Chapter One
August 1957
“This is Beboppin’ Bernard on KMOO, and get ready to swoon, girls, ’cause here’s the fella everybody’s talkin’ about—Elvis Presley!”
As the Anderson family station wagon rambled past the small sign that read, WELCOME TO MOOSE FALLS, MONTANA , the low, jaunty bass rhythm of “Don’t Be Cruel” filled the car. Millie glanced across the backseat to her younger sister, Betsy, and they exchanged private smiles.
Of course, that’s when her father reached to turn it down. He hated Elvis. Millie rolled her eyes, and Bet scowled her agreement.
“We’re finally here,” their dad’s voice boomed from the front. “And look at that gorgeous lake!”
Both girls and their mother peered out the windows, and much as Millie might have liked to deny it, the view was breathtaking.
“Can we swim in it?” Betsy asked.
“I think it’ll be too cold this far north,” he replied doubtfully, “but there’ll still be plenty to do.”
Millie shifted her weight in the backseat and crossed her arms. We’ll see about that. Her father’s business trip to Montana was supposed to be doubling as a family trip to celebrate Millie’s graduation from Rockford College two months ago, but driving all the way across the country from Chicago hadn’t felt like much fun so far. And even if the place was lovely, it also promised what she already had far too much of in her life: isolation.
She was twenty-two, after all—twenty-two going on twelve.
Harold Anderson was a loving father, but he had a stifling way of keeping his daughters sheltered, letting them experience only the parts of the world he deemed fit. Catholic school, followed by the women’s college he’d selected for Millie, had carried her to adulthood without ever even having a boyfriend. And sure, she’d had dates for the prom, and for her college homecoming, but the kisses she’d received so far had left her nearly as bored as the rest of her existence did. Starch-collared know-it-alls; those were the only guys to ever cross her narrow path. She’d never met a boy like…well, a boy like Elvis, whose mere voice made her heart beat harder and her thighs quiver.
The station wagon pulled into a gravel lot before a long, bright white building sporting a row of red doors. The neon sign—not lit now since it was just past noon—marked the spot as the Grizzly Bear Motel and featured a clawed bear’s paw painted next to the words. “Looks brand-new,” her dad happily announced. “Stay here and I’ll get us checked in.”
Millie watched her father walk briskly around the corner of the building toward the office, then said to her mother over the seat, “Can Bet and I get out?” Ridiculous, she realized as she posed the question, that a girl—no, a woman—her age should have to ask such a silly question. But sadly, that was her life.
Her mother glanced around, appearing hesitant, then finally said, “I suppose.”
Both girls hurried out into the bright sunlight beneath acloudless blue sky. “Ah,” Millie breathed as the sun hit her face. Too much car travel. Too much time cooped up with her family. She loved them, but she needed a life of her own, badly, and she simply had no idea how to get it.
Her older sister, Annette, had married a neighbor boy her father had always liked, and they lived in a house only a block from home. But Millie had no neighbor boy. And no desire to live on the next block. What Millie had was a teaching degree, and a yearning to get far away from the house she’d grown up in.
She’d applied for a program through her college that placed teachers in the poor Appalachian region—she wanted to teach, she wanted to help people, and she wanted to see a different way of life beyond her tidy Chicago suburb. But her father had pressured her not to go, claiming he needed her to take over for his departing secretary and adding that he couldn’t bear the idea of her being so far away. Plus he was friends
August 1957
“This is Beboppin’ Bernard on KMOO, and get ready to swoon, girls, ’cause here’s the fella everybody’s talkin’ about—Elvis Presley!”
As the Anderson family station wagon rambled past the small sign that read, WELCOME TO MOOSE FALLS, MONTANA , the low, jaunty bass rhythm of “Don’t Be Cruel” filled the car. Millie glanced across the backseat to her younger sister, Betsy, and they exchanged private smiles.
Of course, that’s when her father reached to turn it down. He hated Elvis. Millie rolled her eyes, and Bet scowled her agreement.
“We’re finally here,” their dad’s voice boomed from the front. “And look at that gorgeous lake!”
Both girls and their mother peered out the windows, and much as Millie might have liked to deny it, the view was breathtaking.
“Can we swim in it?” Betsy asked.
“I think it’ll be too cold this far north,” he replied doubtfully, “but there’ll still be plenty to do.”
Millie shifted her weight in the backseat and crossed her arms. We’ll see about that. Her father’s business trip to Montana was supposed to be doubling as a family trip to celebrate Millie’s graduation from Rockford College two months ago, but driving all the way across the country from Chicago hadn’t felt like much fun so far. And even if the place was lovely, it also promised what she already had far too much of in her life: isolation.
She was twenty-two, after all—twenty-two going on twelve.
Harold Anderson was a loving father, but he had a stifling way of keeping his daughters sheltered, letting them experience only the parts of the world he deemed fit. Catholic school, followed by the women’s college he’d selected for Millie, had carried her to adulthood without ever even having a boyfriend. And sure, she’d had dates for the prom, and for her college homecoming, but the kisses she’d received so far had left her nearly as bored as the rest of her existence did. Starch-collared know-it-alls; those were the only guys to ever cross her narrow path. She’d never met a boy like…well, a boy like Elvis, whose mere voice made her heart beat harder and her thighs quiver.
The station wagon pulled into a gravel lot before a long, bright white building sporting a row of red doors. The neon sign—not lit now since it was just past noon—marked the spot as the Grizzly Bear Motel and featured a clawed bear’s paw painted next to the words. “Looks brand-new,” her dad happily announced. “Stay here and I’ll get us checked in.”
Millie watched her father walk briskly around the corner of the building toward the office, then said to her mother over the seat, “Can Bet and I get out?” Ridiculous, she realized as she posed the question, that a girl—no, a woman—her age should have to ask such a silly question. But sadly, that was her life.
Her mother glanced around, appearing hesitant, then finally said, “I suppose.”
Both girls hurried out into the bright sunlight beneath acloudless blue sky. “Ah,” Millie breathed as the sun hit her face. Too much car travel. Too much time cooped up with her family. She loved them, but she needed a life of her own, badly, and she simply had no idea how to get it.
Her older sister, Annette, had married a neighbor boy her father had always liked, and they lived in a house only a block from home. But Millie had no neighbor boy. And no desire to live on the next block. What Millie had was a teaching degree, and a yearning to get far away from the house she’d grown up in.
She’d applied for a program through her college that placed teachers in the poor Appalachian region—she wanted to teach, she wanted to help people, and she wanted to see a different way of life beyond her tidy Chicago suburb. But her father had pressured her not to go, claiming he needed her to take over for his departing secretary and adding that he couldn’t bear the idea of her being so far away. Plus he was friends
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