Trigger warnings for references to war, domestic violence, sexism, and rape
Before The War
It wasn’t easy growing up in a traditional family. Even though Rose was a promising student and the best English speaker in the house, her parents pulled her out of school when she was ten so her little brothers could continue their studies. They both ended up getting expelled within a few years. Like a good daughter, she married young to a man her parents liked though she did not care for him, and immediately became a good housewife, or at least tried to. It was not her fault that she miscarried twice and preferred a day’s labor to staying at home cooking and sewing. Her husband wanted someone meek and mild, and when Rose proved to be otherwise, he beat her. Enough was enough. Rose took matters into her own hands, moving out of her husband’s home and getting a job working in the fields. Her family never spoke to her again.
During The War
As labor needs shifted from the fertile fields and orchards of California to the munitions factories, Rose shifted with it. No matter what sort of work it was, be it picking fruit, laying seeds, or welding airplanes, she enjoyed it and threw her heart and soul into the task at hand. But she did not enjoy the sexism that came in both the fields and the factories, or the way the bosses would treat her people as if they were expendable. After a foreman tried to rape a girl in the toilets, she could no longer take it lying down and punched him out, only to get fired the next day.
After The War
Rose transformed herself from just another child of immigrants looking for a job to a fierce defender of her people and of women. While it did lose her the jobs she loved in factories and farms, she was able to finally put her anger and frustration at the system somewhere. With the new nickname Mama Gallina, or Mother Hen, and the help of Thomas Winters, Rose was finally able to make a difference.
Personality
There are two extremes to Rose’s personality. On the one hand, she is driven and prickly to anybody who tries to cross her, but if there is an abused wife, an over-worked laborer, or anyone who needs a shoulder to cry on, Rose can transform herself into a mother figure for them. A friend and ally to talk to, and also a passionate fighter, Rose is complex and multi-facetted, and nobody quite knows the real Rose.
Politics
As an advocate for labor rights, the American Communist Party is a fitting political party for Rose. Unlike some of her comrades, however, she doesn’t identify as a radical and she respects the opinions of others, even if she might not understand where they are coming from.
Rose closed her eyes as her mother tugged at her hair, putting it into braids, pulling apart the knots and tangles that always appeared, the girl playing far too hard with her brothers. She always got tangles in her hair, but her mom seemed to have a magic touch, smoothing it out, without hurting Rose for a moment. Today was a special today. Rose could tell by the amount of attention that her mother was putting into each braid she made in Rose's hair. She hummed one of the lullabies that Rose adored, and the little girl closed her eyes, relaxing into the touch of her mother.
"What day, Momma?" Rose mumbled, feeling a bit sleepy, after such a long day of playing.
"It's your birthday, sweet. I thought I told you last night." She said with a laugh, moving her hands while she spoke. "Remember, I told you, you're eight years old now." She said. Rose shrugged. She didn't care much about birthdays. Days came and went, one after another, each other a day of work, or of play for Rose. The only day it changed was Sunday, when the family took time to go the rickety little church, that was frequented by other laborers, most of them immigrants like her mismatched family. A few always gave Rose and her family sharp looks. Not many could accept Rose's father marrying a black woman. But most respected Mr. Monroe, many liked him and his family, knowing that he stood up for his community. Or as much as he could, while still keeping his job and his family safe and fed.
"I don't want to be eight." Rose responded, crossing her little arm. "I want to be seven again." She didn't like the idea of growing up. Each time one of Rose's brothers got older, they stopped playing with her. They went off to work, to sweat in the fields, working until the sun went down, getting home well after Rose went to sleep. She didn't like the way each them started to get that haunted look in their eyes, the tired drag of their feet as they rose, before the sun, to go back to the fields. It hurt to watch them leave her. She didn't want to join them, be chained to a life of labor and monotony. She wanted to be a child, free to laugh and play every day.
"Oh, my dear. You enjoy your childhood while you can. Too soon you shall be a mother yourself, having the same talk with your daughter." Rose's mother said, chuckling again. Rose shook her head, spoiling her mother's work, and wiggled from her grasp, not liking the conversation anymore.
"No!" Rose exclaimed, feeling the room, wanting to play more, wanting to run free. "I'm not eight! I'm not eight!" She cried out, chanting it as she found her younger brother, to rope him into some pretend game.
Rose's birthday culminated in a messy cake, that could barely be considered a dessert. It was dry, from their lack of milk and butter. They couldn't get much out here. But it was still a cake. Rose's father and brothers had stumbled in, right in time to sing a halfhearted round of "Happy Birthday" before they all went their respective beds. Rose's father barely gave her a kiss on the head, before he had disappeared too, leaving Rose alone with a hard cake, and her mother. She left her piece uneaten, and went to bed, her tiny little thing in the corner of their home, which she shared with her little brother. She curled close to him, wishing desperately she could be three again, like him. She fell asleep with tears on her round cheeks, feeling lost and scared, so scared of the future.
To bad the both of us were wrong, about my future. Neither of us are to blame, Momma, so don't think you're at fault. You did your best, I know that. You couldn't have done anything different, and you couldn't have known, that I would never have measured up to your standards. It was simply impossible. I know, now, that I don't deserved to be punished for it, and I know that if you had been aware of the situation, you wouldn't have punished me either. But I couldn't have told you, Momma, not with the way you had raised us. And I had always thought it was my fault, my responsibility that I couldn't have a child. But I have children now, Momma. I wish you could see them. The ones I've helped, the girls I've rescued from awful men, men who have the same look in their eyes as him. I've saved boys, who could have become him, if they had gone astray for just a little longer.
Oh, gosh Momma, I wish I could introduce you to each one of them. You'd be so proud of the grandchildren you have, all the souls that I've worked to help. And Thomas. Especially Thomas. Momma if you could sit down and talk to him, just for a few minutes, you'd learn so much. And I'm sure he'd adore you. He's taught me so much, has helped me in so many ways, he has no idea about. I only wish you could see how different I am. How I've grown and changed and found my purpose. That's what I was always missing Momma. I had the drive, and the sense of duty. I just could never find something to believe in.
I hope you think of your little girl, after all these years. I still think of you every day, Momma.
Another blow landed, on her back this time, right where her kidney was, and Rose couldn't help the cry of pain that left her lips. She had promised herself that she wouldn't make any noise this time. Whimpers just made the beating worse, and a full yelp was forbidden. Rose's husband wanted his wife to be quiet, and so Rose tried. But the pain that twisted red-hot through her had finally pushed her body to its breaking point, and Rose had uttered a small cry. Not enough to pass through the thin walls of their apartment, a rundown, moldy place that Rose struggled to keep clean. Rose wouldn't dare cry out loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It wouldn't have mattered, not in this building, where the neighbors would only turn the radio up higher, or talk louder. But it would make her husband even angrier. Only once had Rose cried out that loud, and she couldn't remember what had happened, after the first blow to the head. She only came to in the morning, and found herself in the bathtub, the white porcelain stained red, and her clothes gone. She had more bruises than unmarked skin, then, and she couldn't bear to leave the house until they healed from her face and arms. Since then, Rose had been careful about upsetting her husband, feeling as though she was lucky to survive that night. But even with her trying to do her best to keep her house clean, put a hot meal on the table, and be as quiet as a mouse, she still wasn't perfect enough for her husband.
"You stupid bitch." He said, grabbing her by her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to look at him. "You don't deserve to be upset, not when you can't even get pregnant." He said, pulling her face close to his. "Look at me when I talk to you!" He commanded her, and she was forced to look at him, look right into the eyes of the man she hated more than anything. She hadn't hated him at first, she had even thought that she might have been able to get along with him. He was hardworking enough, even if he wasn't especially kind or gentle. Even if she didn't love him, they might have been able to get along, and that would have been enough. But he wasn't a good man. Rose knew that, by the scars that crossed her torso, by the gaps in her smile, by the missing clumps of hair. She knew he was the monster, but she couldn't help but think it was her fault too.
Rose was barren. She knew it, to her very core, as much as she hated to believe it. She knew she would never produce a child, and the fact was a disappointment to her mother, her father, and her husband. Especially her husband. After over a year of trying, her husband had grown desperate, embarrassed by the fact that he couldn't have a child. These days, their "trying" began with abuse, usually verbal, before he had worked himself up enough to turn her over, and take her like an animal. Rose never thought of rape, never even thought a thing could exist between a husband and wife, but she always felt sick and dirty afterwards. She thought it was just the guilt. What was she, if she couldn't produce a child? That was what a woman was for, giving the man a warm and clean house, and babies. She could barely provide the first, but had failed miserably in the second. It was her fault, her stupid body, so maybe she did deserved to be beat. Maybe if she was just a better wife, her husband would be happy with her, treat her right.
"You're worthless. A worthless, fucking piece of trash. I can't believe I agreed to marry you." He said, tossing her to the floor, by her hair, her head smashing into the fake tile. Her vision went fuzzy, and she knew she had to get him to stop soon, or else she could be fatally injured. A thought went through Rose. What if he did beat her to death? She wouldn't be missing anything more than this life of constant service and pain. She'd be free of it all, free to join her grandmother in heaven, the only person, other than her youngest brother, whom she felt close to. And maybe her husband would finally be punished, be caught in his crimes. Maybe she would have her justice.
The thought made Rose go quiet again, and limp. She didn't care anymore, about the pain, about surviving another day. Another day would mean another chance to be hurt by him. If it ended right there, in this moment, she wouldn't have to face him anymore. But her quietness and lack of reaction bored him, and he left her crumpled on the floor, probably so he could go drink and pass out. As she came to her senses, her vision clearing, Rose pulled herself upright, her body suddenly shaking. She was shocked by the way she had just given up, had let her resolve go. She had been ready to die, ready to give up, and that scared her. Even if she didn't agree with everything her parents had taught her, she still thought that suicide was a grave sin, and she had practically been ready to commit it. Rose leaned against the icebox, the cool metal soothing the painful heat in her body. She still shook, but she felt alive. She felt her mind clear for the first time in weeks, and she knew what she had to do.
Rose waited another few hours before standing from the kitchen floor, knowing that if her husband was awake, she'd be unable to go through with her plan. As she tested her steps, she was glad to find that she could walk easily, even if her breath came shallowly, from where he had kicked her in the chest. She wondered if she had a broken rib, but that would have to wait. She had to get out of this house first. She crept down the hall, avoiding the floorboards that creaked, to the bedroom she shared with her husband. Sure enough, he was snoring, and she could smell the cheap whiskey he drank. At least she wouldn't have to worry about waking him. She still moved quietly, though, her nerves on edge, fear in every cell of her body. Even if she was sure about leaving, she was still scared he would wake suddenly, grab her and throw her against the wall. Rose only packed a few things, not wanting to linger. She made sure to grab the jewelry she had inherited, though it wasn't worth much, and the money that her husband stashed in his rain boots. She was going to try to get as far away from him as she could, and every cent would help.
It was only when Rose had reached her brother's place that she had her second thoughts. It was the middle of the night, how could she expect Joshua to even be awake? She thought about turning back. It'd be easier to just go back, and pretend she hadn't stole from her husband, that she hadn't run away. But that thought was quickly suppressed by the fear of returning and facing the pain again. Rose knocked on the door of her brother's apartment, a little place that was part of a larger house, and waited, setting her bag on the floor. She had to knock again, but soon the door opened, to reveal her baby brother, who wasn't a baby anymore. He had obviously been asleep when she knocked, but he had answered the door, and that was enough for Rose.
"What are you doing here?" He asked. Rose let out a sigh that got caught in a sob, before throwing herself into her brother's arms, needing support, for just one moment. She needed someone to hold onto. Her brother, thankfully, let her stay there for one beautiful moment, his arms around her too. She let out a long breath, and let him pull away. She quickly wiped the tears off her cheeks, knowing she had to appear strong.
"I'm sorry to wake you, but I had to leave. Joshua, I couldn't stay there, so I thought I'd come here, just for a little while." Rose said, hoping that he would understand, see the bruises on her, the tooth that was missing, and let her stay.
"You can't." Joshua said, quickly, so quickly that Rose didn't even register his meaning until a second later. Her expression dropped. "You can't stay here. Rose, he would figure it out. He'd know. And you know I can't keep you hidden from him. He's your husband, and you have to stay with him, even if things get bad."
Rose felt her heart break. Her one friend, her blood and flesh, was giving her up, telling her to go back to the monster who had beat her until she was black and blue. Joshua had always been there for Rose, when they were kids, but now he was doing nothing, when she needed him most. Rose wanted to slap him, stomp on his foot and spit in his eye. Call him names, tell him he was a monster too. But that would be useless, would only go to show she was no better than her husband. Instead, Rose picked up her bag and left, without saying goodbye. She walked straight to the closest bus station and got on the first bus that appeared, not looking at the destination. She paid her way to a different city, a different coast, as far as she could get, pawning her grandmother's jewelry as she went. It was only when Rose saw the golden sea that she felt safe.
