All My Joys Forego

The legend of the first Valentine card by Rich Watson (based on true events in American history)

Oyster Bay, NY

February 1779

The war against the American colonists was a struggle. After the Battle of Brandywine two years ago, Lt. Colonel John Graves Simcoe became commanding officer of the regiment known as the Queen’s Rangers.

Simcoe’s Rangers!

With him in charge, those turncoats would rue the day they defied the Crown.

Letting General Washington retreat at Brandywine irked Simcoe—killing him might have led to victory sooner—but Father would’ve disapproved of him shooting a man, even a rebel, in the back.

And the victory did lead to Simcoe’s current assignment in Oyster Bay. From the regiment’s headquarters at Raynham Hall, Simcoe plotted the search and capture of Washington’s Culper spies. Members operated in this area. Their identities would be uncovered in time.

Ah, but what did military business matter when Sally Townsend was around?

She lived at Raynham with her parents, siblings and assorted slaves. Every morning he’d spot her in the parlor, sewing petticoats and mantuas and capes. He anticipated her smile whenever the angel greeted him. It got him through his day. Sometimes, in an idle moment, they’d discuss his role in the war, the neighbors she knew when she saw them in the streets and at the market, the news and the gossip.

He’d forget she was a colonial.

Sally didn’t seem overly concerned about the British occupation of her town. In fact, how she’d talk to Simcoe, go out of her way to make him notice her, almost made him think—

But that couldn’t be the case.

Could it?

The other troops admired her and her sisters. Several of Simcoe’s men went so far as to etch endearments to them in Raynham’s window panes, like lovesick schoolboys. Fortunately, Simcoe was above such tomfoolery.

But oh, the sight of Sally’s soft brown eyes, the honey in her voice whenever she complimented his looks in uniform, the melody of her laughter…

Could he trust her, though? Her father had signed an oath of loyalty to King and Crown (under duress), but he had agitated in favor of revolution. It would not surprise Simcoe to learn he was one of Washington’s spies, though there was no proof yet.

Simcoe got along with the Townsend clan, but every day he lived with them was a reminder he was there only as a member of an occupying army. Soon, his people would win the war, and then what? A future of any kind with the likes of Sally was absurd to contemplate.

He came from a military family. His part in conflicts such as the siege of Boston and the Battle of Kingsbridge led to his current command. He had to forsake his feelings for his duty—but duty meant nothing without someone with whom he could share his accomplishments.

Was it wrong to court a beautiful young woman whose allegiance had to be coerced?

Perhaps a way existed to ensure her loyalty—and to make his passion known at the same time.

And this week was the right time for it.

***

Simcoe looked up from his desk, waiting for the ink to dry. It had taken him hours to write. It was a stronger statement than messages scratched on window panes. She would understand that.

He examined it a final time:

Fairest maid, where all is fair, Beauty’s pride and Nature’s care;

To you my heart I must resign, O choose me for your Valentine!

Blood rushed to his ears. He was no one’s poet, yet he had to make it distinctive from anything she could see or hear from his men—or, for that matter, from other potential suitors in town.

She already thought well of him. Once she read this, not only would she surrender her heart, but any thoughts of insurrection would evaporate with the morning dew. She had to love him.

She must.

He rose from his chair to look for Sally.

***

Under the stars outside Raynham Hall, a week later, Sally spotted the approaching figure. The streets were empty tonight, thank goodness. He removed his hood. They conversed.

Her older brother Robert operated a merchant shipping firm in Manhattan. She sent for him as soon as she could.

“You’re certain?” he asked.

“I am,” Sally whispered. “Colonel Simcoe and Major Andre said something about West Point. I suspect the British are planning an assault there with the help of an insider in the continental army. Robert, could someone really be planning betrayal?”

“I know not… but perhaps throwing my lot in with Washington’s spies was beneficial after all.” Robert gripped her arm. “Simcoe does not suspect your eavesdropping?”

“Unlikely. The man remains smitten with me. He actually gave me a valentine, can you believe it?”

“That’s good, Sally. As long as he is charmed by you, he will be distracted. We can use that.”

Robert gave her further instructions and crept away. Sally watched him go.

Passing this information along was important—perhaps even critical—to General Washington’s success against the British. She knew that. She even believed it. But Simcoe’s visage blazed within her mind, coupled with the declaration of his love for her.

She wept.

🩷🩷🩷

Since 2021, Rich Watson has been writing about twentieth-century pop culture biweekly, plus original fiction. He enjoys baseball, cooking and hiking. He lives in New York City.