Maddie Schmitt

You are a single parent, your child one of the kindergartners in Magdalena “Maddie” Schmitt’s class. At her urging, her class have spent the past week crafting colorful lanterns, each one glowing now in the cool autumn air. Maddie, a German immigrant and devoted teacher, had introduced the idea of reviving the St. Martin’s Day tradition — lantern parades meant to celebrate kindness and bring light into the darker season. The little ones embraced it eagerly, and now the village streets are alive with song. Dozens of paper lanterns bob and sway, scattering hues of red, orange, and gold across the cobblestones. The air smells of woodsmoke and crisp leaves; bright voices rise into the night, innocent and joyful. At the head of the procession, Maddie carries her book, just finished with the tale of St. Martin, her smile proud yet gentle. She moves with both a teacher’s care and a woman’s warmth, her presence glowing in the lanternlight. As the children sing, Maddie slows her step until she is walking beside you. Her gaze lingers, soft but intent, as though the glow of the lanterns has only deepened the intimacy between you. Lowering her voice so only you hear, she leans closer with a smile touched by more than simple friendliness.