She found, too, that her return to Washington, with its late dinners, was not good for her. She resolved to forego heavy dinners; to eat her last hearty meal at three o’clock, and enjoy a big red apple before going to bed. A big red apple was always a means of grace to Clara Barton. On one of the most desolate of these nights, when she came home late in the rain after a disappointing day, she gratefully records that her apple was good.
She had cheering word about her finances. Her business affairs, left in the hands of reliable New York bankers, had prospered during her absence abroad. She had used while in Europe considerably less than her income; her principal had swelled somewhat, and her annual income was more by quite a little than she had expected. About the middle of January she received her complete account, and found that she had more money than she thought; and this was a comfort. Her expenses at Dansville, though much increased by her hospitality, had kept well within her annual receipts, and she was safely provided for for life. She need never worry so far as money was concerned.
But she was worried. She began to question whether her dream of an American Red Cross would ever come true. It was bitter hard to have it fail after she had won over three Presidents, Hayes, Garfield, and Arthur; but fail she thought it must, even after it had shown in Michigan how useful it could be. She seriously thought of returning to Europe, and letting some one else take up her thankless task. She wrote:
I am so tired. I sleep very poorly. I can only think of some good way of getting out of this country. I feel as if I should be willing to let all go, if only I could get out, and hear no more strife and bickering lies. Why should I let my life be spoiled by those who are now opposing me, and who take the joy out of my sunshine?
Why, indeed? She had money enough to live upon, in Dansville, or in Oxford, or for that matter in Washington; and she owned homes in each of those three places, and had income enough to live upon in any one of them or in Europe. Why should she expose herself longer to weariness, misrepresentation, and cruel disappointment?
It will be seen that Clara Barton had some reason to apprehend trouble growing out of the visit of the wife of the Senator. Powerful backing had already been secured for the first of the opposing organizations that gave her pain and sorrow.
But she prevailed, and the Senate at length ratified the treaty without a dissenting vote. Either the Senator’s wife was more favorably impressed than Clara Barton thought, or her husband refused to be guided by her opposition.
But the opponents of Clara Barton were active to the very hour when the treaty was ratified, and there were days when it seemed that she was working at a hopeless task. She went to see influential people, only to find them out or occupied or indifferent or strangely uncommunicative. She was almost in despair.
There came a day, Monday, February 6, 1882, when her own feelings changed:
It did not seem like other days. There was either much to do or nothing to do. I knelt at my bedside, and asked earnestly, tearfully, for guidance. I only want to know my way. I feel that I can walk it, if I can be made to see it. I am so weary of all this strife, this unrest, this doubt. I am willing to let the work go into other hands. If all goes as hoped, I can call an executive committee meeting, announce the ratification of the treaty, hand in my resignation, and get out of it all. If they want the Society, they can keep it; if not, it will die if let alone and some other can be organized, or they can take the one that is now opposing me. Then I can go and rest. It has been my part to do the work of the treaty. I have tried to do it faithfully, and it has met with little moral support, even from my own committee. I will try with God’s help to go on faithfully to the end, with no support but His; and if He will give it, when this is done, I shall be ready to lay the burden down, even if my enemies gain the advantage of it. This has been a day of instruction and discipline, and, I dare hope, not lost.