Summary:  Hoss struggles with how to help Doc Martin in the aftermath of the epidemic and Julia’s Bulette’s death. A WHN for The Julia Bulette Story.

Rating: K+  Word Count: 1493

The Burden of the Oath

“Yes?”

“Doc?”

“Oh Hoss – how can I help you?”

The smell of alcohol was unmistakable as Hoss took in Dr. Martin leaning heavily against the frame of the front door of his house.

“Uh – Sorry ta bother ya, Doc. Pa sent me ta make sure you was ok.” Hoss looked beyond the doctor into the dark house.

“Good old Ben – always looking out for everyone, but as you can see – I’m fine.” Dr. Martin’s words were halting and slurred.

“Have ya had anything ta eat? Ya been pushin’ yurself real hard with that epidemic an’ all.”

“I’ll get something soon – don’t worry about me – I’ll be fine.”

“Kin I at least light a lamp and start a fire for ya? Yur house is all dark.” Hoss pushed his way past Paul Martin, not waiting for an invitation. He found the matchbox and lit the lamp on the kitchen table. An empty wine bottle and glass became visible in the light.

“Would you like to join me, Hoss? I’ve got another bottle in the cupboard. Just needed a little something to relax before I lay down.”

At the rate he was drinking, Hoss figured Doc would pass out before he ever made it to his bed. “Let’s go to the sittin’ room and I’ll light a fire.”

Martin staggered to the cabinet to get the other bottle of wine and a glass for Hoss. He retrieved his glass from the table and followed Hoss into the parlor. While his friend worked on the fire, the doctor uncorked the bottle and unsteadily filled the two glasses. He sat down hard in the overstuffed chair by the hearth. Hoss soon had a crackling fire going and took a seat in the rocker across from Dr. Martin. Though he had seen the doctor and his father share an occasional drink, never before had he seen Paul Martin intoxicated.

Martin picked up the second glass and offered it to Hoss. “Here, have a glass with me. You’ve been working hard this past week, too.”

Hoss held up his hand. “No thanks, Doc. I’ll pass. I really oughta go get ya somethin’ ta eat, don’tcha think?”

The doctor placed the other glass down on the coffee table. “I’m not really hungry. I’ll get something later. Go on home, Hoss. Little Joe needs you.”

With all that had been going on between Joe and Julia Bulette and then his younger brother grieving over her untimely passing, Hoss wondered why his father would send him to check on Dr. Martin. It appeared now that Ben had had more insight into the doctor’s mental and physical state than anyone else did. When Hoss did not respond to the doctor’s words. Martin raised his glass and took another drink before beginning to process aloud the thoughts that were plaguing him.

“This land chews people up and spits them out like so much garbage. You know what I mean. Your family has suffered, too. Sometimes I wonder what it was that brought me here. You probably don’t remember my wife, do you, Hoss? You were just a little fellow back then. She came with me to this god-forsaken land – poured her heart into me and my work.” Martin’s voice cracked with emotion.

Hoss ached for his friend. The man was exhausted beyond sleep. After days of working to save so many suffering from “the fever”, he then had to care for Julia Bulette after she was attacked. Hoss sensed that more than anything else, Martin just needed someone to listen; so he kept quiet as the doctor proceeded, his tongue freed by the alcohol.

“A man needs a good woman to soften the cold, hard realities of this world. After I lost Elinor, I just couldn’t bring myself to put another woman through what she had gone through – as if there was even another woman anywhere around here that compared to her. No, she was a special woman – lost to what? Tell me? For what purpose?” He paused to run a hand through his disheveled hair.

Tears were building in Hoss blues eyes as he felt the doctor’s pain. Before Hoss could think of how to offer a comforting response, Martin went on.

“Look at a woman like Julia Bulette. Oh I know, I told your father to keep Little Joe away from her. She was calloused and hardened by the life she lived, but underneath she had a good heart. She sacrificed when others wouldn’t lift a hand. What a waste. What a waste!”

Dr. Martin shook his head in disbelief and stared at his now empty glass. The greed of Jean Millain had cost Julia Bulette her life and yet this type of killing happened frequently.

Hoss murmured. “Yeah, no woman deserves ta die like that.”

The doctor filled his glass again. “I’m just not sure it’s worth it anymore. I’m not sure this town will ever amount to anything – so full of greedy, power-hungry men.” His voice became a whisper. “Why did I ever come out here? What difference have I made? And for what? Can’t stop the disease and senseless loss of life.” Martin set down his glass, dropped his head into hands, and became silent.

Hoss heaved a great sigh as he debated how to respond to the doctor’s ramblings. The demands of being a physician in the untamed west had taken a toll on his friend. Hoss struggled thinking that his father would have known exactly what to say and do in this situation and very well may have been down a similar path with the Paul Martin before.

“Fur a man like you, losin’ even one patient is one too many, but ya have ta think on the ones that wouldn’t be here today without yur help. People ain’t always so good at sayin’ thanks. But I know there’s an awful lotta grateful folks around Virginia City – some that wouldn’t be here on this earth iffen ya hadn’t hepped ’em. You’re just plumb wore out, Doc. Ya need ta get some rest and I’m gonna see to it that happens.”

Hoss was actually relieved to see that the wine had taken hold of the doctor making him less agitated and restless. Martin did not fight as Hoss helped him into his bed and covered him up.

The following morning Dr. Martin woke to the smell of bacon and coffee cooking on the stove. Hoss gave the haggard looking doctor a gentle greeting. There was little conversation as Hoss kept filling the doctor’s coffee cup.

With his memory of the previous night a bit muddled, Dr. Martin finally worked up the courage to pose a question. ‘Did anyone need me after I went to bed last night?”

Standing at the stove, Hoss turned to offer Martin a knowing smile. “Nah – I think the Good Lord was lookin’ out fur ya last night, Doc.” The big man dished up some eggs and bacon onto a plate and placed it on the table in front of the doctor. “Couple more cups a coffee and you clear that plate, you’ll be good as new.”

Paul Martin looked toward the window, too embarrassed to make direct eye contact with Hoss. After wiping his hands on a towel, Hoss reached for his gun belt and hat and moved toward the door.

Martin suddenly realized that Hoss was planning to leave. “Aren’t you going to have some breakfast?”

“I had a bit a bacon. It’ll hold me til I get back ta the ranch.” Hoss paused to strap on his gun and position his hat on his head. “Take care now and stop by iffen yur out our way.”

“Yes – I will.” Hoss was about to close the door when Martin fixed his gaze on the man filling the doorway and added. “Hoss – thanks.”

The big man nodded and waved goodbye.

A few days later, there was a knock at the door during dinner at the Ponderosa. Joe answered it and found Doc Martin holding a basket that contained a fresh baked berry pie.

“Doc. Come in, especially if you’re planning to share that pie with us.” Joe gave the doctor a big grin.

“I have every intention of sharing this pie that Mrs. Ferguson gave me for taking care of her sick children.”

The doctor handed the basket to Joe and placed his hat on the credenza. The rest of the family rose from their chairs to greet Paul Martin. Ben motioned his friend to take a seat at the table before calling for Hop Sing to bring out some coffee and dessert plates.

“I got to thinking as I was riding back toward town that pie tastes a whole lot better when shared with good friends.” Initially directing his comment at Ben, the doctor then turned toward Hoss.

The big man rubbed his hands together. “Thanks, Doc! I’ve been havin’ a hankerin’ for berry pie! Hop Sing hurry up with those plates!”

 

 

Tags:  Grief, Hoss Cartwright, Paul Martin