First, her tippet made of tulle, br easily lifted off her shoulders and laid br on the back of a wooden chair. br br And her bonnet, br the bow undone with a light forward pull. br br Then the long white dress, a more br complicated matter with mother-of-pearl br buttons down the back, br so tiny and numerous that it takes forever br before my hands can part the fabric, br like a swimmer's dividing water, br and slip inside. br br You will want to know br that she was standing br by an open window in an upstairs bedroom, br motionless, a little wide-eyed, br looking out at the orchard below, br the white dress puddled at her feet br on the wide-board, hardwood floor. br br The complexity of women's undergarments br in nineteenth-century America br is not to be waved off, br and I proceeded like a polar explorer br through clips, clasps, and moorings, br catches, straps, and whalebone stays, br sailing toward the iceberg of her nakedness. br br Later, I wrote in a notebook br it was like riding a swan into the night, br but, of course, I cannot tell you everything - br the way she closed her eyes to the orchard, br how her hair tumbled free of its pins, br how there were sudden dashes br whenever we spoke. br br What I can tell you is br it was terribly quiet in Amherst br that Sabbath afternoon, br nothing but a carriage passing the house, br a fly buzzing in a windowpane. br br So I could plainly hear her inhale br when I undid the very top br hook-and-eye fastener of her corset br br and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed, br the way some readers sigh when they realize br that Hope has feathers, br that reason is a plank, br that life is a loaded gun br that looks right at you with a yellow eye.