(Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai. Go Unlimited to remove this message.) Night has fallen, and the moon is a glowing golden orb in the black sky. See how it shines on the dark back roads of America, and on one road in particular. Come with us, and we'll take a walk down the moonlit road, for the night is waiting. And the moon is full. The Moonlit Road presents Episode 39, The Bleeding Heart Dove. Written and told by Sherry Norfolk.
The Civil War had ended, and the soldiers, what was left of them, had straggled back home to their families and their farms, what was left of them. The slaves had been freed, but some had stayed on, in the places where the family had been kind, or where the family had scattered and never returned. In those places, in the places the ex -slaves knew, and had toiled over with their own sweat and blood, they sometimes stayed on.
There was one such place in South Georgia, a once beautiful plantation that had been abandoned before the war had even begun, and where the slaves had stayed in safety during the war, and had remained when freedom came. The land was rich, and the master had said it was theirs to farm and live off of, until he came back to claim it. So they stayed. The memories and the story of the plantation had stayed too. The story of the young master who had built the house for his beloved bride.
The story of the sweet-smelling flower garden that his bride walked in every day from spring till fall. The story of her ghost. That story was told most often by Melvenie. Melvenie had been only a girl in the slave quarters when the master lost his bride, and she had held on to the memory of the young woman's beauty and kindness throughout the dark and ugly years of war. She had held on to the other memories too. The memories always began with laughter.
Happiness seemed to come out of the windows and doors of that house, seemed to be part of the very walls and floors. It was the happiness of the master and his bride that made the plantation a good place to be. Happiness breeds kindness and gentleness, they say. The story starts and ends in the flower garden of the big house. Every fine day, the young bride found time to come and sit in her garden, to smell the fragrant blossoms and cut the prettiest ones to decorate the house.
Every day, Melvenie worked in that garden, pulling the weeds and picking off the dead blossoms. Melvenie, the young bride would call, just come and smell this rose. Isn't it the prettiest thing you ever did smell? And Melvenie would run to the rose bush and inhale deeply. Oh, yes, ma'am, you're right. It is the prettiest smell in all the world. Or, Melvenie, you take some of these dahlias to your mama. She likes pretty colors, and these are the brightest I've ever seen. Run now.
And Melvenie would run with the handful of brilliant flowers, grinning to her mama, who would put them in a jar of water on the mantelpiece. But one evening, when the moon shone full and bright, a screech owl began to make a terrible noise outside the cabin where Melvenie and her mama lived. Melvenie ran to her mama in alarm at the screeching, unearthly sound, and her mama held her close. Never mind, child, she soothed. Just an old screech owl calling to his kin.
But mama, I've heard the others say that when you hear a screech owl keep hollering and carrying on like that, someone's going to die. No, child, they're just trying to scare you. Now you settle down and eat your supper. Nothing to worry yourself over. But Melvenie wasn't comforted. She watched everyone she loved, fearful of the screech owl's curse. And only two days later, as she worked in the garden, she watched the master and his bride stroll out arm in arm.
She saw the young lady bend to smell a new blossom, and she saw her drop to the ground in a dead faint. Melvenie, the master called. Melvenie was already at his side, staring stricken at the lady's pale face. Melvenie, run to the house and tell your mama I need her to bring smelling salts and tell one of the men to go for the doctor. Run, run now. And Melvenie flew off to the house while the master came behind with his bride in his arms.
Melvenie and her mama stayed at Melinda's side with cold compresses and smelling salts, and they heard her weak voice when at last her eyes fluttered open. Thomas, Thomas, are you there? The master hurried to her side. Yes, my love, I'm right here. Are you feeling better, Melinda? You gave us all quite a scare. Thomas, I'm dying. No, no, it's true. I know it is. But nothing can take me from you forever. Our love is too strong. Thomas, I'll come back to you, to my garden.
I'll come back as a white dove and live in the snowball bush in the garden. No, Melinda, you're not dying. You're not. The master pleaded, but she was. Melinda died in just three days without saying another word, and her grave was planted over with the flowers that she loved. Melvenie and her mama felt sorry for the young master and watched him grieve until he himself was almost in the grave beside Melinda.
But finally his grief forced him to close up the house and to go away to Europe, where the sights and the scents and the very air would not remind him of his beloved. He told Melvenie and her mama and all the rest of the slaves that the land was theirs to work and live off of until he came back. And he went away. Melvenie continued to work in that garden every day, and every day she looked for the white dove. But it didn't come. War broke out, and the master stayed away.
Then freedom came, and Melvenie and the rest of the slaves were free. But Melvenie and her mother stayed on at the plantation, harvesting a good garden crop that year and fixing their cabin snug against the winter winds. They had stopped expecting to see their master again, but they hadn't forgotten the snowball bush, still living, though not blooming, in the otherwise ravaged flower garden. Then one day a letter came announcing that Thomas would return with a new bride.
Melvenie and her mama made the house ready for his return, and Melvenie did her best to straighten up the garden, pulling the biggest weeds and pruning back the rampant growth. She was surprised to see that the snowball bush was in full glorious bloom, the first time it had bloomed since Melinda had died. But she didn't have time to tell her mama until they stood together at the end of the drive, waiting to greet Thomas and his new bride. Mama, did you see it?
The snowball bush is just covered all over with flowers this morning. You think maybe because Mr. Whitledge is coming home today, you think we'll see the white dove? Hush, girl. You can't still be dreaming about that white dove. Mama, there'll be no such thing. Look now, there's a carriage coming this way. And there was. Thomas stepped out and helped his new bride from the carriage. And as she was lifted down, a mournful sound came from the garden.
Melvenie turned to see a white dove sitting amid the blooms of the snowball bush. Look, Mama! Just look there! But her mama shook her head and greeted the couple and ushered them into the house. The white dove came every evening after that and sat moaning in the snowball bush. The sound could be heard plainly in the big house, no matter how loudly Thomas' new bride played on the piano or how far away she tried to get. It seemed to pierce her heart, and she cried all the time.
And she never went into the garden. Make it stop, please, Thomas! Make that bird stop crying! Finally, Thomas had had enough. He took his gun and marched into the garden. And when he came near the bush, the dove rose up out of the bush and fluttered right in the air above his head. He raised the gun and fired. A human scream sounded over the garden, and the dove flew away with a red stain over her heart. That night, Thomas lay in his bed, and he died of a broken heart.
His new wife left with a broken heart of her own. The old house is still sitting there, neglected and decaying. A snowball bush still blooms each summer in its ruined garden, the petals falling like tears into the weeds, and flying in and out of the broken windows. Nesting in the snowball bush are dozens of white doves with red stains over their hearts, grieving all the time. That concludes this tale from The Moonlit Road. Be sure to visit our website at themoonlitroad
.com to find out more about our stories and let us know how we're doing. The Moonlit Road is produced and directed by Craig Dominey, recorded and soundscaped by Henry Howard in beautiful Stone Mountain, Georgia. Thanks for listening, and we'll see you next time.