Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [61]
The afternoon slipped away while I read online articles in the local Natchez newspaper documenting charity drives, pilgrimages, fetes, soirées, dances, balls, political organizations, garden clubs, and civic organizations. Monica had been quite active. She was often elected to boards and positions of authority, though judging from the photographs accompanying the articles, not liked. The other women stood apart from her in most of the shots.
Eleanor was mentioned in some of the reports, but often in the background. Monica was always front and center, which might be another reason Eleanor would like to do away with her. As Aunt Loulane would say, no woman enjoys the role of “always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” Eleanor, at some time or other, would have wanted to shine.
Gossip gave a picture of the Leverts’ role in Natchez society. What I needed, though, was a historical perspective. I dug back in the files. Luck was with me. Natchez is a town that relishes its history. Preservation societies, Daughters of the American Revolution, Daughters of the Confederacy—plenty of organizations had a Web presence, and all of them had detailed information on members and events.
I went back to the 1970s, when the Levert girls came of age. I found a write-up and photographs of Helena Banks Gorenflo’s wedding. Eleanor and Monica were double maids of honor. The photos portrayed a happy grouping of young, beautiful people. So the troubled water between Helena and Monica had come later and, based on what I knew, likely involved a man.
To my utter surprise, I hit on an engagement announcement for Eleanor Levert and Gaston Gaudel, a French artist. Eleanor was only twenty. The nuptials was scheduled for May 1. She was to be given in marriage by her sister. Which made me curious where her parents were.
My Web gallivanting took me to the Mississippi archives, where I found death certificates for Middler Levert, who died of a massive heart attack in 1978, and Marcella Ardoin Levert, who—I had to read it twice—fell from the bluff of Briarcliff in 1973. The death was ruled an accident.
I called Jassine, Cece’s newspaper reporter friend, and got her to dig up the obituary for Marcella Levert. The story was another example of the tragedy dogging the Levert family.
As Jassine paraphrased from the numerous newspaper clippings kept in the morgue, or newspaper library, she grew excited. “Marcella took a fall from a horse early in the day. Suffering a terrible headache, she took to her bed. The doctor made a house call at Briarcliff and pronounced Marcella shaken up but uninjured. He gave her a sedative to relax and ordered the household to keep her as still as possible.
“During the night, Marcella got out of bed. She accidentally wandered into the yard and fell from the bluff. The family didn’t discover her death until morning, when the gardener saw her floating in the river. In a freakish twist, the current didn’t catch her body.”
“Good lord.” I regretted my earlier harshness to Eleanor. She’d had enough loss in her life—I felt bad about implying that her sister was dead.
“Okay, here’s some more information,” Jassine said. “The twin girls had just entered their teen years. Grief-stricken, their father took them to Europe for the next five years. They returned only for the girls’ debut into Natchez society and the announcement of Eleanor’s engagement to the artist Gaston Gaudel, a man she met in Paris. There’s a photo of Eleanor and a very handsome man. They look ecstatic.”
“I wonder what happened. Eleanor never married.”
“What’s your interest in Eleanor’s and Monica’s past?” Jassine asked. Like any good journalist, she’d caught a whiff of a story. “This can’t figure into an insurance claim case, but I have to say their lives would make a fabulous movie.”
I couldn’t tell the truth, so I did the only other thing available—I lied. “I’m writing a movie script. About the Levert family. I thought a little background on the sisters, their lives in Natchez, participation in the community, all of that, would