My great-grandfather, William Washington Elmore, was a handsome man, except for his left eye, which had been blinded when he was young. (See the photo attached. He is the young man in the front row.) In 1908, at age twenty-six, he married my great-grandmother, Diana Vincent. She was only sixteen. They were country folk, living in rural Kentucky with very little money but a deep appreciation for simple joys.
Three years later, on October 11, 1911, their first child, Lawrence, was born. He lived only five days. His death certificate listed the cause of death as “not rightly known.” Infant loss was tragically common in those days. Like so many families before them, William and Diana grieved, then carried on.
The following year, their daughter, and my grandmother, Arzona, known to everyone as Zoni, was born. Later came Noah Rex. He would grow into adulthood but die in his twenties after an epileptic seizure caused him to fall into a river and drown, at least according to the coroner’s jury.
Despite crushing poverty and relentless hardship, the young family, William, Diana, Zoni, and Noah, built a life together. William hunted and worked where he could. Diana tended children, the house, the crops, and everything else that needed tending. Life was hard, but it was theirs.
William loved coon hunting, especially with his two dogs, Champ and Brownie. Champ was reliable, but Brownie was special.
Diana knew how to sew. I still have one of her quilts, sewn nearly a century ago. But even the finest homemade dress could not replace what every young woman secretly wanted back then: a store-bought dress. Something ready-made. Something that said, even quietly, I matter.
William noticed.
Money was scarce. Whatever came in went straight back out in food for the family, wood, and coal for winter nights. Still, William made a plan. If he hunted often enough, sold enough pelts, maybe he could save just enough to buy Diana that dress.
So night after night, whenever the weather allowed, William went out with Champ and Brownie. Slowly, painfully slowly, the coins accumulated. He was getting close. By early December of 1917, he needed only a few more pennies.
Winter was settling in. On the evening of December 3rd, he decided to go one more time.
Visibility was poor. William knew the land, but darkness, weather, and the excitement of the chase can disorient even the most familiar traveler. Near Poplar Springs, not far from Sweeden, Kyrock, and the Nolin River, he stepped onto a bluff and fell ninety feet to his death.
Champ ran. Brownie did not. Brownie found his way down and stayed with William as he passed from this world.
The next morning, Champ returned home alone. William and Brownie were nowhere to be found. Later that day, searchers discovered William’s body with Brownie beside him. The dog would not allow anyone nearby. He guarded his friend fiercely. It was only when Diana arrived that Brownie stepped aside.
She wrapped William in one of her quilts, the same kind she had made for years to keep her family warm, and they carried him home.
After the burial, Brownie refused to leave the grave. He stayed day and night. The family worried he would starve himself.
Then one evening, the family was able to distract Brownie with the quilt that had covered William’s body. They brought him home, and he lay on it.
From that point on, Brownie spent his days at William’s grave and his nights on the quilt.
Eventually, friends and family who knew about the dress William had been saving for, came together and bought it for Diana.
She received it… but not from the hands that had worked for it.
I’ve been thinking of this story today, not because it is dramatic, though it is. Not because it is tragic, though it is that too. I think about it because it teaches something quiet and enduring.
William’s love showed up in ordinary ways, late nights, cold hunts, tired legs, and small coins carefully saved. Brownie’s loyalty showed up by simply staying. Diana’s strength showed up in quilts, children, and carrying on when carrying on was the only option.
No one made speeches. No one wrote inspirational quotes. They just loved each other the best they could with what they had.
And sometimes that’s what faithfulness looks like. Not grand gestures. Not perfect outcomes. Just showing up. Staying close. Doing the next right thing. Loving people in ways they may never fully see until after you’re gone.
Brownie knew. Diana knew. And now, generations later, we know, too.
Dr. Wesley