazing, by and large, how little they have changed. Mrs. Mary Kirwin is obviously still the leader of them, she has aged a little but is still beautiful and imperious. Her haughty impertinence must be curbed. I asked her to stop by the Rectory tomorrow. The rest are all still beautiful. If anything Frances' breasts have grown even larger, I do not know how she manages to walk without falling forward. Kathy remains as vivacious as ever and certainly Elaine has not grown any warmer. None seem the worse for wear and childbirth except that Lucia has grown a bit fat which is certainly the curse of all Italian women. There seems to be something that happens when that blessed gold ring is placed on their left hand that just lays on the fat.

What was equally striking was the presence of their daughters sitting next to them. I could hardly count all the girls, did they bear nothing but daughters? Tomorrow I shall certainly have to talk to the Dominican Mother Superior and see how things are faring at the High School. But today was my first day as Pastor and there was so much to do. But I couldn't get the images of the 'Belles' and their daughters out of my mind. It was like a musical theme pounding away, giving me no rest and distracting my every thought. I must get these vixens under control or their Concupiscence will destroy my Parish. We must have discipline. All that I can see in my mind are bosoms and bottoms, bosoms and legs, thighs and bottoms. And Oh Sweet Jesus, the pussies, the twats, the cunts, the holes. Them and their daughters. I shall go insane if I cannot do something about it. I will break them and their carnality or they will break me.

Diary Entry, Thursday, First Week in Lent, 1917

Somehow, I managed to get through this day. The first thing this morning after Mass I visited with the Mother Superior of my Dominicans. I do not have a good feeling about this woman. She is way too full of her self importance and the importance of the Dominicans. They act as if they were the only order of nuns in this Diocese that counted. In reality they play third fiddle to the Ursulines who are the real power in educating the elite and the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word who run the hospital and the orphanage. The nerve of that woman! She smiled at me and I was gracious with her, but this matter bears consideration. And their discipline is absolutely awful! I asked how many girls were to be chastised this week and she looked me in the eye and said none so far. I asked her how many girls had been disciplined this month and she told me ten, eight had to stay after school and write out lines and two got five raps with the ruler over the knuckles. I asked how many had been spanked since the beginning of the semester and she looked shocked and said none. She said the girls were all generally well behaved and none ever needed spanking. Then we toured the eight high school classrooms, two rooms each for the freshman, sophomore, juniors and seniors. There was chaos and noise everywhere. Everything was a mess, everything was out of control. I must talk with Chris about this. And as soon as I am finished with this entry, I will write to the Irish Sisters in Limerick.

I talked with Mrs. Mary Kirwin. That went better. Still the flirt after all these years. She gave no indication of that which caused me so much suffering almost two decades ago. That which sent me from this Island. Maybe she has forgotten what they did to me. Perhaps they remember and conceal it deep in their hearts. Those 'Belles'. I addressed her always as Mrs. Kirwin and told her of my plans. Or of that portion of my plans that she needs to know. I praised her and her husband and said that I considered them the first family of St. Mary's. I told her that nothing was going to be accomplished in this Parish without their leadership and that I hoped that she would be willing to lead the women of the Parish this Lent. I spoke of my vision of a great returning to God, lead by the vision of his Suffering, Humble Mother. I told of how I feared the coming of war and what destruction it could do to our society. Of the terrible convulsion starting in Russia. Only humility and penitence could save us and only she could lead the women of the Parish in seeking The Holy Mother's intercession. She nodded her head throughout this. I am sure she was planning what plots she would foist on the Parish. I asked her what women she would most prefer to assist her. Not surprisingly she named Kathy, Franny, Lana and Lucy. Obvious, given the way the five of them, the 'Belles', have been joined to each other for twenty-five years. Imagine, the five society matrons of the Parish leading the "Return to Mary Penitential Program". The biggest tramps and party creatures of the Parish. I told her that her choices were excellent and that I would discuss the matter with their husbands at the next K of C meeting. Meeting with her, smelling her body beneath the masking scent of the perfume aroused me and tortured me beyond relief. I don't know how much of this oozing carnality I can stand. But I will endure it in order to bring chastisement to these haughty women. But I must take my time and proceed slowly.

Diary Entry, First Sunday in Lent, 1917

They were there, they were all there. Occupying the first pews in front, both sides of the main aisle and the front pews on both sides of St. Mary's. With their husbands. But no sons were present. Apparently, the 'Belles' had convinced their husbands to keep their families small and all stopped having children early. Between the five of them there were only four sons and all were off, three at college and one at boarding school. Imagine, good Irish and Italian Catholic families with no more than three children, four at most. The pernicious influence of these women was manifested by their failure to produce enough boys to ensure the continuation of their lines. All these bitches spawn are daughters, the offspring of Concupiscence. And yet I know that they were all pregnant when they were married. I could see the curse of Margret Sanger finally reaching into the Catholic Church through these 'Belles'. The 'Belles' would destroy our society by spreading the plague of birth control. They all looked so smug and well fed. And wasting their uncontrolled sexuality in sterile fornication. For married men and women who have intercourse using birth control are committing the sin of fornication.

I delivered one of the finest sermons I have ever given. And I am considered one of the finest, if not the finest homilist in the Diocese. When I was Pastor at Annunciation I would drive out to LaPorte twice a year to give the lectures on Homiletics at the Seminary. This morning I had the good people of St. Mary's in my hand. I gave my First Sunday in Lent sermon – the Eternal Fires of Hell. No Jesuit could have done better. I first discussed fire and burns. How you felt when you got too close to the fire and got a little red burn. Then how you felt when you got scalded with hot water. The pain, the blistering, the slow, dolorous healing that took several weeks. Then burning with sulfur. The choking, gagging, retching smoke. The deaths of the Roman martyrs like St. Lawrence, slowly roasted on a griddle. Jesuits, burned at the stake by the Indians. Flesh blackening and peeling off. Fat rending out and catching fire. Then I ran with their imagination. The torment of fire that ends not with the mercy of death but in endless torment. Torment wherein a thousand years is but the first second of eternity. I could tell I was having the effect I wanted. There were many red or pale faces in the congregation. Two elderly ladies fainted and had to be carried from the church when I thundered forth "And Why? Because of Unrestrained Carnality! Unrepentant, Unrestrained Carnality!". Then I dwelled on God's mercy, mediated through His Suffering Mother. It was only by kneeling before her in penitence that salvation lay. It was having its effect! Then after Communion I made "The Announcement". Every Wednesday, starting this Wednesday, there would be a penitential service organized by the ladies of the Parish, at 7:00 PM, here in the church. You could feel the low buzz that went through the church and I could see the 'Belles' all sitting a little higher and straighter in their pews. I felt the first twinge of relief I had experienced since last Wednesday. I would lead these women to repentance and penitence. The 'Belles' would be chastised and reined in.

Diary Entry, Tuesday, Second Week in Lent, 1917

Attended the K of C meeting tonight at the Council 707 hall. Afterwards I met with the husbands of the five 'Belles' and together we drank the better part of two bottles of excellent Irish whiskey supplied gratis by Lucy's brother, Sam Maceo. After a certain amount of good natured camaraderie I got down to the substance of my message. The biggest threat facing the Church right now was the lack of feminine discipline. There was no discipline being applied at the Dominican Girl's School and I suspect none in the home. I asked them when the last time was that any of them strapped their wives. Three of them were forced to admit that it was more than a year since they had applied leather to the backside of their wife. Then I asked them whether they felt they wives were appropriately submissive to them as St. Paul instructs. That remark caused two of the husbands to snort good Irish whiskey out their noses as they choked and coughed. They all had to admit that by five years into their marriages their wives wishes were being pandered to and no consideration was being given to them. I had the men where I wanted them. I passed out a pamphlet that I have had privately printed up. I asked them if they thought their problem was unique. They had to admit to me that they thought that they were making their own individualistic adaptation to marriage and that they didn't realize that they all had the same problem. I explained the ways that Modernist influences where undermining the family. How, these ideas originated in Europe and were being spread here because of the war. I led them to understand that women's rights, birth control, prohibition and Protestantism were all tied in together. We needed to restore the old Catholic values and quick. And female discipline was the place to start and Lent was the time to get going on it. I told them that I would get back to them on Thursday. In the mean time, read my pamphlet.

I also got a chance, today, to sit down and talk with Chris Byrne about the situation with the Dominicans. I told him how discipline had gone all to hell at the Girl's High School. I also explained that they were getting up on a high horse about how important they were. Chris opined that if I thought they were bad I should try dealing with the Jesuits. But he had to admit that the Dominican nuns were getting awfully expensive to use as grade school and high school teachers of girls, just too damn expensive. He asked me if I realized that the other day their Mother Superior stormed into his office and told him that she needed TWENTY DOLLARS A MONTH FOR EACH AND EVERY NUN! The Chancellor, soon to be Bishop mused that the diocese could scarcely long afford such extravagance. I told him that I could replace the Dominicans with some Irish Sisters of the Suffering Mother for $10.00 a month. Their Motherhouse in Limerick was willing to send them out as missionaries which meant that we wouldn't have to pay their passage over. They weren't as finicky as the Dominican nuns were about what they ate, you could put two of them in a room that one Dominican would turn her nose up at, and they were famous for their discipline. They were as stiff as the Christian Brothers, maybe ever stricter. Chris told me to see if I could get a commitment for about eighteen to twenty of them and if I could obtain them, we might just move the Dominicans up to Houston.

All and All not a bad day.

Diary Entry, Wednsday, Second Week in Lent, 1917

Tonight I delivered another sermon with as much impact as Sunday's. But this one exclusively to a female audience. Adolescent girls and women. Wives, mothers and daughters. No men except for me. Not even any altar boys. And St. Mary's was pretty well packed. Of course, I was well known as a preacher and last Sunday had them pretty well primed. As I had hoped, the 'Belles' were in the front pews with their daughters. As I preached I focused my gaze on them, looking deeply into their eyes.

I started off with corruption. I described death and the process of how a body decays. Rot and worms. The smell of putrefaction. The process that awaits us all, that awaits only the stoppage of the beating of our hearts. Corruption of the flesh, like your entire body being subsumed into a gigantic menstrual flood. Just imagine your flesh dissolving into menstuum and soaking into your burial gown. As that imagery sunk in a third of the women turned green and four had to go to the restroom.

Then I got into my grand style. But there is a hope, the possibility of life eternal. Bought for us by Christ's Passion Death and Resurrection. And what a price He paid. I went into the first part of the Passion in exquisite detail focusing on The Scourging at the Pillar. What it is like to be scourged? I asked how many had ever been spanked. Of course all the ninnies raised their hands. I asked if it hurt and of course all of them nodded. I asked if any of them were ever spanked with a belt or hairbrush on the bare skin. This time about three quarters of them raised their hands and there was the occasional blush of the cheek of some of the more tender females in the audience. I asked if that hurt. The nods were even more vigorous this time. Did it hurt more than being spanked over clothed skin? Oh yes they all agreed. Then I asked if anyone had ever been made to get undressed and then had a switch applied to their backside. This response was more tentative. A few hands went up. Come, I said, let's be honest. We are here in church and we are talking about the Salvation of Our Souls. At last about thirty hands were raised, about a tenth of the females present. Their faces were almost all scarlet with shame at the image and the memories that the raising of their hand brought to mind. I stared at them carefully, noting who had raised their hands. You can be sure that none of the 'Belles' or their daughters had raised their hands. "Alright," I said, "you who have suffered that pain, stand up!" The silence was profound as they shuffled their feet and finally stood. "Was that pain almost more than you could bear?" there were nods of ascent. "Let me hear what you felt, was it more than you could bear?" A few yeses were heard. "Louder, I cannot hear you clearly". Now the yeses were heard throughout the church. I had them in my hands.

"And you were just getting the switch. Christ was stripped and He was whipped. He wasn't just hit with a switch, He was beaten with a Roman flagellum, the most terrible implement of torture in the world at that time. Four feet long with four to six strands. At every six inches along every strand, not a knot but a lead ball. The flagellum as not designed to hurt. It was designed to wound, to tear flesh. The flagellum was designed to kill. He was bent over the Pillar and tied down. And then two soldiers took their whips and they began to strip the flesh from His back and His buttocks and His sides and His legs. After a dozen strokes all of the skin was torn off and the blood really began to flow. Blood spattered all over the place soaking the sands. At one point the Apostle Paul was threatened with the flagellum. He managed to talk his way out pointing out that he was a Roman citizen and only non-citizens could be subjected to such terrible torture. There was no way he wanted to emulate Christ in this matter. Roman flagellation was terrible. At twenty lashes you lost control of you body. Your urine ran from you and your bowels turned to diarrhea. That's one of the reasons they stripped you, so that your clothes weren't soiled. That would lessen their value when they were sold. You wouldn't need your clothes when they were finished because people who suffered a Roman scourging died. Why do you think Christ lasted only three hours on the cross. Because he was half dead when they crucified him. So you, standing there, you think that you endured the worst punishment you ever had. IT WAS NOTHING! In comparison to what Jesus suffered your suffering hardly drew blood. You cried I'll bet. Some of you probably screamed. AND IT WAS NOTHING IN COMPARISON. That was probably the last time in your life that you really desperately were sorry for what you did wrong. Because when you got that hiding you had done something really bad. You were being punished for it. And you deserved it. AND IT WAS NOTHING COMARED TO CHRIST'S SCOURGING." At this point I dropped my voice to a whisper. "And he had done nothing wrong. He did it for you. To save you the sinner. And what have you done to make up for it." At this point I told those standing to sit. I asked them to examine their consciences in silence for five minutes. To contemplate what they had done wrong. To imagine what it would be like to be stripped. And then bent, naked, over a stone and tied hand and foot with all of the body exposed and vulnerable. And then to imagine, waiting for the scourge. Imagine the first blow, the shock, the jerking of the body. Imagine the worst chastisement they had ever suffered and now go way beyond that. And keep remembering your sin and that Christ was innocent. He had no need for chastisement unlike you the sinners. Now kneel and in silence imagine your penance." I left the pulpit and gave them five long minutes of quiet to contemplate their sins and punishment before I returned and finished the service with the litany.

Diary Entry, Thursday, Second Week in Lent, 1917

Well the artillery shells land today. Delivered to each of the homes of the 'Belles' was a package addressed to the master of the household. Inside each was a sturdy strap, made by Gulfcoaston's finest saddlerer. Each was tailored to the behind of the appropriate 'Belle'. Some were larger than others. Mary's and Lucy's were the largest to suit their ample buttocks. Almost two and a half feet long from base of handle to tip. Over two and a half inches wide and almost one quarter inch thick made from the finest well oiled industrial belting with a varnished wooden grip. With a special note inside from me from me to the husband. The strap destined for Elaine was the lightest and supplest harness leader, designed to curve around her slender thighs and slap the sides. Or curl around her buttocks to land in between her white, wide spread legs so that the tips could strike her in that most intimate of spots and thaw the ice. Elaine's is barely an inch wide and is almost an eighth of an inch thin but it is over thirty inches long. Kathy and Frances will be chastised with straps in between these two extremes, two feet of two inch wide strap. I hope that tomorrow these straps will find full employment.

Diary Entry, Second Sunday in Lent, 1917

Todays sermon was on the Temptations of Christ, hunger, pride and lust for power. A classic Lenten Gospel and a classic Lenten sermon. Turn the rocks into bread, throw Yourself from the top of the Temple and the angels will bear You up, worship me and all the world is Yours. As I developed the sermon I brought round in their lives to the sins of carnality. In particular, the way that the Modern World is tempting them to the sins of the body. Lascivious fashions and birth control. I actually sent a copy to Chris Byrne seeing as these are two of his favorite topics. He particularly gets off on the increasingly scanty bathing suits seen down of the beaches of our town. Glorification of the Flesh, he likes to fulminate. I finished up by returning to my theme – the corruption of the flesh can only be counteracted by the mortification of the flesh. Sin must be fought by discipline! And lent is the time to rein in carnality. The Time Grows Short.

As I spoke I looked out at the 'Belles' sitting with their families in the front pews. Did they look more uncomfortable than usual. Did they fidget on behinds that were still sore from Friday night. Had their husbands finally exerted their authority over the passions of their unbridled wives. Mary Kirwin definitely looked a little paler than usual and both she and her two daughters blushed a bit when I thundered on about mortification of the flesh and discipline and reining in carnality. Then I caught Mary's eye and she glared back at me with frank hatred clouding her face. I may be winning. Lucia Maceo Dorabella definitely looked uncomfortable as did Frances and Katherine. Franny in particular looked stormier than usual. I definitely think that there is something going on. But Elaine, her face is set like stone, a grim determination is seen. She looks directly ahead and not at me at all. Well, we will see.

Diary Entry, Tuesday, Third Week in Lent, 1917

Another Tuesday at the Council 707 hall. Tonight it is Officers and Committee Chair meeting. Afterwards I meet with the five husbands and we once again are indebted to Mr. Maceo's generosity with his bottled goods. John Kirwin is red-faced and jubilant. He can hardly conceal his triumph over his harridan wife. She didn't like the idea at all, he said. But the religious arguments had less to do with it all than the potential loss of social standings if she disobeyed. On Friday night things went exactly as I had instructed and for once it was clear who wore the pants in the Kirwin family. Yes his younger daughter had given a bit of a fight at first, but he put her down with a firm hand and his wife did her duty with the strap. It was the best time he had had at home in probably close to fifteen years. John was going to make sure there was another disciplinary session this coming Friday.

Ed O'Reilly and Paul O'Brien allowed that although they were initially skeptical, it had gone better than they had thought. Paul said that Kathy took her punishment docilely about as he expected she would. But he was surprised when after her spanking she showed some real fire when he performed his husbandly duties. Perhaps it was because Paul took care to "curl a few onto the sweet spot" which really lit Kathy up. He thought that it was her best performance in years. At this point John Kirwin piped up and added that Mary performed like a bitch in heat for once and then grew silent with embarrassment as he realized that I was there. I reassured him that it was nothing that I hadn't heard in the confessional and furthermore, hadn't I written in the pamphlet that one consequence of enforcing Marian Discipline was that properly chastised wives took their wifely duties much more seriously. At this point Ed added that he thought that Frances would be her usual moody self and resist him imposing discipline mightily. But I must have said something on Wednesday that really got to Frances. For once she was docile as a lamb. Michelle was the one who resisted being spanked, she claimed she had done nothing wrong. But the head-strong girl had come around after a sound slap to the face. Ed also remarked that Frances had also performed her wifely duties with enthusiasm. Which was particularly unusual because she was just coming off her 'monthlies' a time when Ed O'Reilly usually tip-toed around the house. I made a mental note that Frances was one of the four ladies that had made a bee-line for the Ladies Room on Wednesday when during my sermon I described their flesh decomposing into menstrual blood. Have to remember use that metaphor again.

At that point Nuncio Dorabella butted in excitedly jabbering with enthusiasm in that comical Italian accent of his. He recounted how Lucia had made a scene when he put 'da belt' to first the three girls and then her. There had been shouting and screaming until finally he had ripped the nightgown off of her, twisted up her arm behind her back, laid her prone over the end of the bed, and laid into her with 'da belt'. After about twenty blows she finally settled down into sobs. But when he started in with 'da banga banga' she started to squeal like 'da pig getten da nife'. Nuncio knew that the sounds would readily carry the short distance to the homes of his brother in laws on either side of him and he worried what the Maceo brothers would do. They were known to be men of violent tempers and if they thought he was abusing their sister Nuncio, might end up feeding 'Da Crabs". As it turned out, the next morning on his way to work, both of the Maceo's congratulated him on "Properly Porking Da Puta". They said that at times they were worried about his manliness but that last night showed he really did belong in the family.

Throughout all of this Patrick Ryan had sat quietly and a bit downcast. Finally, toward the end of the evening and after several glasses of Jameson's, he got it out. Elaine had rejected him and had locked herself and the twin girls in the bedroom. Pat was at his wits end. Everyone consoled him. I, however, showed the wrathful face. I told him that the situation was intolerable and that I expected to see Elaine and him in my office, Thursday morning right after Mass. I would put some sense into Elaine's head, or other parts, just you wait and see. His friends told him "buck it up" and we all left in a jovial mood.

Well that goes to prove that you can never predict about women and the ways in which they will react. I would have figured that Mary Kirwin would have been the hard case. But her love of social position overcame her willfulness. And John Kirwin is a powerful man, large in stature and the dominant Catholic businessman on this Island. On the other hand, Elaine Gross Ryan remains the ice queen, manipulating her husband. As I suspected, their conjugal life must be terrible. This will be a challenge that must be dealt with immediately before the resistance spread. I was excited by my success. The first phase of my campaign against the willfulness of the 'Belles of St. Mary's' was successfully under way. As I lay in bed that night all I could think of was their chastisement last Friday. Images of leather straps hitting white buttocks and turning them first red and then purple floated through my brain. I felt a thrill unlike anything I had known in the past several months. Stiff I was but I tossed all night without permitting myself release. I was working myself into a frenzy for the Wednesday night service.

Diary Entry, Wednesday, Third Week in Lent, 1917

This evening's Lenten Retreat For Women had gone better than I had any right to expect. I preached about Piercings and Submission. Christ, pierced by a Crown of Thorns; Mary, pierced through the heart with the Sword of Sorrow and how they endured their Piercings as Submission to the Will of God. They were Obedient even unto death. I focused first on the feelings of piercing. Looking out over the women assembled in the church I asked those who had ever been stuck by a rose thorn to raise their hands. Of course they all responded. Then I asked those who had ever been really stuck by Bougainvillea to stand. About one third of the audience stood, chuckling as they did. They had obviously encountered the hideous thorns of the colorful vine that was so common on the Island. I asked them whether the one to two inch thorns of the vine were that much worse than the thorns of the rose. Again they laughed. I noticed that Elaine Ryan was sitting in the front row with her two daughters. Well at least Patrick Ryan had succeeded as far as getting his wife to attend tonight. I looked directly at the blond woman and pointed my voice at her, a talent that any really good homilist has. Now imagine what it would feel like to have a crown made of Bougainvillea pressed into your flesh. Imagine those thorns slowly entering your skin, first the skin dimpling as it is poked and then finally the skin giving way and the thorns entering the flesh as the droplets of blood ooze out. Ah Hah! She looked into my eyes and I had her in my gaze. Then I told everyone to sit and contemplate the following image.

I began to discuss submission and obedience as the counter to the sin of willfulness. I said, "If you are poked with a Bougainvillea thorn, what do you do. You back way. You know that if the thorn is pressed into the flesh hard enough, it will pierce the flesh so you withdraw. But if I tell you to push the thorn into your flesh will you obey. Probably not. Why? God sat there stoically as the Crown of Thorns was pressed into His brow. He did not flinch or withdraw. He was Obedient to the Will of God. Could you do the same? Could you take that thorn and put it up against the skin of the most sensitive part of your body, say your nipple or your private parts, and press it into the skin until the thorn entered the skin and through the skin into the flesh. Could you press that thorn until you drew blood. Keep that image in your mind. We know that the Blessed Virgin pierced her breast with a sword that went through her heart. A sword of sorrow for the sins of the World. For your sins. They weren't her sins for she was without sins. She went and bared that breast that had suckled Jesus and held the tip of that metal to her skin and pushed. For your sins. She was submitting herself to the Will of God. And yet are you willing to submit. Sit there and for five minutes think about your sins and your willingness to submit to The Will of God and imagine thorns piercing your most tender flesh." I went over and knelt down at the prie dieu to give them time to mull over the images.

Then I launched into the core of my sermon. "How many of you are willing to submit to the Will of God, to emulate the Blessed Virgin Mary. How many of you, so full of sin are willing to be obedient just as She Full of Grace, was obedient. Stand those who are willing." Mary Kirwin and her daughters shot up. Frances and her daughter shot up. Kathy and her daughter stood up. Lucia and her three daughters shot up. Here and there throughout the church, women quickly stood up, often dragging up a daughter by the arm. The others looked around, a bit puzzled but as they saw who was standing up. They saw that the rising women were the ones who really ran the Parish. So they also began to stand. Elaine, her lips set grimly, looked around and eventually, reluctantly, she also stood. And as the twins saw their mom stand, they also stood. I continued, "Think about the Virgin Mary, She Without Sin. When the Archangel Gabriel came to her what was her reply to the Annunciation. Was it, well I'll think about it. Was it a quest for guarantees. Did she want to know what was in it for her? No! It was 'Be it done unto me according to Thy will!' That was her reply. Submission to the Will of God. Fifteen years old, a virgin, no thought of marriage even in her head. 'Be it done unto me according to Thy will.' And she was sinless. You, the sinners are called upon by God to Repent. You are called to penance for your sins. You are called upon to submit to chastisement for your guilt." I looked at Mary Kirwin and pointed at her. "What is your reply" I asked. She shouted out "Thy Will Be Done Oh Lord!". Somehow I have gotten through to that lady! I am winning. I addressed the congregation of wives, mothers, daughters with arms outstretched asking "What is the response of you the sinful." The response thundered "Thy Will Be Done Oh Lord!". I could see Elaine, head down mumbling. I raised my voice and pointed it at her, "What do you say!". They replied "Thy Will Oh Lord!". I glared at them and bellowed "No that is not your will. Look around you, which of you spurn your husband's commands. How many of you wallow in the sin of willfulness. You seek your own way, the way of pleasure and will submit to no one. You are your own god, you are making your will into the image of your god. Penance and obedience are not your way. Look around you, who will submit to penitence!" Elaine's head was deeply buried in her chin and her face was starting to blush while the women around her were getting more and more agitated. Now I pointed my voice at her and bellowed out "Look at me! I am calling you to contrition." Elaine looked up and I caught her in my gaze. I had her. "You have jabbed another thorn into the pierced brow of The Lord with your cold willfulness. You have thrust that sword a little deeper into the Breast of the Holy Mother with you disobedience. Tell me, will you not instead withdraw a single thorn the smallest fraction of an inch with your penance? Will you not instead remove that steel from the Virgin's Heart by being humble and submissive like she was!" I had them all in my hand and even Elaine seemed to melt a bit. I came to my conclusion, "Who of you are willing to obediently suffer pain and humble yourself before the Lord or will your willfulness condemn you and the one's you love to the fire that burns forever. Sit and think upon this as the final mediation." I let them go for about five minutes before we did the litany. Tomorrow, I would have Elaine in my office the first thing in the morning.

As the church let out a young woman in a black dress approached me, I recognized her as one of the Cajuns in the Parish. Mrs. Jefferson spoke with that particular cadence that makes their accent so pleasant. She admitted to me that she, widowed in her early 20's with no children, was full of sin but had no husband to submit to, to obey, to be humble before. What has she to do? While she was talking, another woman, obviously of Irish extraction also came up and said that her husband was away at sea for the past two months and would be for another six months. Similarly, what was she to do? I told them to come to the Rectory tomorrow at eleven in the morning and the three of us would talk about it together.

Diary Entry, Thursday, Third Week in Lent, 1917

I have to admit that because of my exhaustion I quickly fell asleep on Wednesday night despite my excitement and the turgidity of my loins. My private parts were still crying for release when I awoke this morning but fortunately my cassock obscures my problem from the gaze of others. The events of today have not lessened the problem and I do not know how much longer I can avoid manipulating myself to relieve the stress and strain.

Right after Mass I walked into my office and the Ryan's were sitting there already. I closed the heavy oak door and sat behind the large desk. They were each sitting in the low, heavy, leather covered armchairs that stood in front of my desk. Elaine was obviously reacting to the emotional turmoil of the past seven days. Her eyes were rimmed with red from crying and her face was flushed. However, I declined to be moved by her prostration and maintained only the sternest face. I began by questioning her about her commitment to the Catholic Faith. At the first question she broke down completely sobbing violently. I was bemused that someone who had maintained the iciest façade for so many years could be so emotional. I grasped her firmly under the chin and raised her head to look into her eyes. Why are you acting like this I asked. She said nothing but only cried all the louder. Finally, in exasperation I grabbed her by the blond hair done up on top of her head. Pulling hard I shook her head severely. She stopped crying and finally looked me in the eyes. "What is the matter with you", I began. "You are a married woman, almost forty years old, with two daughters and you are behaving like a small child. You refuse to obey and submit to your husband. You are endangering your own salvation. Your example is leading your daughters astray. I cannot tell how long it will be before you become a scandal to this community. What do we need to do? Should I send you off to St. Mary's Hospital so that your family can have so peace? What is the matter with you woman?" She sniveled and snorted and blew her nose in her handkerchief. "I am afraid and I don't want to be hurt." she sobbed. "You are a cold and willful woman who needs to be sternly chastised for her sins" I replied. "And your husband is just the man to do it if you are willing to be obedient to him. For all too long you have belittled and defied him and now the consequences are coming home to roost. I am all too certain that you need to be separated from your daughters for the sake of their immortal souls." Her sobs returned with a vengeance and she began to shake. "O please, God no, please, please" she pleaded. "Well then, do you know what you have to do?" I said. She shook her head. "Does that mean that you don't know what to do or does it mean that you are unwilling to do what needs to be done?" I said. She mumbled, "I don't, hic, know what, hic, to do, hic.", her speech interrupted by hiccups. I sternly said, "For your penance you shall be beaten by your husband." The cries redoubled and she cried "I don't want to be hurt." I replied, "All you life you have known the consequences of spoiled willful behavior. Suffer penance here on earth or burn in hell for all eternity." And looked up at the beautiful painting of the Sacred Heart on the wall. "Well, what will it be" I said.

I just sat there and said nothing for almost ten minutes and Patrick Ryan did the same. Finally Elaine, blew her nose again and mumbled "OK". I pulled open the center drawer of my desk and removed a strap that is called a Tawse by those sadistic Presbyterian heretics, the Scots. It was all of leather, without a real handle and over two feet long. The end was divided into two tails, each about eighteen inches long and each going off at a slightly separate angle. The tawse was, in my opinion, one of the handiest implements for female chastisement ever invented. I began by saying, "Woman, last Friday you refused the discipline of your husband and led your daughters to do the same. That must be remedied immediately. Tomorrow, you can receive any chastisement your husband sees fit to administer weekly in the home. But today, right now, you must suffer discipline for what you did last week." This speech only increased the sobbing and honking of the blonde lady. I commanded her, "Woman, stand up and remove your drawers." She just sat there and continued to cry. I got up and nodded to her husband. I went over and took her hands by the wrists and drew her up to a standing position. I looked at Patrick and told him to remove his wife's underpants. As he squatted down and began to reach up under her skirt and petticoat, she shook her wrists free of my hands and went "Harumpf". With that she reached up and lowered down her white cotton bloomers. She had to sit down in order to get the white ruffled elastic leg openings over her high button shoes. I told her to put the undergarments into her purse. She complied, having clearly crossed the line into acquiescence. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, we are beginning to get through to this lady.

Having succeeded in getting Elaine to remove her drawers I instructed her to stand in back of the armchair, lift up her skirts and bend over. After some half-hearted efforts, I snapped at her, "Elaine, well above the waist, get on with it." She was wearing one of those combinations of shirtwaist blouse and long, high-waisted black hobble skirt that are so fashionable now-a-days and as we shortly saw, only the briefest of corsets. Therefore, the skirt and petticoat were capable of being hoisted for a considerable distance above her buttocks, revealing legs that although a bit slim for my taste, were none-the-less very beautiful. And the nicest blond muff was revealed between her legs for a brief time before she bent over the back of the chair. This presented her pretty behind to her husband, hoisted high above a pair of black stockings, gartered well above the knee. I handed Patrick the tawse and told him that two dozen, administered with Irish zeal would be appropriate.

Patrick did a good job. Years of frustration melted from his face as he pummeled the behind of the snow queen. I was actually amazed that once it came down to it, Elaine took it well. I suspect that her German father had frequently welted that behind when she was young. She only sobbed softly as the tawse whistled and cracked its way, starting in the center of her globes and working its way up and down leaving one inch wide red marks that quickly developed into welts. After six, I instructed him to stop and switch sides. He was going a bit too fast and needed to slow down a bit so that she could catch her breath. Patrick waited almost two minutes before the whistling and cracking started again. This time he was forced to stroke her ass backhanded. After another half dozen I pointed out to him that he needed to extend his strokes over, so that the tails of the tawse curled around and struck the flesh of the sides of her thighs that was still unmarked. I also advised him to extend his art work all the way up to Elaine's belt line and down to the tops of her stockings so that the benefits of his discipline covered as wide an area as possible. Believe it or not, Elaine became calmer as the beating continued. By the time Patrick got to two dozen she was hardly sobbing although virtually ever inch of exposed skin was reddened and the central portions of her behind was turning purple. I had her lay there, bent of the sofa for some time after Patrick stopped and watched her buttocks clench and unclench.

At this point I sent Patrick out of the office to bring in their sixteen year old twin girls, Elizabeth and Evangeline. They had been deposited on the wooden chairs outside my office about fifteen minutes before by one of the Dominican sisters who had brought them over from the high school. They had been listening to the noises coming out of my office, for although the rectory was solid brick and the oak door to my study was thick, their mother Elaine was at times making a considerable noise. And the sound of a woman being beaten is so distinctive that even the vaguest sound is unmistakable. The girls were shaking with fear when Patrick brought them in and a glance at their mother, kneeling in the corner with naked buttocks on the verge of bleeding, only served to increase their fear. I asked them if they had been instructed last Friday by their father to disrobe and receive punishment. They nodded their heads. I asked them if they had obeyed. They shook their heads no. I asked them why they had disobeyed their father. They replied, in voices so low that they could hardly be heard, that their mother had told them not to. I told them to look at their mother, over there in the corner, kneeling in contrition and asking God in a sobbing voice for forgiveness. With tears beginning to well in their eyes, they turned there heads and took a look at a sight that clearly moved them. Moved them not so much with pity for their suffering mother, as with dread at what was soon about to be their fate. A fate their mother could clearly not shield them from. I asked them if they knew what they should do and they nodded in the affirmative.

What happened next surprised me. Without further prompting, they began to undress. Both were wearing identical light pink pinafores with a pattern of little red roses and ruffled bibs, over white drawstring blouses. Almost simultaneously they unbuttoned the backs of their pinafores and drew them over their heads, folding them and placing them on the chairs. Similarly the blouses were untied and pulled over the heads, folded and placed on the chairs. They wore highly ruffled petticoats, over relatively long shifts with lace on the shoulder straps. Being still relatively young, they wore no corsets. As the petticoats were dropped and the shifts lifted off I was surprised how developed the girls were. The mother had always been rather skimpily endowed by nature. Even at sixteen, the girls breasts were considerably larger than their mother's. For a moment they stood there with there arms crossed over their chests covering their breasts as if imploring to be spared the indignity of having to strip off their drawers. But, I, heartless, said, "Get on with it". As they began to step out of their bloomers I added "you can leave your shoes and stockings on" for I had a hunch that they were so cowed that they would have removed even these unless otherwise instructed. Soon enough they were bent over, one each to a leather chair having only so briefly shown a flash of sparse yellow pubic hair. I guess that if there is anything in this life that I love, it is the sight of that flash of a young girls pubic hair and legs in white stockings as they fearfully prepare to receive their just chastisement. That and the sight of their labia peaking out between those slightly spread, trembling, pale white legs as they bend over, awaiting the first blow of strap or switch.

The girls being ready, I summoned their mother from her corner, telling her to let her skirts drop. I handed her the tawse. Elaine had stopped crying but her blue eyes, human once again, were still full of tears. "Do I have to do this," she asked. "Unless you want me to do it, and as you know, I will not be gentle. One dozen each." I replied. "And remember, for every stroke I judge to be pulled, they will receive two extras by your hand and you will receive half a dozen extras by my hand. And I will not be gentle." I added. The girls were now starting to quietly cry in anticipation of what they were about to receive. I have to admit that Elaine did a creditable job. She pulled not a single stroke, not wishing to subject her daughters to added punishment. And the girls held up as well as any slim, blonde sixteen year old does under such conditions. Elaine delivered her strokes evenly, spreading them out. Three to Beth then three to G'line, then three to Beth and three to G'line, switching sides as she went. The girls cried as their beating went on and toward the end twitched and flinched as their backsides grew redder. But it was not a severe beating as such things go.

When the punishment was over and the girls were allowed to stand up, they rubbed their reddened backsides vigorously. This thrust their loins forward provocatively. But they were unconscious of the display they were makin, as their primary interest was in quelling the burning on the posterior side of the body. With their hands tightly applied to their buttocks their breasts were also fetchingly revealed. Tomorrow evening they and their mother would face the routine weekly penitential discipline I had decreed that their father administer. But by tomorrow the twin's backsides would approach the evening's chastisements with little more than mild bruises. With any luck their buttocks would be no worse than slightly black and blue by Saturday morning. Their mother on the other hand would probably have severely bruised skin on Friday. A proper application of the strap on Friday night could leave her buttocks torn and bleeding. Well she deserved it. The girls were told to dress and return to their classes. But we were not finished with Elaine.

Once the girls were out the door I instructed Elaine to once again hoist her skirts and bend over one of the leather chairs. I slapped her badly bruised buttocks sharply with my hand and told her to spread her legs more widely. She clearly was puzzled and fearful, but was clueless as to what would happen next. She had already been beaten until her backside was on the brink of bleeding and her perineum was badly bruised and swollen. What else did we have in mind? I bent over and examined her perineum. I spread her labia with my fingers, pinching them wickedly as I did so. Elaine gave a yip and squirmed. I expounded "It looks as if she has been without proper conjugal joining for some time." Straightening up I looked at Patrick Ryan and said "Do you think you can do anything about this, while I go and get a cup of coffee." He nodded and was unbuttoning his pants as I left the room, closing the door behind me. I stood outside the door to my study for a moment, listening. Even through the thick wood I could hear her yelping. Having that swollen pussy ploughed must have been rather painful. Those yips and yelps sounded just like the noises of a bitch in heat being set upon by a pack of dogs. I could hear Patrick starting to grunt as I walked off to get my coffee. Yes there are parts of being a Pastor, of bringing and unhappy family back together, that are supremely satisfying. Even if they do nothing to relieve that damned tension in my loins. I must find relief.

After the Ryan family, the meeting, half an hour later with the two ladies from last night was anticlimactical. I asked if the ladies were frequent in their confessions and they were. Confessing to one of my assistants at least once a month and sometimes once a week, sort of prepared them for Communion they said, but not really. Neither had any children. Mrs. Jefferson was young and badly missed her husband who was killed while loading cotton onto a freighter in the harbor. Married at seventeen and widowed at twenty, she didn't know what she was going to do with her life. She was not yet ready to begin the search for a new husband and she still longed for her Joe. Every night Mrs. Jefferson's body burned with unrequited lust that she could not control. Mrs. O'Brien, another one of the multitude of the O'Briens, had not seen her husband in a couple of months and it would be many more months before he returned from sea. She also married at seventeen but in their ten years of married life they had never had any children. Mrs. O'Brien worried that her sins and her failure to do penance for them properly were causing her sterility. Both women were troubled, troubled by their thoughts, troubled by waking up in the night. They go to confession but three Our Fathers and three Hail Mary's and three Glory Be's just doesn't seem to bring relief.

I said that I was very new here as a Pastor and that I couldn't fix everything at once. However, I would be forming a new Sodality of Mary as soon as I could get some help, probably early this summer. The women of the Sodality would have me as a confessor. But since these two ladies needed immediate help I would see what I could do for them. I will arrange a special penitential service for them, Friday night at 8:00 PM. They were to be in the church. I will make sure that the door on the north side of the church was open. Yes the one toward the front. They should enter the church and go to the front pew, just to the right of the center aisle. Kneel there, say your prayers and wait for me. The penitential service would probably last several hours so they should not expect to be home early. I gave them each several of my pamphlets. They left satisfied. I would make sure that on Friday night they stripped, and were strapped, and were whipped until the blood flowed vigorously. Both of the women had large breasts and I suspect that those bosoms would need some attention. That will keep them quiet for at least a month. Now what can I do about relieving the torment of my own loins?

Nothing that happened the rest of the day could match my morning appointments. I must admit that this was just about the most fascinating day I have had since becoming Pastor here at St. Mary's.