I’m not sure what time period this fanfic is set in, but I’d guess around

the early 1800’s

Remember, I love reviews, but please review only if you have something to say. Constructive criticism is nice, but please no flames. And the little “that’s cool” or “good, update soon” reviews really get on my nerves.

So, without further adieu, welcome to my third Twilight Fanfiction story!

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, not me.

ENSLAVED

CHAPTER 1: NEW HOME

Edward

The wagon bounced over the various dips and bumps in the road, and I bounced with it. My hands were roped together in front of me, so I couldn’t even steady myself. My head and shoulders ached where they had been thrown against the wagon sides.

I scowled at the helpless feeling it gave me.

I was seventeen, prone to being moody…or so I’d heard. But I couldn’t help it, I resented everything! I resented being sold into slavery, being separated from my parents at age eleven.

I’d seen other boys my age sometimes, from a distance. They strutted around smoking cigarettes. They talked and laughed and watched girls and discussed the war. They had an air of complete freedom around them.

Free. How ironic, because it was exactly the opposite of what I was.

The wagon jolted to a sudden stop as the driver muttered gruffly. There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the sound of the horses prancing impatiently. I took the opportunity to adjust my position, trying to get comfortable. It was pretty much impossible.

There came the muffled sound of men talking, and then the distinct clink of money being transferred. A bright light suddenly flooded the wagon as a tall man threw open the doors. I didn’t have time to adjust to the light as he pulled me out, while my previous owner counted coins greedily.

The tall man was joined by a pointy-faced woman as they poked and prodded me, the typical slave examination. I winced when it caused the cloth of my shirt to rub against the whip slashes on my back. Most were on their way to healing, but a few remained red and enflamed.

The tall man and woman exchanged a glance, then ran me over critically one more time. Finally, the man turned to my original master, muttering: “he’s healthy enough.”

Healthy enough. Yes, I supposed that there were many other slaves that were much worse for wear. But set me next to any other boy my age, and you’d see a definite difference.

My old master nodded and pocketed his coins, reaching out his hand for a shake. The woman took out a sharp knife and slid it along the ropes on my wrists, allowing them to fall away. I rubbed at my wrists in relief, seeing little red splotches spring up where the circulation had been cut off.

Before I knew what was happening, the tall man had grabbed my arm and was pulling me towards the house. My former master hopped into his wagon and whipped the horse, slapping the reins to get it moving. I watched the wagon fade away, saddened only by the fact that it was the last connection to my parents, Edward Sr. and Elizabeth. The wagon was headed back to the plantation that they worked on.

And I was headed towards a new life.

“What’s your name, son?” The tall man asked gruffly.

“Edward, sir. Oof.” I had tripped over a stone in the path and stumbled forward. This resulted in a smack upside the head, courtesy of Mr. tall-man.

“I am Stephen, the butler.” He continued. “You will be working for Mr. Jacob Black, the owner of this estate.

For the first time, I looked up at the house.

Wow. Estate was a silly word for it. Mansion was more like it. The house was a pure white color, with rising, ivy-covered columns supporting the bottom. Multiple porches sprang from its four levels, with a small lookout on the very top of the roof. Wisteria climbed up the entire front level, and every window showed a flurry of activity.

A single man owned this entire estate. He sure liked to live extravagantly.

“You will be sleeping in the servant’s quarters behind the house, in the woods,” Stephen continued. “You will be serving wherever you are needed, mostly out in the fields and vineyards. You will rise before dawn, and retire to your quarters at 10:30 pm. Follow all orders; any acts otherwise will result in immediate punishment.”

I winced at the idea of “punishment”. It was such a simple word for what could be a horrid practice. I could still feel the searing whip across my back.

The woman reached the steps before us. She entered through the door and looked around, probably making sure that Mr. Black was nowhere near.

“ISABELLA!” She shouted through the house. The inside was even more impressive. A giant, oaken stairwell curved up to the higher levels. Extravagant furniture was arranged neatly around a huge fireplace, which burned fervently despite the humid weather. It was the kind of place that I didn’t have a prayer of ever living in. As a free man, that is.

A girl appeared at the top of the steps faster than was normal. She was probably used to having to appear quickly, for fear of a beating. Surprisingly, though, her face showed no scars or bruises.

“Yes, ma’am?” She asked softly, hurrying down the steps. Halfway down, she tripped over a crooked step and went sprawling. I felt sympathetic, knowing that this meant that she would probably be beaten. I was surprised to see that the woman did not slap her when she got to the bottom of the stairwell. It looked like she wanted to, but she held back.

“This is Edward, our newest servant.” She sneered the word. “You will show him around the house. Make sure he is given a new uniform, too.”

I noticed that this girl, Isabella, wore a plain white dress with no markings on it. The outfit of a slave. So she was no higher than I was.

“Yes, ma’am.” Isabella said, bowing low. She turned and grabbed my arm, pulling me up the steps with her.

“This is the main level, with bedrooms, studies, guest rooms, and sitting rooms,” she began to explain, speaking so fast that it was almost impossible to tell what she was saying. “Below is the kitchen, more sitting rooms, living room, and dining room. Above us is the observatory, library, and formal meeting room. The top level is the attic and washing rooms.”

I nodded, trying to process it all in my brain, trying to make a mental map. Getting lost never ended well. You usually stumbled upon something or somewhere that you weren’t supposed to be, and then got slapped around. Hard.

“Always address anyone of higher status by ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’. Mr. Black is always to be referred to as ‘Master’. Whenever the master goes by, look down and avoid eye contact.”

She spoke so quickly and matter-of-factly that I found my mind reeling. She didn’t leave any room for interruptions or questions. All you could do was hurry along and try to understand.

She explained everything about the house: which rooms were off limits to who, when you could enter certain rooms, which furniture had to be dusted in certain ways, which rooms had valuables that were not to be touched, no matter what. It was almost impossible to keep up with.

Finally, Isabella ended her speech by finding me a spare uniform, and leaving me in the servant’s quarters to change. It was a few sizes too small, pinching in ways that were very uncomfortable. I sighed and ignored it, finally wrenching the door out of my way.

Instead of Isabella, a burly man was waiting for me, also wearing a slave’s uniform. He smiled.

“Are you Edward?”

“Yes,” I answered, wondering if I should tack on a “sir”. Probably not, seeing as he was no higher status than me.

He turned back towards the house and motioned for me to follow him. I hurried quietly, making my strides longer. He turned to give me a sympathetic look.

“Well Edward, welcome to the Black estate, and let me tell you, it is going to be Hell.”

I shrugged. It couldn’t possibly be any harder than the old plantation, could it?

It could.

I was beyond exhausted by the end of the day. They had me carting boxes of heavy equipment to the observatory for hours, which was on the third floor. After that, someone shoved me out into the fields, where we had to carry hay bales back to the stables. You have no idea how heavy those things are. Believe me, they look light, but they weigh about seventy pounds each. Maybe more.

After that, I was set back out in the fields to cut stalks of wheat…with a heavy sickle. Once the bundles were tied, they had to be lugged back to the granaries.

Finally, the evening found me peeling potatoes with a sharp knife, which resulted in several cuts. Stephen slapped me around a few times when he found a fleck of blood on one of the potatoes.

Dinner was a tin cup of water and half a carrot with some stale bread. I gnawed on the carrot forlornly, smelling the dinner that the servants were preparing for their master. It was some type of poultry roasted in cherries, with the potatoes that I had helped peel.

I prayed fervently that the master didn’t find any blood in his mashed potatoes. Stephen would know exactly who to whip.

I collapsed into bed at the end of the day, streaks of dried sweat clinging to my forehead. I moaned and curled up on the hard cot, ready for the peaceful escape that sleep would bring.

Before I managed to fall asleep, however, someone was shaking me.

“No!” I moaned. “Go away.”

“C’mon, Edward, get up! We have to go.”

I sat up in irritation. “Go where?”

It was the burly man who had told me – so accurately – that today would be Hell.

He grinned widely, flashing teeth in the dark. “Your initiation.”