Granite steps led into the forest, then up toward the hilltop castle. It stood so high above Bacharach that it looked farther away than it really was.
Halfway between them lay the roofless shell of a Gothic church, and below that a red-and-white Lutheran church that looked almost modern. Organ music drifted across the valley from the Sunday service within.
A sign beside the road had promised coffee and pastries at the hostel inside. It sounded like a good place to warm up.
Rain found us halfway up.
Cold drops stung our faces as the trail steepened. By the time we crossed the drawbridge, we wanted shelter more than adventure.
~
Inside the castle, the courtyard looked deserted. Room numbers covered every doorway. Wind swept through the open center. The place felt colder than the forest below.
One sign pointed toward the lobby.
Dani saw it first.
“This way,” she said.
The receptionist barely looked up as we entered, following another sign toward the restaurant.
A narrow spiral staircase led into the basement.
Downstairs though, it was dark. Chairs were stacked on the tables.
Workers cleaning up shook their heads.
“Closed on Sunday.”
We climbed back upstairs and sat in the lobby. Dani browsed maps and postcards. I took the boys to the restroom.
The castle air was warm and comfortable.
Outside, the rain turned to snow.
“Should we go?”
Dani just nodded. Then stooped and slowly began loading Avery onto her back.
As we stood to leave, a family opened a door across from the bench where we’d been sitting.
Children spilled out laughing.
The room behind them was filled with toys.
Corbin froze.
“I want to play.”
We looked at each other.
Nobody had invited us.
Nobody had told us the room was there.
It somehow felt impolite to wander into a hostel’s playroom when we weren’t staying there.
Then the receptionist caught our hesitation.
She smiled.
“It’s okay.”
We went inside.
The room smelled of old wood and well-used toys. Donation collected or left by other guests over the years. Toy cars were missing wheels. Lincoln Logs came from mismatched sets. Dollhouses with broken doors.
The boys didn’t notice.
For the next hour they built, crashed, stacked, and laughed as though they’d found the greatest playground in Germany.
Outside the window, snow continued falling over the castle walls.
~
That night, we went out again.
Pizzaria.
Closed.
Grocers.
Closed.
We kept walking.
A sign beside the toy shop door listed its hours.
OPEN 16:00–18:00 WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY
It was Sunday. The town was quiet, and every other shop we passed was dark.
Then Dani stopped.
Someone was inside.
Through the window, we could see the owner hunched over a workbench among shelves of wooden toys.
The room was almost dark.
A tiny point of light appeared beside her hand, disappeared, then appeared again.
We stepped closer.
She looked up.
Then she smiled and waved.
The door was ajar.
~
The shop occupied a single room no larger than the ice cream parlor next door.
Everything inside seemed carved from the same pale wood.
Dolls hung from the walls. Wooden animals crowded the shelves. Swords and shields filled barrels near the door.
Dani immediately began browsing.
She picked up a wooden horse.
Then a little figure.
Then a sword.
A few minutes later she handed it to me.
“For you.”
I looked at it.
“I don’t need a sword.”
“It’s for sword fighting with the boys.”
I looked at it again.
“Yeah. Okay then.”
Dani was already walking toward the counter.
I followed.
The woman looked up from her work as we approached.
“That one is strongest. It can take a real clobbering.”
She then picked up an electric engraving pen.
“Can I burn your name into it?”
“Sure. It’s Caleb.”
She nodded, then her hand paused.
“Just Caleb? Or do you want something else? Sir Caleb or Father Caleb, perhaps?”
The lights of the hilltop castle twinkled over the roofs outside.
“What is German for king?”
She smiled.
A moment later, smoke curled from the wood as she carefully burned letters into the blade.
König Calib.
She held it up.
“Good?”
I nodded.
Then she pointed toward the boys’ swords.
“Can I burn their names too?”
“We bought those in Koblenz.”
She shrugged and held out the pen.
“Corbin.”
She nodded approvingly.
“Yes. A strong biblical name.”
I looked at my wife, eyebrows raised, but she shook her head, and I didn’t interrupt.
Then she paused at the next sword.
“Avery.”
She rolled the unfamiliar name around for a moment before carefully engraving that one too.
The pen hissed and smoked as it worked.
Corbin watched nervously.
“Hot and cold. That’s what my husband says.”
She touched the fresh lettering with her finger.
“Hot first. Cold after. See?”
Still, he refused to touch.
As she wrapped the swords, I asked about dinner.
“We’re trying to find somewhere to eat. But everything seems to be is closed.”
She looked mildly puzzled.
“Yes. Well, it is Sunday.”
Then she thought for a moment.
“Try the Old House.”
She pointed across the street.
“My husband takes me there when I don’t feel like cooking.”
Then she began listing what we should order.
~
Outsides, the kids hesitantly inspected the letters burned into their blades as we walked to dinner.
I looked down at mine.
König Calib.