By Me’Sharlia Fountain
When I first walked into the W&M Bray School Lab, I believed I was entering a history mapping project. But by the end, I discovered I was entering an ongoing conversation, one that thousands of voices, past and present, were waiting for me to join.
June 5, 2025
Today, I walked the corners of history,
not just streets
but threads,
woven by hands I’ll never meet.
Nicole Brown
a voice bridging past and present
led me through more than a building,
through lives lived quietly
but never insignificantly.
The Bray School
not just brick and wood on Nassau and Francis,
but a heartbeat of names,
of Mary, of unnamed others,
of children whose laughter and labor
echo in silence.
I listened.
My thoughts loud,
my voice
small, hidden beneath curiosity and nerves.
Questions swirled,
but my lips held back.
She asked why I, a biology major
was drawn to this internship.
And I smiled,
my voice trembling into the light:
“Even as a pre-med student,
I want to research beyond the body.
I want to understand
how history cradles mental health,
especially in Black lives.”
We walked.
Time folded in on itself.
College courses,
moments of chance,
the sheer fact
that I’m here
all connected,
as if purpose followed me
without me knowing.
We stood in the kitchen
where enslaved children lived,
their names stitched into ledgers,
but not into the stories.
What did they feel?
Were they scared?
Did they dream?
Mrs. Brown said,
“You could walk these streets for 150 days
and still learn something new.”
Perseverance.
A word that sat heavy
but not bitter,
like truth that demands to be held.
Others spoke.
I stayed still.
But silence
though virtuous
isn’t always peace.
So finally, I asked:
“How do we preserve history
in its fullness,
when the voices we seek
were never written down?
And how do we protect today’s truth
for the ones yet to ask?"
She nodded.
Because sometimes,
the most radical question
is the one we were afraid to raise.
Mental health
Unwritten,
Unspoken,
Unhealed.
Even now,
I don’t have all the answers.
But I wonder
about the children of the Bray School,
about me,
about all of us
who carry history in our chests.
Today, I was silent,
then brave.
Curious,
then open.
And today
was amazing.
Intriguing.
Necessary.
Throughout this internship, I’ve realized how silence can be both a barrier and a doorway. Silence holds the weight of stories untold, of mental health struggles unspoken, of histories that linger in the gaps of archives and ledgers. Mental health isn’t a topic often discussed in historical research, especially concerning enslaved Black children, but is an archival marker.
One of the most impactful projects I worked on during my internship was a mapping project with Dr. Maureen Elgersman Lee. The goal was to collect and organize data documenting the literacy of enslaved Virginians from 1619 to 1865. My task was to research historical accounts, educational efforts like the Bray schools, and any documented individuals or places where literacy was evident, and then compile that data into organized Excel sheets. Each name, each place I found felt like uncovering a small piece of a larger story that’s often overlooked. It made me realize that literacy wasn’t just a skill; it was an act of resistance, a quiet form of empowerment in a time when other enslaved people were actively denied access to education.
Juneteenth Day – June 19, 2025
One of the most unforgettable moments of my internship was attending the Bray School opening on Juneteenth. Being there to witness this historic building’s public unveiling on a day that symbolizes Black freedom and resilience was truly powerful. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride and excitement as I stood among community members, historians, descendants, and my fellow interns, all gathered to honor the lives of the Bray School children whose stories had been hidden for so long. The brief ceremony wasn’t just about opening a building—it was about reclaiming a narrative and giving voice to those who were once silenced. I felt connected to a larger movement of historical truth-telling and healing. Being able to witness that in person was a full-circle moment that I will carry with me forever.
July 3, 202
As I was doing archival work in Swem Library and writing reflection posts for Blackboard, everything started to feel aligned professionally, personally, and spiritually.
One assignment asked me to reflect on my personal and professional values. After discussing it with my Sharpe Advisor, she told me my values are a strong reflection of my character and that compliment really stuck with me. Some people say, “stand on business,” but I believe we need to stand on our values.
I also had a meaningful conversation with my mom that echoed this theme, reminding me again of who I am and what I stand for.
While reading in the archives on Wednesday, I came across a quote by Jonathan Boucher that stopped me in my tracks:
“I learned habits of virtue, and such principles of thinking and acting, as could alone have supported and carried me through the many severe trials to which I have since been exposed.”
This quote captured exactly how I’ve been feeling that my upbringing, my education, and my values have built the foundation I lean on when facing life’s trials. God continues to show me signs, and this moment was a reminder that I’m on the right path.
As my internship draws to a close, I carry with me more than just archival skills or historical knowledge. I carry conviction that research is meaningful when it confronts silence; that history is rich when community is centered; and is rooted in stories we strive to retrieve.
Me’Sharlia Fountain is a rising sophomore at William & Mary, studying biology on the pre-med track. She hopes to do research on the African American community and go on to attend medical school.