Ona realized this, but being chosen was one of a few hurdles and Noah understood this as well.  Her brother clarified his remark...

“Don’t be nervous.  I gather that you have the numbers that you’ll need to support your proposal?”

She nodded...

“Yes...I thought it would be worse...but regardless of the actual report, I’m certain that the council will agree that there is an urgent need in this area.  I really feel good about this.”

Noah smiled, because he could recall the first time he’d submitted a proposal to the Conclave--his parents had waited in the rotunda, wanting to be the first to congratulate him.  He was certain that his parents would have done the same for Ona; had it not been for the dinner invitation offered by Geff’s parents.  His mother had to go straight home to prepare a dish, because showing up empty handed would break with tradition.  When two families shared a meal--for Samaritans, this was the first offer of a proposal to marriage.  This is followed by a dinner offer from the other parents--a meal that typically occurs within that week.  Noah knew exactly when his friend became attracted to his sister.  Over time, Geff had waited for Ona to reach the age of consent; then he would make his feelings known.  Yet, during all that time, Ona never showed a hint of interest in Geff--not even the smallest notice.

Noah relieved his sisters hand of the coffee mug.  He nodded his head in the direction of the council chambers.

“Our parents are Zachary and Aldeara Zelle--go make them proud to say that you are their daughter.”

Ona adored her brother.  She thanked him with a kiss on the side of his face.

“Wait for me at the coffee shop on the dock.  I’ll head straight there when I’m done here--and we can share my good news with mom and dad as soon as we get home.”

“Yes...”  Geff agreed.  “On the first day of this new year we’ll have plenty to celebrate.”

Ona inclined her chin, lowering her head so as not to meet Geff’s eyes. She was thrilled but not for the reasons Geff supposed.  Frankly, Ona had underestimated the man and she never imagined him approaching her parents before coming to her first.  In spite of his invitation, there were ways to deal with this problem--but for now, she had her project to consider.

“Ona...”  Geff pointed to her wrist...  “Your band...”

Ona lifted her arm and she noticed Noah’s disapproving stare.  Before he formed his first sentence, she tugged down her sleeve, covering the exposed area.  Noah said...

“Ona...you left the house without wearing your band?”

It was common practice for Samaritan’s to wear a band, etched with their communal Creed on the inside.  Wearing this band also signified that Ona was unmarried--and in some Samaritan Sects not wearing the band could mean that the woman was in transition.  In other words, not wearing a band could mean that the woman had accepted a proposal and she was waiting for both families to agree on a union date.  In her Sect, the bands held meaning--but Ona knew the reason for her bare wrist--and it had nothing to do with a proposal, a union, or any such nonsense.

She swiftly shed light on her offense.

“This morning, I was washing the dishes, and I forgot to remove my band.  My mind was on my project, instead of the sink, filled with wet dishes.  When I realized what I’d done, I removed my band, and placed it on the windowsill to dry.”

“The windowsill” Noah said flatly.  Ona smiled then replied.

“Yes...the windowsill.  Noah--it was an honest mistake.”

Geff rolled back his sleeve, revealing his black band.  He was taking it off before Ona or Noah could stop him.

“Here--wear mine’s.”

“Oh--no...” Ona stumbled, unable to find the right phrasing.  Geff said...

“You’ll want to look your best when you stand before the council.  Just take it Ona.”

She looked at her brother, and he shrugged--but she wondered why he wouldn’t give her his band.  On the other hand, Geff was her brothers good friend, and she was quite certain that Noah didn’t want to offend him.  Regardless of what happened between Ona and Geff--for now, accepting Geff’s offer was the polite thing to do.  So--Ona took the band.  She would hold it, but she wouldn’t dare put it on.  Wearing this band in front of Geff would be like seeding false hope.  She wanted to say something to this affect but she noticed her brothers strained expression.

Noah said...

“Okay--now that that’s settled--go Ona; the council is waiting.  And good luck--we’ll wait for you to join us on the dock.”

Ona parted company with them--walking with a skip in her step.  She was determined to leave the Samaritan Conclave with the finances she would need to support her city project--a project designed to help city children who’d been orphaned or traumatized by violence.

**********

“Congratulations Ona Zelle--your parent’s should be proud.  I have no doubt that one day you will fill my seat as a Conclave council member.”

If she had wings, Ona would have taken flight.  She could still hear these words when they’d been spoken in the Conclave Chambers.  Her project had been approved, even before her name appeared on the screen in the rotunda.  When she’d been called before the council, the members had simply wanted to see the enthusiastic face responsible for drafting a project whose time had finally come.  It wasn’t unusual for proposals to be similar and in some cases, exactly the same; but in the history of this Conclave council, no one had ever submitted anything remotely similar to Ona’s dream plan.

Ona burst through the doors, singing a tune in her head.  The words weren’t the lyrics from the song; instead, she’d replaced the words with her list of things to do.  Enlist aid from her friends; other Samaritan’s whose proposals had been rejected or abandoned due to lacking funds.  Contact the local shelter to request the use of their gymnasium and auditorium.  Distribute letters, requesting local restaurants in the area to donate leftover food to feed the program participants.  She had a list of artist but she hadn’t worked out how best to contact them.  She’d lived a sheltered life, and she’d never worked with anyone outside of her Sect, but Samaritans weren’t known for their artistic abilities and according to Ona’s research, children responded well to hands-on therapy.  She’d planned to have an area filled with domesticated animals--the children could pet and help take care of them.  In this way they could express positive emotions.  That‘s where the idea concerning the arts had come from.  Singing, acting, painting and playing an instrument; Ona had read countless articles and research that proved how beneficial this form of therapy can be when helping a child heal from emotional wounds.  Ona’s mind raced with all the things she had to do, before the weeks end.  Her mind had been occupied with her project and without meaning to, she’d walked down a street she’d intended to bypass.  Bishop Square housed a number of people whose parties tended to go overboard.  This also was an area not to far from where many of the cities rich people lived, in their ritzy high-rise apartments and oversized brownstones.  Samaritan’s rarely traveled alone, and when she’d left the Samaritan Conclave, she’d exited the building with a few other people.  Yet, somewhere in between the Conclave and Bishop Square; due to the over crowded streets, Ona had gotten separated from members belonging to her Sect.  Her eyes searched wildly, looking through a sea of people dressed in fashionable clothing.  She didn’t see one black, grey or navy outfit; these were the shades that typically colored Samaritan clothes.

“Don’t panic Ona--stay cool.  It’ll be fine.”  She told herself.  No sooner did this lie leave her lips, a strange man wrapped his arms around her waist, spinning her, until she faced him.