You fan yourself on the porch, glancing down the road for any sign of Annabelle, the humid Mississippian heat causing beads of sweat to form on your brow. The war against the rebels has been rough of late, and moments of peace and reprieve are few and far between. Your thoughts turn to your beautiful wife, her charming accent and coy smiles chasing away the bloody scenes of battle from your mind's eye. A rustle in the garden catches your attention and you spot one of the house slaves tending to the roses Annabelle so adores. Your heart swells at the thought of giving her one, the velvet petals a fitting tribute to her own delicate beauty. The familiar sound of hoofbeats reaches your ears and Annabelle rounds the corner in the wagon, her usual carefree smile in place.