**The Restless One**
Ever since she was little, Emily had dreamed of becoming a doctor. She lived with her parents in a small village, running three kilometers every day to the nearby town for school. That’s where the school, clinic, post office, and even three shops were.
The school was big and modern, and Emily loved learning. Everything came easily to her—she was finishing Year Six.
“Em, get up! What are you doing, lazing about?” her mother called loudly as she came inside with a pail of fresh milk, just done with the morning milking. “You’ll be late—I woke you when I went to the barn!”
“Oh, Mum, you’re right!” Emily sprang up, washed, dressed, grabbed her schoolbag, and dashed out without breakfast. Her mum, Margaret, barely had time to wrap a couple of pancakes and shove them into her hands.
Running three kilometers to school was no joke. She sprinted, counting telegraph poles as she went. She was alone—all the other children had already left. Tired, she slowed to a walk before picking up speed again.
“I’m going to be late,” she fretted.
She skidded into school just as the bell rang, dashed up to the second floor, and slid into her seat just as Mrs. Thompson—their English and literature teacher—walked in.
“Emily, you look like you were being chased,” whispered her desk mate, Lucy. “Oversleep? That’s not like you.”
“Yeah, overslept,” Emily murmured back, and the lesson began.
That day passed like any other. After classes, she walked home with the girls from her village until the boys caught up, shoving and joking all the way.
Letting herself in with the key hidden under the porch, she kicked off her shoes and hurried inside. The house was usually empty—her dad at work, her mum delivering post. Just as she turned toward her room, she heard a terrible cough from the small spare room. She froze.
“Who’s there?” she thought wildly. “A ghost?” Her mum had once joked about them, but Emily had never believed in such things.
Heart pounding, she darted into her room and shut the door. She peeked out only when she was sure—just in time to hear another cough. A man’s cough.
“Dad’s at work… who could it be?” Too afraid to look, she bolted outside, hoping to find her mum. No luck. She plopped onto the bench outside, and when her neighbor, Mike—a Year Eight boy—walked by, she waved him over.
“Mike—come here!”
“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.
“There’s someone coughing in my house. I’m scared. My parents aren’t home.”
“Who’s coughing?”
“I don’t know! No one was there this morning. Will you come in with me?”
Mike agreed, and they crept inside. Silence. Emily pointed to the curtain dividing the room, and Mike pulled it aside. On the bed lay a skeletal man, all skin and bones.
“Hello… who are you?” Emily asked from behind Mike.
“Hello,” the man rasped. “I’m Geoffrey… your uncle.”
Emily didn’t know any Geoffrey. They closed the curtain and stepped outside.
“Well, it’s just your uncle. No need to panic,” Mike said, shrugging. “Right, I’d better go. Mum’s waiting.”
Emily waited anxiously for her mum to return, then questioned her about this “uncle.”
“That’s your uncle Geoffrey. My younger brother. He was in prison for years—just got out, and he’s terribly ill. You wouldn’t remember him; you were tiny last time you saw him.”
Her dad had said, “Let him stay. Maybe he’ll recover.” But her mum doubted he’d make it.
Geoffrey had been a troublemaker. At sixteen, he’d broken into the village shop with his mates—no money, but they’d taken sweets, biscuits, cigarettes, and wine. They were caught instantly, and Geoffrey got three years in a youth detention centre. By eighteen, he was in an adult prison. Now, at twenty-five, he was barely alive.
Emily couldn’t sleep, listening to his coughs. Then she remembered old Granny Edith—the village herb woman who healed everyone.
After school, she hurried to Granny Edith’s cottage.
“Hello, Granny. I need to save my uncle. He’s very sick—he might die.”
The old woman sat her down, poured tea, and pushed a plate of scones toward her. “Tell me everything, dear.”
Emily did. Granny Edith listened, then rummaged through her shelves, pulling out little pouches and scribbling instructions on a scrap of paper.
“Here, love. Follow this. The pouches are labeled. And take this jar of honey.”
Emily rushed home and showed her mum. “Look! Granny Edith gave me herbs. I’ll make him better.”
Margaret nodded but said nothing—she didn’t believe in all that.
Every morning, Emily brewed the herbs, leaving them by Geoffrey’s bed with instructions.
“You’re relentless, Em,” he’d chuckle, watching her with gratitude.
She visited Granny Edith again, updating her on his progress.
“Well done, pet. Soon he’ll sit up, then walk. The earth will give him strength,” the old woman promised.
Emily was determined. Geoffrey sat up, then stood, leaning on a stick. He shuffled outside with her, barefoot in the grass. By summer’s end, he was feeding the cows and clearing snow in winter.
He got a job at the local sawmill. When Emily inspected his workplace, she scolded the men for the mess and smoking. Later, they returned to a spotless room—she’d cleaned it herself.
“Blimey. Might as well take our shoes off!” they laughed.
Eventually, Geoffrey fell in love—a widow named Marian. Emily approved.
“Good choice, Uncle Geoff. Marian’s lovely.”
He hugged her. “All thanks to you, Em. Come visit us anytime.”
He married Marian, had two more children, and lived happily. Emily became a doctor, married, and worked in a city hospital—but always visited her village, her parents, and her uncle.
**Life teaches us this: Even the smallest light can guide a lost soul home.**
