“Olivia!” Carly called out. “We have a few more guests to feed. Bring out that cheese I’ve been saving and the new box of Ritz. And you three—get yourselves cleaned up in the washroom, because you stink like you’ve been rolling in the garbage dump!”
The three kids from the Kitten Brigade entered the castle washroom together. It was rustic but clean.
A deep white porcelain sink with a tall brass faucet shaped like a swan head gleamed beneath a gold sunburst mirror.
Across the room, a stained?glass window showed a knight locked in combat with a dragon.
Marco reached out and turned one of the ornate sink knobs.
The faucet honked twice like a goose, vibrated, and emitted a low hum. But nothing came out.
So he twisted the knob all the way.
The faucet honked twice again, and the hum deepened.
The plumbing groaned, and a piercing whistle began to rise, sharp as a teapot building to boil.
The big sink and swan head shook violently as the sound spiraled higher and higher, layered over the anxious, repetitive honks.
Panicked, Marbles backed away and shouted, “Turn the knob back! Turn it the other way!”
As the whistle peaked, water exploded from the faucet—far too strong and fast—spraying Marco squarely across the front of his pants.
“Crap!” he yelped, fumbling with the handle to turn the water down.
The faucet sputtered, then finally stopped with a long, tapering hoooonk into silence, leaving Marco soaked and breathless.
For a moment, the washroom was silent.
“The water likes that one…” Marbles repeated what the water witch had said, laughing hard.
Lemon grinned. “Marco wet his pa-ants!”
“Shut up. Do you see a towel?” he snapped.
The water was cold, like jumping into an unheated swimming pool in winter. It jolted him.
“Here’s one.” Lemon handed him a terrycloth towel lined with small gold puffballs.
She added, somewhat seriously, “I’m scared of the witch.”
They both stood in front of the lead-glass window. The knight was winning the battle against the dragon, for sure.
“He is definitely weird,” Marco said, drying himself off. “But I don’t think he means any harm. He did warn us about the monsoon.”
After washing up, the kids returned to the castle’s entrance hall.
The three new adult guests had removed their shoes and decided to freshen up as well.
When they returned, Carly exclaimed, “Look at all of you—you’re soaking wet! Let’s go to the parlor to dry out by the fireplace. I’ll pour us all some hot tea while my granddaughter Olivia fixes everyone lunch.”
Carly cheerfully led them down the grand hallway.
As they walked, Marco admired a rustic chandelier overhead, its arms shaped like whimsical elephants holding light bulbs aloft in their trunks.
The metal had aged to a deep bronze in places, and one of the elephants wore what looked suspiciously like a tiny hand-forged monocle.
They entered a cozy family room anchored by an old stone fireplace.
At the center sat a pair of throne-like chairs. Each carved in the likeness of a circus bear wearing a jaunty clown hat.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The bears, both happy and slightly imposing, were posed so that guests would sit snugly on their cushioned laps, the bears’ soft arms forming the chair’s arms.
A rickety Mrs. Tea machine sat humming on a brass tray by the window.
It had yellowed with age and sported a single, flickering green light like it wasn’t entirely sure it wanted to go on.
Carly patted it affectionately. “Still works,” she said, tearing open a bright red-and-white box of Red Rose tea.
She dropped the tea bags into the basket with practiced ease, the faint scent of good orange pekoe rising as the machine sputtered to life.
A stream of faintly beige liquid poured into the waiting pot. Carly smiled.
Everyone took a mug and Carly poured. Marbles helped Lemon with the sugar.
“This is what we call the fireplace room,” Carly said.
“My daddy built that fireplace back in 1931. This room was part of the original homestead, before the rest of the castle was built."
Lemon wandered over and climbed onto the lap of one of the big bear chairs.
She beamed, legs dangling gleefully from the tall seat.
Ginger drifted to the fireplace mantel, eyes scanning one of the old sepia photographs.
A soft smile tugged at her mouth.
“Who is this?” she asked.
Carly followed her gaze, then nodded slowly. “That’s daddy. He was foremost a violinist, but also a great artist. He married my mother, an accomplished circus acrobat from Barcelona. They made quite a pair.”
“During the Great Depression, they had no work, no money, and nothing to lose. So they came out here to the desert.”
Lemon, still dangling from the bear chair like a very content tassel, tilted her head. “To build this castle?”
“Eventually,” Carly said, her voice warming. “He came to farm dates and paint the landscape. She came to California to make it in the movies.”
She pointed at the photograph. “See there? That’s my mother. She’d ride into Palm Springs standing glamorously on the backs of two galloping white horses, her long dress and veil streaming behind her like a comet.”
After a short pause, a faint smile played at her lips. “People came from all over to watch her Roman riding and street shows. Daddy would play his violin while she danced—acrobatic, contorted, sometimes balanced on horseback like she was weightless.”
Anton asked, “Were they able to make any money though?”
Carly chuckled. "They did all right. Eventually they built their own big circus tent right here on the farm and charged admission."
She turned toward the hallway. “Come, I’ll show you.”
She led the small group into a large circular parlor, where the walls were painted with stripes and draped with flags and hanging banners.
“This here is the Circus Room,” Carly said. “That’s my mother’s trunk, with her costumes. On the wall are circus posters they used to advertise the shows and those are photos of some of the many clowns who came to live with them.”
“Clowns?” asked Lemon. “I hate clowns! They’re scary.”
“Oh yes,” Carly replied. “During the Great Depression, many circuses shut down for good. My mother let a few of her old clown friends stay here on the farm, and then word got out. Sad clowns looking for work just kept showing up on the doorstep.”
“Poor dearies,” murmured Old Lady Marbles. “Out of the spotlight and into the shadows.”
She shook her head slowly. “That’s a hard row to hoe.”
Carly glanced toward the window, picturing it as her mother had once described. “She told me there must have been dozens of clowns living here at any given time. Some slept in the date orchard, but most stayed in the big circus tent,” she continued. “My parents weren’t rich, so they couldn’t help with any money. But they never turned anyone away, and nobody ever went hungry.”
Marco shifted, eyebrows raised. “But what happened? How did they end up with a whole entire castle?”
Carly chuckled softly. “Quiet, let me get to it. You see, the clowns were always very grateful. One day, a particularly talented clown—a bit of a circus engineer—outlined a room on the ground with stones. They mixed up some kind of mysterious hobo cement, and just like that, started building.”
Lemon leaned forward, eyes wide. “What’s hobo cement?”
“That’s what Daddy called it,” Carly said. “Nobody knew what was in it, but it held.”
She gestured toward the far wall. “The others joined in. Within a week, they’d built a whole new room onto the little house. And then another. And another.”
Marco blinked, trying to picture it.
Astonished, Ginger traced the rough mortar of the rustic castle wall with her fingers. “Hm, some type of binding composite. Clever,” she murmured, before her voice softened. “So your home just… grew?”
“Yes, it grew and it grew, until eventually it became this castle. My mother gave it a beautiful Catalan name—Castell del Sol.
But now we just call it Sunshine Castle.”
one new episode every Thursday at 8:00 AM.
Thursday, January 29, 2026, and I already have the next four episodes queued up.
