Chapter 14: Rosie the Riveter

1943 East Hartford Connecticut

It was the middle of the night, yet the Pratt & Whitney factory was running at full steam. The relentless churn of machinery filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic clatter of metal against metal. The acrid scent of oil hung heavy, intermingled with the sweat of its workers laboring tirelessly. This had been the norm for months, as the entire country worked in an unprecedented fashion, united in its efforts to win the war at all costs.

Within the sprawling complex, Rosalie navigated the maze of assembly lines and workstations with the ease of someone who had long since memorized every twist and turn. The floor vibrated beneath her feet, a constant reminder of the ceaseless activity that fueled the war machine. The hum of machinery and the clamor of tools created a symphony of sorts, echoing throughout the cavernous space.

Rosalie's specialization lay in aircraft engines. She had been working night shifts for a year now, ever since they first started hiring women. Clad in a grease-stained coverall, with her hair tucked under a bandana, she moved with a purpose that belied her delicate appearance. Rosalie loved her work and had discovered she had a true affinity for engines and their inner workings. Many times, she had been complimented on her speed and efficiency. If only they knew she was intentionally holding back, resisting the urge to work at true vampire speeds. If it were possible, she would be building the entire aircraft herself. Anything to support the troops fighting overseas.

Pearl Harbor had been a real wake-up call for Rosalie. She loved Emmett more than anything, but vampire life had not been in her plans for the future. She had found herself mostly adrift during those early years. Emmett helped center her and pulled her out of her early depression, but it was Pearl Harbor that had ignited a fire in her that had yet to be extinguished. Building engines was a noble calling, and working the night shift gave her a sense that she was making a real difference. During the day, she brought home all types of engineering manuals, learning everything she could until she reached the point where she was having ideas on how to improve the engines she was working on. If only she could land that kind of job, but that wasn't in the cards for women… yet.

The factory buzzed with activity as assembly lines whirred, churning out various components with precision. The harsh fluorescent lights cast a stark, bright glow over the vast space, illuminating every detail of the organized chaos. The air was thick with the scent of oil and metal, a testament to the relentless work being carried out. Rosalie and her team of five other girls were part of a cohort of six teams tasked with meticulously assembling aircraft engines amidst the din of machinery and the clatter of tools.

Engaged in a friendly rivalry, the teams competed nightly to see who could complete their engines first. The clinking of wrenches and the hum of motors set a rapid pace. Despite the competition, camaraderie thrived, with laughter and banter interspersed among the workers. Rosalie knew her team could secure victory every time if she desired, given her abilities, but she remained mindful not to draw unnecessary attention to herself. As a result, they only won half the time.

"Keep it up, girls. We're almost there," Rosalie encouraged, her voice steady yet filled with determination. Her keen eyes scanned the factory floor, taking in the scene with a mixture of pride and vigilance. Their team was in the lead, and they had a good chance of maintaining it. She tightened bolt after bolt, her movements swift and precise, applying just the right amount of force.

Seconds away from finishing, a loud crash filled the air, the sudden noise cutting through the constant hum of the factory. It was followed by a terrifying scream of agony, a sound that sent a chill down Rosalie's spine. She turned her head so fast she hoped none of her team members had seen her unnatural speed. Her eyes flared as she saw another team's engine had fallen off its blocks, appearing to have crushed a woman's leg. The woman's screams echoed through the factory, a stark contrast to the usual background noise.

"Come on!" Rosalie yelled, rallying her team. Without a moment's hesitation, they dropped their tools and rushed to the site of the accident.

Upon arrival, Rosalie could already smell the blood, but she pushed aside her instincts. The metallic scent was sharp and invasive, making her throat tighten. She recognized Heather lying on the ground, her screams piercing through the factory's usual din. Though they weren't close, they had exchanged a few words in passing during shifts. Rosalie assessed the situation quickly, her eyes fixed on the massive engine that pinned Heather's leg. The severity of the situation hit her hard, and she prayed the doctors would be able to save Heather's leg. In that moment, she wished Carlisle worked at the factory, but he was doing his part at a military hospital, tending to injured soldiers.

The women around Heather looked panicked and unsure, their faces pale with fear. Rosalie knew humans wouldn't be able to lift the massive engine on their own, but they couldn't wait for the machinery to arrive. Every second counted.

"Okay, girls, we've got to try," Rosalie commanded, her voice steady despite the chaos. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, just try to lift the engine, even a little bit. Two of you get to Heather and try to pull her out while we lift."

"Are you crazy? We can't lift that thing. We need a forklift. They must be getting one by now," another girl, whose name Rosalie didn't know, shouted, her voice edged with panic.

"We have to try," Rosalie yelled back, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Everyone, on three, lift." She started counting slowly, making sure everyone was ready. "One... two... three!"

As she counted, Rosalie could feel the tension in the air, the collective desperation of the group. When she reached three, they all heaved, their grunts and gasps mingling with Heather's cries of pain. Rosalie knew this was her chance, so she carefully, not trying to overdo it, began to lift the engine slightly.

"Keep going, we're almost there!" she yelled. As she lifted the engine higher, it was just enough for the two girls to be able to pull Heather back.

"Pull her out!" Rosalie shouted. The girls grabbed Heather and dragged her free from the crushing weight. Heather screamed in pain, but she was out. Seeing Heather free, Rosalie carefully placed the engine back on the ground.

Rosalie heard many of the girls commenting that they couldn't believe they had done it. Their voices buzzed around her, a mix of disbelief and pride. "I can't believe we actually lifted that thing," one girl said, her voice shaking. "Did you see how heavy it was? How did we manage that?" another chimed in, her eyes wide with amazement.

As Rosalie watched, doctors and nurses rushed in with a stretcher, efficiently working to stabilize Heather. They moved with practiced urgency, their faces set in determined lines. Rosalie had stopped breathing due to the smell of the blood. Heather had mercifully passed out, her face pale and clammy. The extent of her injury was hidden beneath her torn and bloodied pants, but the severity of the situation was evident. The hope for Heather's full recovery hung in the air like a heavy cloud, although it was clear she would be out of commission for a long time.

Rosalie spotted some of the top brass arriving on the scene, their expressions a mix of concern and authority. Not wanting to draw any attention to herself, she maneuvered behind the other girls, blending into the background. She listened intently as the others recounted what had happened, detailing their frantic efforts to save Heather. The top brass nodded, their faces softening with approval.

"Well done, ladies. Your quick thinking and teamwork saved a life today," one of the senior officers said, his voice carrying a note of genuine praise. "Accidents like this are, unfortunately, part of the job, but your actions ensured it didn't end in tragedy."

Rosalie smiled as the girls around her beamed with pride at the commendation. Workplace accidents were an unfortunate reality in a factory such as this. All too soon, the reality of their relentless schedule asserted itself, and it was time to get back to work. The machinery's hum resumed its dominant presence, a reminder that the war effort waited for no one.

After the long night, Rosalie punched out at 5:00 AM, the pale light of dawn just beginning to peep over the horizon. The air outside was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the stuffy, oil-scented interior she had spent the night in. As she made her way to the exit, she overheard a snippet of conversation that brought a wave of relief—Heather wouldn't lose her leg. The news lifted a weight off her shoulders, and she couldn't help but smile as she walked to her car.

Rosalie climbed into her 1935 Ford, the familiar creak of the vehicle a comforting sound. She turned the key, and the engine roared to life. As she drove through the quiet, empty streets, her thoughts drifted to Emmett. He was struggling more than ever these days, the war weighing heavily on him in ways that were both seen and unseen.

Emmett had always been a man of action, strong and capable, but the war had left him feeling powerless. He had an intense desire to enlist and fight, to prove his worth and contribute directly to the effort. However, the reality of their existence as vampires made that impossible. While the war had opened up new opportunities for women, giving Rosalie a sense of purpose and empowerment, it had the opposite effect on Emmett.

He had become increasingly withdrawn, not wanting to go into town, embarrassed by the thought that others might view him as less of a man for not being on the front lines. The pride he once took in his strength and vitality now felt like a burden. Working at a nearby plant making guns and rifles was the closest he could get to the action, but it wasn't enough. It gave him a sense of purpose, a way to contribute, but it wasn't the same as being out there, fighting for his country.

Rosalie sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as she navigated the early morning roads. She wished she could do more to help Emmett, to lift his spirits and remind him of his worth. She knew he was doing his part, just as she was, but the frustration and longing in his eyes were hard for her to ignore.

She pulled into the garage just as the sun was coming up, the early morning light casting a soft glow over the driveway. The engine's hum faded, and Rosalie quickly made her way into the house, eager to escape the prying rays of the sun. As she stepped inside, the familiar warmth and comfort of home enveloped her, a stark contrast to the cold, industrial environment of the factory.

Emmett was there to greet her, his strong arms pulling her into a big, enveloping hug. "How was your night, my beautiful Rosie the Riveter?" he asked, his voice filled with affectionate teasing. He relished the feeling of his wife in his arms, drawing comfort from their closeness.

Rosalie smiled, the nickname always bringing a bit of lightness to her heart. Emmett wouldn't stop calling her that, ever since the "Rosie the Riveter" slogan had started becoming popular across the country. He had even brought home a riveter for her for some playful role-playing. She certainly didn't mind that, the memory bringing a mischievous sparkle to her eyes. Shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts, she answered, "It was a trying night, but it looks like it turned out okay. Come sit on the sofa with me, and I'll tell you all about it."

They settled on the sofa, snuggling close as Rosalie began to recount the events of her night. The love they shared provided a sense of stability amid the uncertainty of the times. Though the future was unknowable, they took comfort in knowing that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

I hope you've enjoyed reading about Rosalie's past. As time passes, the Cullens' lives will continue to change without Edward in their presence. In the next chapter, we'll see what's happening with Edward in 1943. When I write these chapters about Edward through the decades, they will always be accompanied with another Twilight character's story. Sometimes they might be broken up into two chapters, or it could be just one, depending on their length. Reviews and comments are welcome. I enjoy reading your feedback.