Punish the Sinners Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Maybe you should,” the priest agreed. “He was a fascinating man. Believe me when I tell you that he never had any troubleat all in determining what was, and what was not, in conflict with the Doctrines of the Church. If you ever have any doubts about what to teach your class, consult St. Peter Martyr. Or me, for that matter. The sin of pride aside, I have almost as fine a sense of right as St Peter did.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind,” Balsam said dryly, and wondered if the priest had heard him. They were near the front door now, and Monsignor Vernon seemed lost in thought.
    “You know,” he said, as he opened the front door, “I was just thinking. I have a study group—pretty informal, for Neilsville—that you might be interested in joining. Particularly if you want to find out more about Peter Martyr. He’s our favorite saint. Or have you drifted completely away from such things?” He looked with a sudden intensity into Peter Balsam’s eyes. Balsam met the priest’s gaze for a moment, then broke away from it
    “Not completely,” he said uncertainly. “But I think it’ll have to wait I’ve got a lot of preparing to do for my classes.”
    “More than you know,” Vernon said in a tone that made Balsam look inquiringly at him. Seeing the confused look on Balsam’s face, the priest continued. “We decided it should be the junior class that got first crack at the psychology course,” he said. “And in the junior class we have four girls who will undoubtedly all want to take your course.”
    “The four who were playing tennis?” Peter asked, acting on intuition.
    “Those are the ones,” the priest said darkly.
    “Should I be worried about them?” Balsam asked.
    “That’s up to you,” Vernon replied. “But a word of warning. They’ve been almost inseparable since they were tiny, and most of the sisters have found the only way tohandle them is to split them up. Otherwise they band together, and your class becomes nothing more than a gossip and note-passing session. A drawer in my office contains nothing but the notes that have been confiscated from them over the last nine or ten years. Someday I’m going to read them all, just to see what they always think is so important that it can’t wait until after class.”
    Balsam felt a twinge of concern run through him. Teen-age girls had always made him uncomfortable, and the prospect of confronting a close-knit band of them terrified him. But he wouldn’t let his fear show.
    “Thanks for warning me,” he said, “but my instincts tell me it should be interesting to have all four of them in a psychology class “
    “And you always follow your instincts?” Monsignor Vernon asked.
    Balsam looked at him steadily. “No,” he said quietly. “Not always.”
    “Good,” the priest said. “Then you should fit in well here.” And before Balsam could reply, the priest had quietly closed the rectory door.
    For a long time, Peter Balsam stared at the dosed door of the stone house. What did he mean by that?
    But there were no answers in the stone façade of the rectory. Slowly, Peter Balsam started down the slope that would take him back into the heart of Neilsville. As he walked, he didn’t see the town at all. All he saw was an image in his mind. An image of the statue in his classroom; the statue of St. Peter Martyr. It was a warning, he was sure. But of what?
       From his window in the rectory, Monsignor Vernon watched Peter Balsam make his way down the hill. It would be all right, he decided. He hadn’t been sure, butnow that he had talked to Balsam, he knew. Now that Peter Balsam was in Neilsville, everything was going to be all right again.
       As he made his way down Main Street, the sense of foreboding that had come over Peter Balsam on his arrival in Neilsville rose again, and he wondered what had happened to his resolve. He had intended to tell Pete—”Monsignor,” he corrected himself—that he wasn’t going to stay. But he had