A mountain girl in the early 1900's copes with a marriage arranged by her dad. Her story is titled from an old saying "I own my land, heaven-high and hell-deep." "Your pa gave his consent for us to marry," he said the words as though it was a simple matter. It wasn't a romantic proposal of love and devotion. It wasn't a proposal at all. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I tried again. "I don't know your name," I managed to say as I felt my chest constrict. There was a pain in me that started at my toes and went to the roots of my hair. Dad had come up with a solution to his problem. I could either marry this stranger, go to Granny Mable, or I could join the little Munson girl and sleep in barns and steal food from people. Great choices I had been given by the man I thought would love me regardless. "My name is Rafford Johnson. You can call me Rafe for short." I swallowed a couple of times. "You're a man. Why would you want to marry me? I'm not really old enough to marry a grown man."
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