Restless
Emily had dreamed of becoming a doctor since childhood. She lived with her parents in a small village and ran three kilometres to school in the nearby town, where there was also a clinic, a post office, and even three shops.
The school was large and new, and the girl loved studying. Everything came easily to her, and she was finishing her fifth year.
“Em, get up! What are you lying around for?” her mother called loudly as she stepped inside, carrying a bucket of fresh milk from the cowshed. “You’ll be late for school. I woke you when I went to the barn.”
“Oh, Mum, you’re right!” Emily jumped up, washed, dressed, and grabbed her schoolbag, rushing out without breakfast. Her mother, Margaret, just managed to wrap a couple of pancakes and shove them into her hands.
Running three kilometres to school was no joke. She ran, counting the telegraph poles, sprinting alone—all the other kids had already left. Tired, she slowed to a walk before picking up pace again.
“I’m going to be late, I just know it,” she fretted.
She dashed into school just as the bell rang, hurried upstairs, and slipped into the classroom. No sooner had she sat down than Miss Thompson, the English and literature teacher, walked in.
“Emily, look at you—like you’ve been chased!” whispered her desk mate, Lucy. “Did you oversleep? Never known you to do that.”
“Yeah,” Emily muttered back, and the lesson began.
The day passed as usual. After school, she walked home with the other girls, the boys catching up to shove and joke around, making the journey lively.
Unlocking the front door—they kept the key under the porch—she kicked off her shoes and burst inside. The house was usually empty at this time. Her father was at work, and her mother, a postwoman, was out delivering letters. Just as Emily turned towards her room, she heard a harsh, rasping cough from the little back room. She froze.
Who was that? Her mother had once told her stories about household spirits, but she’d laughed them off.
She hurried into her room and shut the door. As she changed, she listened carefully. When she finally stepped out, the cough came again—definitely a man.
Her dad was at work, and he left early. Who else could it be? She was too scared to peek behind the curtain blocking the doorway.
She ate quickly and bolted outside, hoping to find her mother on her rounds. Spotting no one, she sat on the bench. Then she saw Mick, the neighbour’s boy, walking past.
“Mick!” she called, waving him over. “Come here a sec.”
“What’s up?” he asked.
“There’s someone coughing inside. I’m scared. No one’s home.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know! No one was there when I left for school. Now there’s coughing. Come with me to check?”
“Alright,” Mick agreed, and they stepped inside.
Silence. Emily pointed to the curtain. Mick lifted it, and they peered in. A painfully thin man lay on the bed—little more than skin and bones.
“Hello… who are you?” Emily asked from behind Mick.
“G’day,” the man rasped. “Name’s George. Your uncle.”
Emily didn’t know any George. They closed the curtain and slipped back outside.
“Well, there’s your uncle. Nothing to fear,” Mick said. “Right, I’m off. Mum’ll be waiting.”
Emily barely held her questions until her mother returned, then demanded answers.
“That’s your uncle George—my younger brother. He’s been in prison a long time. Just got out, and he’s ill. You wouldn’t remember him—you were tiny when you last saw him.”
Her father had said, “Let him stay. Get him back on his feet, try some herbal remedies.” But her mother doubted he’d make it.
George had been wild as a boy. At sixteen, he and his mates broke into the village shop—the one near the school. No money in the till, but they took sweets, biscuits, cigarettes, and whisky. They hid in an old woodshed, got drunk, and were caught fast. George got three years in a juvenile facility, then an adult prison when he turned eighteen. He’d caused trouble inside, and now, at twenty-five, he was barely alive.
Emily lay awake that night, listening to his cough. Then she remembered old Granny Mary in town—known for her herbal cures.
After school, she visited her.
“Hello, Granny. I need to save my uncle. He’s terribly sick—might even die.”
The old woman sat her down, poured tea, and slid a plate of scones towards her. “Now then, love. Tell me everything.”
Emily did. Granny Mary listened, then rummaged through her shelves, pulling out little bags and jars before scribbling instructions.
“There you are, dear. Follow this exactly. And here’s a jar of honey, too.”
“Thank you!” Emily rushed home, meeting her mother soon after.
“Mum, look what Granny Mary gave me! We’ll brew these herbs for Uncle George. She even said I should treat him myself.”
Margaret nodded but said nothing—she didn’t believe in such things.
Every morning, Emily rose early, brewed the remedies, and left them by George’s bed with a note on when to take them.
“You’re a right restless one, Em,” he’d croak, smiling faintly. He knew she was the only one who believed he’d live.
She visited Granny Mary again, reporting her progress. The old woman praised her. “Well done, love. Soon he’ll sit up, then walk. Bare feet on earth—that’ll give him strength.”
Emily was determined. George, in turn, began to believe. He sat up—she propped pillows behind him. Then he dangled his legs, stood, and later walked.
He took medicine too, prescribed by the local nurse. But Emily knew her herbs had helped most.
Margaret cooked hearty meals, and George started eating properly.
“Come on, Uncle George,” Emily ordered one day. “Out into the yard. It’s summer—I’m on holiday now. We’ll practise every morning.”
“Bloody relentless, you are,” he muttered.
One day, alone, he turned to the small cross on the wall and prayed for the first time in his life.
“Lord, forgive me. Help this girl heal my body and soul. She’s given me everything. Don’t take her from me. If she cares this much, she needs it more than me. Please, help her.”
Each day, Emily guided him outside. He leaned on a stick; she carried a stool for rests. Eventually, he sat in the sun barefoot on the grass, just as Granny Mary said.
Her parents marvelled at her patience. “She’ll be a doctor, no doubt.”
By summer’s end, George walked unaided, his cough gone. He helped with chores—herding cows, clearing snow in winter.
“George, I’ll shovel,” his brother-in-law grumbled. “You’re not strong yet.”
“Can’t sit idle. I’ll do what I can.”
When he got a job at the local timber mill, the crew took to him. One day, Emily stormed in, inspecting everything before scolding the men:
“Look at this mess! Grown men, living in filth. And no smoking in here—bad for my Uncle George. He’s quit.”
The men laughed, but when they returned, the place was spotless. Emily had even hung new curtains.
“Blimey,” one muttered. “Wouldn’t want her as a wife!”
George just grinned. “Restless, she is.”
Later, he fell in love. Emily vetted the woman first—Marina, a widow with a child—and approved.
“Good choice, Uncle George. She’s lovely.”
He hugged her. “All thanks to you, Em. Come visit us anytime.”
George married Marina, and they had two more children. Emily became a doctor, married, and worked in a city hospital. But she still visited her parents—and Uncle George—in the village.
