The Wretched Life of Priscilla Wolcott: Volume One: Widow Wonderland

By Cheryl Garrison Garrett

The Wretched Life of Priscilla Wolcott Volume 1: Widow Wonderland is the story of Priscilla Wolcott, a sixty-six-year-old woman who faces the challenges that rise up following the sudden death of her husband, Jared. Her faith is tested as she learns how to grieve, be alone, deal with family members, find a church home, and be more outgoing. Shaped by a team of unusual characters, she discovers the supernatural healing power of forgiveness, and the importance of being still, listening, and waiting for God. Through this process, she realizes how much she is loved and discovers that she, too, is capable of loving.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685261481

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Foreword

Chapter 1: HEARTS WAITING

Chapter 2: GOD'S BELOVED AND UNBELOVED

Chapter 3: ANGEL MEETING

Chapter 4: RETURN TO THE WAITING ROOM

Chapter 5: NEWS?

Chapter 6: THE COFFEE SHOP

Chapter 7: AN EXTRA CHAIR

Chapter 8: A STRAY DOG, SOME SHEEP, A GOAT, AND A PILOT

Chapter 9: ANIMALS, ANGELS, AND CUSTODIANS

Chapter 10: PROVISIONS

Chapter 11: UNSPEAKABLE

Chapter 12: JES' CHECKIN'

Chapter 13: THE JUDGMENT SEAT

Chapter 14: THE NEUROLOGIST

Chapter 15: LOOKING UP

Chapter 16: PARKING LOT MELTDOWN

Chapter 17: A HOLE IN MY DAY

Chapter 18: INSIDE THE SUNNY ROOM

Chapter 19: A NEW LEVEL OF KNOWLEDGE

Chapter 20: BREAKFAST WITH WESLEY AND MATTHEW

Chapter 21: RECAP AND RECOVERY

Chapter 22: OLD PHOTOS

Chapter 23: CRYING, TRYING, AND DISCOVERING

Chapter 24: DRIVEWAY BANDIT

Chapter 25: I KNOW WHAT I CAN DO

Chapter 26: THE INVITATION

Chapter 27: PREPARING TO STUMBLE

Chapter 28: OPPORTUNITIES MISSED

Map Marietta Home

Chapter 29: OCTOBER 29, 2014—ANGELMEETING

Chapter 30: CHANGING OF THE GUARD

Chapter 31: JUST BREATHE

Chapter 32: FIRST HEAVENLY HUG

Chapter 33: REFRESHED

Chapter 34: THE FAMILY VAULT

Chapter 35: DECEMBER 19, 2014—ANGEL MEETING

Chapter 36: NEW YEAR'S EVE 2016

Chapter 37: RESOLUTIONS

Chapter 38: JULY 26, 2017—ANGEL MEETING

Chapter 39: ONLINE DATING

Chapter 40: SEPTEMBER 28, 2017—ANGEL MEETING

Chapter 41: WAKE-UP CALL

Chapter 42: CHERISHED OR REVERED

Chapter 43: NO SEXY-LOOKING MEN

Chapter 44: NO LYIN' KINGS EITHER

Chapter 45: GOD'S THREADS

Chapter 46: SECOND HEAVENLY HUG

Chapter 47: WHERE DID THE TIME GO?

Chapter 48: MARCH 8TH 2018—MOVING ON

Chapter 49: ONE FINE DAY

Chapter 50: TRUSTING INSTINCTS

Chapter 51: MAKING CONNECTIONS

Chapter 52: DOGS AND STEAMROLLERS

Chapter 53: JOY RIDE

Chapter 54: MAGIC BULLITT

Chapter 55: UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY

Chapter 56: ON CALL

Chapter 57: COMFORT LEVEL

Chapter 58: FARMACY DAY SURPRISES

Chapter 59: JUST BE

Chapter 60: NOVEMBER 3, 2018—ANGELMEETING

Chapter 61: ALL THINGS NEW

Acknowledgement

Postscript

A Time When God Spoke to Me

Postscript

About the Author

cover.jpg

The Wretched Life of Priscilla Wolcott

Volume One: Widow Wonderland

Cheryl Garrison Garrett

ISBN 978-1-68526-147-4 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68526-148-1 (Digital)

Copyright © 2023 Cheryl Garrison Garrett

All rights reserved

First Edition

Scriptures quoted or paraphrased are from The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV) World Bible Publishers; New Living Translation (NLT) Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Carol Stream, Illinois; or the New International Version (NIV), Zondervan, 1988-1991 Tyndale House Publishers, Wheaton, Illinois.

Image credits: Witness Symbols reprinted with permission by Kelly Roberson, President King’s Witness, LLC; Sunflower images Adobe Stock; Marietta Home image: Clyde B. Garrett; Logo & Cover Design: David Garrison

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

For my widow-mate Angela and for any widow who wonders What's next?

Foreword

Greetings, dearest believers and skeptics.

I am Priscilla's guardian angel—one of them, that is. She has six.

When God the Father, our Creator, assigned me to Priscilla in 1944, He knew what her life would be and what purpose it would serve. As such, He equipped me with the knowledge of Priscilla's tendency to be gullible, naïve, accident prone, driven, passionate, easily embarrassed, and misunderstood. Her mother, Nancy, an undiagnosed manic-depressive, and Priscilla's birth father Johnnie, a Casanova type, had two sons and Priscilla before divorcing and parting ways. At that time, Priscilla was almost three; her brothers Marshall and Vincent were five and seven respectively. Nancy remarried a man named Wayne Weber, and two years later, she gave birth to twins, Daniel and Danielle. All of them lived together in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house along with Wayne's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Weber, bringing the household inhabitants total to nine.

No one got along. It was, as Priscilla calls it, a wretched life.

In time, Priscilla meets and marries Jared Hamilton Wolcott, and her life slowly changes from wretched to enriched.

Only God knows the path Priscilla will pursue. I am given my orders just in time. I cannot influence or interfere with her decisions, but I can protect and comfort Priscilla…and I can remind her who she is: God's beloved child.

W. Merriweather

Lead Guardian Angel

For he will order his angels to protect you wherever you go.

—Psalm 91:11 NLT

Chapter 1

HEARTS WAITING

October 1, 2011, 7:30 p.m.

"Hurry please…please open up!" Priscilla groaned as she punched the up button multiple times.

A thud and soft scraping noise echoed in the empty corridor as hospital elevator doors slowly yawned open permitting Priscilla to step inside.

Impatiently she mashed 5, looked up and watched the amber-colored indicator squares change as the lift carried her to where an emergency room attendant had directed her to go. She was scared—Her husband, Jared, had been transferred from the emergency room to somewhere else. She needed to find him and make certain that he was all right. The last time she had seen her husband, a medical team was heaving him into the back of an ambulance. Helplessly, she had watched as one member of the team straddled Jared's quiet body and pumped his bare chest. Is he alive? Conscious? Did he have a heart attack? She fretted to herself.

A ding and a whoosh sound announced her fifth floor arrival where the first person of possible authority she saw was a plump middle-aged man with red cheeks. He was seated in front of a computer peering down at its screen.

Glancing up, he silently acknowledged Priscilla by holding up one pointer finger, a signal that he was busy and would get to her momentarily. She grimaced, sighed, and looked back at the elevator doors as if she expected them to open and produce someone she could talk with. Priscilla turned to her left and saw glass doors with a simple message written in red: Restricted Area.

He's probably in there, she mumbled to herself and began to fidget, shifting her canvas bag from one shoulder to the other until the man raised his head. He flapped one hand, shooing her away from the counter, and then jabbed a pointer finger repeatedly toward a large open room on her right. He was not being rude, she decided, just efficient.

Is this where I'm supposed to go? she whispered, pointing to a directional sign that read Cardiac Care Waiting Room.

He nodded yes, held one hand over his mouthpiece and said, Take a seat, ma'am, a doctor will be here shortly.

Feeling anxious, disheveled, and weary, Priscilla groaned and turned toward the waiting room which was dimly lit and filled with groupings of people sitting on soft chairs and couches. Making her way to a small cloth-covered sofa against the wall, she sat down and dropped her blue canvas bag at her feet and lowered her head to avoid eye contact with strangers who were gathered there. She was not afraid of them—just unsure of them.

Her life experiences taught her to be quiet and to be prepared for combat, not in the military, but on the playing fields of life where family hostilities, divorce, miscarriages, betrayal, premature deaths, or disappearances of loved ones fine-tuned her abilities to cope. Often accused of being aloof, she was just the opposite. She had practiced smiling through pain when people asked her how she was doing and she abhorred crying in public. She had lost three children, four good friends and now she was determined to not lose Jared Wolcott, her husband of thirty-one years.

Seated across from her was a cluster of people. She decided that they must be family because of the way they moved, spoke, and touched one another. A gray-haired, distinguished, but tired-looking man, who appeared to be Priscilla's age was sitting between two younger men. One was bent over, his head bobbing in and out of his hands as he sobbed into a white cloth handkerchief. The other young man sat at attention as if awaiting orders and stared into space. Kneeling at the older man's feet was a middle-aged, physically fit woman with long copper-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail.

At first, Priscilla thought the woman might be the older gentleman's wife, but then she heard the woman say, "Daddy, your family is all here with you now. The doctor tells me that Mother is still in surgery, but we should know something soon. And do not worry, we will stay as long as it takes."

In response, the man reached for his daughter and ran his hand over the top of her head and held it there for a moment. His shoulders shook as he began to cry, and the young man at his side handed him the cloth handkerchief, which he took without looking and pressed it to his eyes. Nearby were two red-headed boys. Priscilla thought that they might be teenagers; she watched a tender concern for them register on the senior man's face when he lowered the handkerchief.

To her, the two boys looked like photocopies of one another. Except for their clothing, she could not tell them apart. Side by side, the boys walked, chewed the tips of their fingernails, wept, and sniffed. A soft-spoken black man was with them; he reached out, cupped a hand on the back of each boy's head, and pulled them to his side. Like a coach sharing a unique strategy, he held them and whispered into their ears. Whatever the man said to them must have been comforting. They bobbed their heads and smiled up at him.

Trying not to stare, Priscilla looked down at the carpet. Her blue South Carolina Educational TV canvas bag was gaping open and her phone had slipped free. She picked it up and tapped out a text message to her friend Wesley, asking him to pray. [Pray big], she wrote. [In GHS… Jared in trouble].

She looked back at the family sitting across from her. Their display of sadness helped to release her own dammed-up sorrow and tears. Warm, salty water spilled over her burning eyelids, trailed down her face, wrapped around her neck, and soaked the top part of her t-shirt. With one cotton sleeve, she wiped away fluid that streamed from her eyes and waited for Wesley, the only person she knew she could trust to share the bizarre happenings of this day.

Chapter 2

GOD'S BELOVED AND UNBELOVED

Wesley was someone Priscilla turned to in times of crisis. He was consistent, uncomplicated, kind, and a patient listener. He never told her what to do, but often reminded her of who she was.

You are God's beloved child, Priscilla, he would say.

To which she would respond, Yes, I've heard that before from Mama Turner. You are God's beloved child. He loves you. He became flesh and died for you. To which she would always add with sarcasm, So, Wesley, tell me, if God's beloveds are frequently screamed at for imperfections, whipped with belts, switches, shoes, or kitchen utensils, grabbed by the hair and shaken, slapped, called names, embarrassed, belittled, and relegated to dark basement stairs as punishment, I wonder how God treats His un-beloveds.

Wesley would always reply, Someday, Priscilla, you will know how God treats His un-beloveds.

She and Wesley had grown up together, but they did not see each other regularly. When they did, it felt as though no time had passed between visits. His prayers were spectacular, fluid, and comforting. Within forty minutes of sending him the text message, Wesley was standing in front of her.

How is Jared? he asked.

I wish I knew, Priscilla replied. Thank you for coming… I appreciate it.

I am glad to be here.

Wesley, this seems surreal, she said.

Do you feel like talking about it?

Maybe later, she replied.

Priscilla relaxed and smiled at Wesley's appearance. He had perfect posture for a man in his mid-sixties; he was dressed in denim jeans, a loose-fitting, striped, button-down shirt, and dark-brown leather flip-flop sandals. Hearing his voice helped to drive out the suffocating fog of uncertainty.

How much do you know? he asked as he handed her a bottled water and a plastic baggie stuffed with a toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, wash cloth, and a blueberry multigrain bar.

Nothing…the man at the counter outside told me that a doctor would meet with me soon.

Probably running tests.

I suppose so.

Is there anyone you want me to call? Wesley asked.

I'm not sure, Priscilla said and thought about the family, friends, or neighbors who might want to know about Jared. Everyone is either dead, moved far away, or at war with us over property rights.

Danielle and Daniel might care, she thought but decided against calling either of them. I don't have the strength to hear their critical list of things I need do to be happy, she confessed to Wesley, who was now seated in a chair next to her.

Danielle and Daniel? he asked. Were you thinking about them?

You know me well, Wesley. Yes. I was thinking about them and how they exhaust me. I'm too tired to manage this situation and their wants at the same time.

I understand.

Of course you do, you always understand. Thank you for being here Wesley… I really appreciate it.

Wesley nodded and said, Just let me know if you think of someone.

Well, there is one that comes to mind. Matthew, Jared's son by his first marriage, Priscilla offered. He lives in Oregon. The name of the town is odd, something like Oompah. I don't have his number programmed into my phone, but I have it at home. I'll look up the address and phone number later. You know that our granddaughter Elizabeth lives with Matthew and his wife Ona.

"I do know that," Wesley replied.

But Elizabeth is too young to know us by any name other than ‘Granddad' or ‘Granny Wolcott,' Priscilla said and then began to share broken details of the day. It was sudden, Wesley. He was making a video about golf and…a hole in one… I think there was a flash of lightning… I don't know. He had some sort of an episode. I thought he was clowning around. Then, I knew it was real. He needed help…and… I tried…all I could do was call 911 and pray for God to take care of him.

Prayer is good, Priscilla. I am glad you thought to do that.

Priscilla smiled, but it did not hide the pain of concern.

I have an idea, Wesley said, surprising her. He sprang up, patted her hand and said, I am going down the street to get you a McDonald's caramel-mocha coffee. How about that?

Priscilla's expression changed from surprise to a combined grimace and a grin. That unhealthy, high-fructose-corn syrup, fake chocolate-flavored coffee was one of her weaknesses and Wesley knew it.

High in antioxidants, he reminded her, which made Priscilla laugh and shake her head.

Don't get lost, she called out to him as he walked away.

Her words caused the grieving man across the room to glance up at her and offer a weak smile. Priscilla nodded but looked back for Wesley who seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

Chapter 3

ANGEL MEETING

October 1, 2011, 9:00 p.m.

McDonald's near Greenville Memorial Hospital

All guardians present: Wesley, Jennifer, Karl, Ronnie, Ginger, and Magic

Wesley stood in line at the McDonald's near Greenville Hospital and ordered Priscilla's coffee to go. Jennifer, Karl, and Ronnie already had their food and beverages and were waiting for Wesley to join them.

Ronnie was seated in a wheelchair, which was pushed up against the end of a booth table. He was wearing a secondhand-store Georgia Bulldogs t-shirt and gave the appearance of being a has-been football player suffering a knee injury. Karl appeared as a trim, distinguished black man in his seventies with close-cropped white hair. He wore sunglasses despite the time of day. He held a white cane at his side and was seated at the end of the booth next to Ronnie's wheelchair. Jennifer appeared as a smartly dressed Asian woman in her fifties; she saw Wesley in line ordering and notified the other angels.

Ginger, an undersized Shetland sheepdog with one ear that did not properly tip, and Magic, a purebred tricolor collie, were wearing their service dog harnesses and sat at attention at the feet of Ronnie and Karl. An elderly couple passed by, smiled, and nodded approval of the well-behaved dogs. With Priscilla's coffee in hand, Wesley joined the other angels at the table.

I see you all have food, he said.

Yes, we were waiting for you to give thanks, Karl replied.

Perhaps you could lead us in prayer, Karl, Wesley said and all bowed their heads as Karl prayed.

Father, for this food and this assignment, we are grateful. Thank you, Father, for Your provisions.

Amen! Ronnie declared as Jennifer bit into a Big Mac, sending pale orange-colored sauce oozing out of the burger onto the sides of her mouth.

These things are so good, she said in a voice muffled by a wad of bread and meat.

Not for long, Magic woofed and moved closer to Ronnie's side.

Now-erdays kids are wantin' free-range chickin', reel butter, 'n' bottled wutter, Ronnie said.

Like the good ole days, Karl remarked, then adjusting his sunglasses and moving his white cane to one side, he reached down to tug on Ginger's strappings, checking to make sure that they were not too tight. Satisfied, he scratched Ginger's head, who thanked him with three soft yips and a few tail wags.

Those were especially good times, Jennifer remarked, removing the overflow of sauce from her face with a paper napkin. I remember how much Priscilla enjoyed the cold chocolate milk poured from glass bottles and creamy butter wrapped in waxed paper delivered to her front porch.

And pickin' fresh vegetables frum the garden fer supper, Ronnie added, twirling his wheelchair to make way for the elderly couple trying to decide where to sit. Those 'maters Paw-Paw grew were like shugger.

Magic whimpered and pushed his nose under Ronnie's hand.

It is nice having all of you here today, Magic said in a soft canine voice.

Ummm, hummm, Ronnie offered and patted the top of the collie's head.

Indeed, Wesley replied, and all the angels expressed agreement with nods or wags.

What does it say in her dossier, the brief? Karl asked.

Let me see, Wesley said and looked down at a paper that was covered with symbols and letters that only an angel could read. We have some hard work ahead of us.

No surprise given her tendencies, Magic barked.

Yes, yes, yes! Ginger yelped. "She has a way of attracting con artists, users, and thieves. Jared could always see them coming, so I guess it is up to us to guard