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would have had music lessons.
    “Treble clef,” she said. “The other one’s the bass clef, but we don’t have a brooch for that.”
    “Treble clef,” Tom repeated, and asked her the price. She reached inside the cabinet and flipped the tag, and he felt a thrill of relief. It was high but in the range Ella would accept. He paid the extra to have it gift-wrapped.
    Tom now had time to kill. He went to the lunch counter at Kresge’s and treated himself to a chocolate milkshake. It took a while to notice that Ormond Cardwell was three stools down, having a bottle of orange pop and a piece of pie with ice cream.
    Ormond and Tom had known each other since childhood. Ormond’s family lived close to the Kootenay River on the Mormon side, while the Ryder place was two miles away on the west side. On hot summer days, the Mormon and non-Mormon children hadgravitated to the same swimming hole. Between swims, they played baseball on the river bench, Mormons against the rest. Nowadays, Ormond was a member of the Alberta legislature.
    When Tom waved and got the MLA’s attention, Ormond said, “Well, for heaven’s sake, Tom. Will you join me?”
    Tom left his emptied milkshake can and moved to the stool beside Ormond. He felt compelled to make his first question about the government, to which Ormond gave a joking response. “We’re stealing your money as usual.”
    Tom wanted to bring up the gas plant, but Ormond did it for him.
    “How do you feel about that plant?” he asked. “Having it so close?”
    “I don’t understand why they had to put it on our doorstep. Why were they allowed?”
    “Thing is, Tom,” and Ormond twisted on his stool to face him, “our government doesn’t know a heck of a lot about oil and gas. We have a conservation board, and that was a good thing to create, but mainly it’s those conservation board engineers talking their mumbo-jumbo to the same types on the oil side. When they’re done, they make recommendations and usually we accept them. Frankly, we always do. They said Curtis Bauer’s farm was the best place for the plant, based on gravity flow or something, and we said okay. Our health man, Dr. Onge, is well educated, and he badgered them pretty good on air and water. Anyway, I’m sorry it landed on you.”
    Tom looked away. He didn’t like the answer but was grateful for Ormond’s seeming honesty. “I guess these things bring in money,” he said.
    Ormond smiled wide. His teeth were full of lead but they were his. “Oh, do they ever. When I think of how it was for us? One ball glove per family. Old broken bat held together with nails. It’s going to be a lot different for our kids.”
    “They probably won’t be farmers, though.”
    “That could be a good thing.”
    Ormond and Tom were thinking about different kinds of families. Ormond had big Mormon ones in mind, where not all the kids who wanted to farm could. Tom had three kids and only one son. If his son moved on, and his daughters didn’t marry farmers, Ella and Tom’s farm might not last beyond this generation.
    “And Ella, how’s she dealing with it? She grew up on your farm, didn’t she?”
    “She did, and it upsets her to see it changed. None of us really likes it or knows what it will be.”
    Ormond had a pen and pad beside him. He wrote his government address and phone number, tore out the sheet, and handed it to Tom. “I’m not the most powerful guy up there, but if things happen that are bothering you, let me know. Right now, I best go find my wife before she spends the whole paycheque.”
    They stood up and shook hands. Wished one another Merry Christmas.
    The offer seemed genuine, and kind given that Tom did not live in Ormond’s riding. Tom put the slip of paper in his shirt pocket, and the two men shook hands a second time.
    Around noon on January seventh, 1961, the plant’s flare lit with a crack that ricocheted like a rifle shot off the Ryders’ barn. The flare grew, and grew again, against the