It was a cold but clear day in the middle of a Spearfish Lake winter when they laid Henry Toivo to rest finally in the Amboy Township Cemetery, in the grave in the family plot that had remained empty for so long.

It was a big funeral, handled immaculately by a detail from the Army’s Third Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard). It was a solemn occasion, performed with full military rites by a crack unit that gave full honors to a soldier finally brought home to his final rest. Just before an Army firing squad performed a final salute, a diamond of three olive drab National Guard helicopters with one missing flew low overhead.

The men – and the woman – who had brought Henry Toivo home for the last time played but small parts in the service, and it didn’t bother them much. They’d honored Henry in their own way by keeping the faith when hope was gone, by doing their part to make sure this day was to come. Besides, they had a ceremony of their own to present, but now wasn’t the time.

The time came several months later, toward the end of May, not long after the veterans and others had attended a long-delayed wedding, in which Tiffany Langenderfer-McMahon stood as a bridesmaid for her mother, and Henry Langenderfer-McMahon, at the age of ten, was his father’s best man. It wasn’t a large wedding, but among the guests were Heikki and Heidi Toivo, happy to see that part of the story at an end as well.

The final ceremony had to wait for Memorial Day, which all agreed was a good time for it. Ed Snyder hadn’t been able to make it to the service in January; he’d had a child in the hospital, and no one faulted him for it. Mike and Kirsten weren’t invited to this ceremony though, nor was Binky, but Joe Krebsbach drove up from Decatur for it. This was just for the Spearfish Lake men who had fought in Vietnam and returned home.

In the morning, there had been the usual ceremonies at the flag-bedecked graves of the cemetery, and a group from the Amvets fired a traditional salute.

But that evening, as the sun was beginning to set, a handful of cars drove into the cemetery, and Harold Hekkinan, Bud Ellsberg, Gil Evachevski, Ryan Clark, Joe Krebsbach, Mark Gravengood, Ed Snyder and Steve Augsberg got out. Without any degree of ceremony, they walked up to Henry Toivo’s grave.

Harold reached into a bag he was carrying, pulled out a small glass, and set it on Henry’s headstone, then passed glasses to the rest of the group. Gil took a quart bottle of beer, filled the glass on Henry’s headstone, and then the rest of the glasses, one at a time; Mark opened a can of non-alcoholic beer, and filled his glass and Joe’s. “Wish Glenn were here,” someone said. No one needed to comment, for they all wished he were.

When the glasses were filled, Harold turned to Henry’s headstone and said. “Henry, we wanted to do this a long time ago, but things didn’t work out that way. At least, we can finally buy you a beer to say, ‘Welcome home, Henry.”

“Welcome home, Henry,” Bud said, lifting his glass. “Sorry it took this long.”

“Welcome home, Henry,” Gil said solemnly. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Welcome home, Henry,” Ryan nodded.

“Welcome home, Henry,” Mark intoned. “We missed you, guy.”

“Welcome home, Henry,” Joe said.

Ed waited for a second, out of respect for the one who couldn’t be with them, before he too said, “Welcome home, Henry.”

“Welcome home, Henry,” Steve said at the end. “Glad you finally made it.”

They quickly drank their beers, put the glasses back in the sack, and walked away, leaving Henry’s beer where it sat.

Heikki Toivo was still the Township Supervisor after all these years, and that made him the cemetery sexton, as well. He was getting on up there, now, and the township actually hired out the work, but Heikki made a point of dropping by the cemetery frequently just to make sure everything was all right, and to walk over to Henry’s grave, of course.

He was there the next morning, to make sure everything was all right after the Memorial Day activities, but couldn’t figure out why there was an empty beer glass on Henry’s headstone.