Restless
Ever since she was little, Emily dreamed of becoming a doctor. She lived with her parents in a small village, running three kilometres to school in the nearby town where there was also a clinic, a post office, and even a few shops.
The school was large and newly built, and Emily loved studying—everything came easily to her. She was finishing Year Five.
“Em, get up, what are you lazing about for?” her mum called loudly as she stepped inside, carrying a bucket of fresh milk from milking Daisy, their cow. “You’ll be late! I woke you when I went to the barn.”
“Oh, Mum, you’re right!” Emily leapt up. In two minutes, she washed, dressed, grabbed her schoolbag, and dashed out without breakfast. Sarah barely had time to wrap a couple of pancakes and shove them into her hands.
Running three kilometres to school was no joke. She sprinted past telegraph poles—alone, since all the other kids had left earlier. Tired, she slowed to a walk, then ran again.
“I’m going to be late,” she fretted, heart pounding.
She burst into school just as the bell rang, flew up the stairs, and slid into her seat as Mrs. Thompson, their English and Literature teacher, walked in.
“Emily, what’s got into you? Looks like you’ve been chased,” whispered her desk mate, Lucy. “Overslept? Never thought that’d happen to you.”
“Yeah, I did,” she murmured back, and class began.
The day passed as usual. After lessons, Emily walked home with the girls until the boys caught up—shoving, joking, making the journey lively. Unlocking the door (they hid the key under the porch), she slipped off her shoes and dashed inside—usually empty at this time. Her dad was at work, her mum delivering post.
But as she turned toward her room, a deep, rattling cough froze her in place.
“Who’s there?” Her mind raced. *A ghost?* Mum had once joked about spirits, but Emily had laughed it off.
She ducked into her room, shut the door, and listened while changing. When she finally crept out, the cough came again—definitely a man’s.
“Dad’s at work. Who—?” She hesitated by the curtained alcove, too scared to peek.
After a hurried meal, she bolted outside, hoping to find her mum. No luck. She sat on the bench until Tom, a neighbour from Year Seven, passed by.
“Tom!” she waved him over. “There’s someone coughing in our house. I’m too scared to look—will you come with me?”
Inside, all was quiet. She pointed to the curtain. Tom tugged it aside—and there lay a skeletal man.
“Hello?” Emily whispered from behind Tom.
“Hello,” the man rasped. “I’m George… your uncle.”
Emily had never heard of any George. They backed out quickly.
“He’s your uncle and you were scared?” Tom chuckled. “Right, I’m off—Mum’s waiting.”
Emily barely kept still until her mum returned.
“Uncle George?” Sarah sighed. “My younger brother. Just got out of prison—ill as can be. You wouldn’t remember him; you were tiny when he vanished.”
George had been wild as a boy. At sixteen, he’d broken into the village shop with mates, stealing sweets, biscuits, cigarettes, and whiskey. They’d been caught fast—three years in a youth detention centre, then moved to an adult prison after turning eighteen. Inside, trouble followed him. Now, at twenty-five, he was half-dead.
That night, Emily lay awake, listening to his cough. Then she remembered Old Mary in town—a herbalist who could cure anything.
“After school, I’ll see her,” she decided.
Mary welcomed her with tea and scones. Emily poured out the story.
Mary listened, then rummaged through jars and pouches before scribbling instructions.
“There, love. Brew these as I’ve written. Steady doses.”
“Thank you!” Emily rushed home.
Sarah barely glanced at the herbs. “Do what you like,” she muttered, sceptical.
Every morning, Emily rose early, brewed the remedies, and left them by George’s bed with firm instructions.
“You’re a stubborn one, Em,” he’d wheeze, but his eyes warmed. Only she believed he’d live.
She visited Mary again, reporting progress.
“Well done, love. Get him walking barefoot—earth heals.”
Emily made it her mission. George, inch by inch, improved. Pills helped, but Emily swore her herbs saved him.
“Up, Uncle George!” she ordered one summer morning. “We’re walking daily now.”
“Restless little thing,” he groaned, but obeyed.
One day, alone, he turned to the small cross on the wall and prayed for the first time.
*God, forgive me. Help this girl heal me. If she fights so hard, maybe she needs this more than I do.*
By summer’s end, George walked unaided, cough gone, helping with chores.
“Life changes people,” Sarah marvelled. “Our George, a hard worker!”
Soon he got a job at the local sawmill. When Emily stormed in, scowling at the mess, the men chuckled—until they returned to a spotless break room.
“Blimey, lads, she’s worse than my wife!”
George grinned. “That’s Emily for you.”
Later, he fell for Marina, a widow. Emily vetted her and approved.
“Good choice. She’s kind.” George hugged her.
“This is thanks to you, Em.”
They married, had children, while Emily became a doctor, visiting the village often.
Restless no more—just unstoppable.
