The White Dove
Author: C.B.Colby


Many years ago in an Alabama village there lived a man
and his wife who were supremely happy together. After
years of wedded bliss the wife became very ill, and
nothing could be done to save her. On her deathbed she
announced to the family and servants that she would
return to the garden in the form of a white dove so that
she could be with her husband in a place where they
had known such true love and happiness. Moments later
she died.

Years passed, but no white dove appeared to carry out
the dying wife's promise. Eventually the widower fell in
love with another woman and decided to marry her and
bring her to the big house to live. On the day he carried
his new bride between the white pillars and into the
house. a white dove came fluttering in to the garden and
perched upon a white snowball bush by the gate. It
uttered long, low moans as though it were heartbroken.

Every afternoon it returned to moan and sigh on the
snowball bush. The servants were upset and frightened.
Sure enough, they thought, the first wife's promise had
been carried out! Eventually the second wife heard the
story and she too became disturbed. Soon people came
from the village and from neighboring plantations to
stare over the garden wall at the dove on the snowball
bush. The new wife grew nervous and ill-tempered and
the happy home began to crumble. The husband, fanatic,
decided upon drastic action. Legend or no legend, he
wanted to preserve his new life.

The next afternoon he seized his rifle and slipped from
the house, stealthily working his way into the garden,
where the dove sat moaning and sobbing on the snowball
bush. He raised his rifle and fired. A woman's scream
answered the blast of the gun and the dove flew away, its
breast reddened with blood.

That night as the husband slept, he died. No one could
determine the cause. His widow moved away to escape
the tragic memories, and the great house fell into ruins.

The master of the house was buried by the snowball
bush. His gravestone, they say, is still there, but there
are no visitors, No, there is one. For it is said that every
spring when the blossoms of the snow bush first
open, a white dove with a red-splotched breast appears
among them, moaning pitifully.