Page 32 of Holding Hope

I smiled, twirling the end of my braid. “It’s a local tradition, based on a story from years and years ago.”

She yawned and fanned herself again. “We’ve got nothing but time, so I’m all ears.”

She wasn’t wrong.

King & Co was about half an hour from Opal Springs. The town had been built on open prairie land, but when developers pushed for more modern housing, my father bought the land directly adjacent to town. We owned all the surrounding acreage—over sixty acres of it.

It would take nearly an hour for my dad to reach us.

So why not pass the time with one of my favorite childhood stories?

Even if I was telling it to my current least favorite person on the planet.

“Well, years and years ago—” I began, “—like way before I was born, there was this woman who lived in Pelican Bay, right down by the gulf. She lived alone in this little house—I always thought it was super cute.”

I smiled at the memory of Mama telling me the story.

“There was a little lighthouse attached to it, and when it rained, pelicans would come in looking for shelter from the storm. Now, this woman, Sonja Glasgow, loved those birds. Loved them like they were her own children.”

Avalon shifted again, boredom dripping from every word. “Okay, crazy bird lady gets her own holiday. But if she lived in Pelican Bay, how did it become a holiday in Opal Springs? Isn’t that like an entire day’s drive? Or more, considering the time period?”

I nodded. “Well, that’s the thing. After World War Two, Sonja moved to Opal Springs because she had a cousin here—someone she wasn’t even close to. The two of them opened a bed-and-breakfast, Capers and Coffee.”

Capers and Coffee was still standing—one of the few places that truly held the history and heart of this small town. Sonja had named it after her late husband’s favorite breakfast: fresh gulf fish with lime and capers, served alongside a cup of strong, freshly ground coffee.

Before my dad built the homesteads and the ranchers moved into the Big Barn, Capers & Coffee had been my safe space. My home away from home, but still close enough to run back if Melly needed me. Or Mama. Or Dad.

I hadn’t realized it then, but everything I did was always “just in case.”

Just in case Melly needed me.

Just in case Mama needed help catering.

Just in case Dad needed an extra hand.

Was I still making decisions based on who might need me?

I pushed the thought aside and continued. “One day, word spread about a terrible storm in the Bay. Sonja worried for her birds—they hated the rain, and without a lighthouse tenant, they had nowhere to shelter.”

“A few days passed, and while she was walking through town, she heard this sound⁠—”

“What sound? Don’t tell me it was the birds,” Avalon groaned.

I stifled a laugh. “Will you let me finish?”

She nodded, so I continued.

“The birds had followed her since she left the Bay and got caught in the storm. With nowhere safe to land, they crashed in a neighbor’s barn for the night.”

They’d been covered in mud and twigs, feathers missing, skin torn. The neighbor sent his son into town with the birds, hoping the vet could save them.

“At the time, Opal Springs was tiny. The vet had almost no experience with birds—especially pelicans—but he agreed to try.”

Sonja recognized them immediately, even in their battered state. She and the vet spent months nursing them back to health, through winter and beyond.

Her determination spread like wildfire. Soon, the whole town was invested—waiting, watching, praying for the day the birds would fly again.

“News spread to neighboring towns. Supplies poured in. Everyone wanted the birds to fly.”