Pastor Higgins climbed up to the wooden pulpit, the hem of his black robe dragging along the edge of the bottom step.

He laid his open Bible on the carved stand, took out a white handkerchief and wiped the shine off his forehead.

He cleared his throat twice before reaching for his glasses, pinching the corners of the gold wire frames to push them higher on his nose.

“We are gathered here today for Evelyn Bradley,” he started, his voice cracking on her last name.

He turned two pages at once, his fingers shaking so hard that the thin paper rattled against the wooden microphone stand.