11. An Orphan at Last

“Are you confident that you’ll be okay?” inquired the professor. Jets of steam hissed from beneath the train car, while enthusiastic passengers hurried past, happy to be off the train, and on their way.

“Oh, definitely,” Lizzy fibbed. “My uncle just texted me that he’s running a few minutes behind.”

“Well, you know where I work. Stop by and visit me sometime. Or give me a call. You have my card,” he suggested as they exchanged a polite parting embrace.

Lizzy waited until the professor had gotten into a cab and driven away before she turned back to the station, holding her suitcase. Like a dog that had caught the truck, now that she was in Denver, Colorado, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do next.

She headed to the Ladies’ Room, as that seemed like an obvious first thing to do. While seated in the privacy of a bathroom stall, she took out her small change pouch and meticulously counted the total of bills and coins she had with her.

“Twenty-one dollars and fourteen cents,” she murmured to herself. Then, she counted on her fingers the number of days until Tommy’s arrival. Remembering he was coming on January 17th, she calculated, “Four days left in December, plus 17. Wow. Twenty-one days…” She eyed the money in her hand and added, “And twenty-one dollars.” Suddenly, she felt a bit queasy. “One dollar a day,” she told herself. “One dollar a day!”

Lizzy was continually awestruck by the breathtaking view of the majestic Rocky Mountains defining the western horizon. She reflected to herself, You can always tell which way west is.

Predictably, to everyone except perhaps innocent Lizzy, over half of her remaining cash vanished long before the New Year’s Eve litter was cleared from the 16th Street Mall.

Seated on a park bench with her suitcase beside her, Lizzy gazed up at the towering red granite façade of the Brown Palace Hotel. “I suppose it’s time for Plan B,” she uttered aloud, with only pigeons around to hear her.

Back in Maryland, Tommy had shared with Lizzy a variety of survival strategies, most of which were either illegal, immoral, or unethical. However, Tommy was not easily deterred by such considerations, and Lizzy’s moral compass had been skewed over the years of living under Mary’s influence.

The one legitimate suggestion was to gather aluminum soda cans and exchange them for cash, with the caveat, “If they’re redeemable in Colorado.” Fortunately, Colorado happened to be one of the states where this was possible, and the nearby grocery stores had recycling machines that made the redemption process relatively simple.

Finding discarded cans posed a different challenge altogether. Tommy had recommended checking construction sites and schoolyards for better chances, but none of these spots were available in downtown Denver. So, she concluded that she’d need to move to the suburbs to explore the recycling option.

At the moment, the hotel right in front of her seemed to hold the most potential. Tommy had proposed various ways to take advantage of hotel living. “First, spend time near the front desk until you catch a guest’s last name and room number. Then, later on, go to the desk pretending to be one of the guest’s children and request an additional entry card.”

“But what if they’re in their room? How can I use it without getting caught?” Lizzy inquired of Tommy.

“You’re not aiming to use the card for real. Just keep it in your hand,” he paused for emphasis, “while you enjoy the breakfast bar in the morning or the hors d’oeuvres bar in the evening.” Then Tommy remembered to include, “But remember, the more upscale the hotel, the less complimentary stuff they offer. There might not be any free food.”

Another scheme aimed at securing a complimentary shower or a few hours of rest in a luxurious pillowtop bed. “In this one, watch from a hidden spot to find a family checking out of their room. Then, swiftly grab the hotel room door before it shuts, slip in, and hang a Do Not Disturb sign on the outside doorknob. The earlier in the morning you pull this off, the more time you’ll have. Could get you a shower and perhaps even a nap for a few hours.”

The Brown Palace Hotel looked pretty fancy, so Lizzy figured it wouldn’t work well for the food or shower plans. She’d have to go to an Interstate exchange where moderately priced hotels were conveniently grouped, to pursue either of those options. For the time being, however, she would move on to Plan C: the airport hunting ground.

Many big hotels, including the Brown Palace, provide free shuttle service to the airport, and Lizzy took advantage of this. First, she pulled off an entry card scam. Next, she got on the shuttle to the airport, showing her entry card, as the driver stowed her suitcase. Lizzy found it remarkable how, after days on the street, a bumpy 45-minute ride on a warm airport shuttle could feel like a summer vacation in Hawaii.

“Get to the airport, Liz, when all else fails. It’s rich with opportunities,” Tommy advised Lizzy. He then educated her on luggage theft, making use of restaurant leftovers, and finding places to sleep.

As she munched on an unfinished hamburger and fries, Lizzy thought, Boy, Tommy was spot on. She remembered his words, “People sometimes have to leave their food to catch a flight. Just keep an eye out for them to leave, and slide onto their stool. The servers will be too busy to notice.”

Feeling quite exhausted, Lizzy longed for a solid eight hours of sleep. Tommy had advised her to search for canceled flights and locate spots where passengers were resting on the floor. “Blend in with the crowd. No one will notice. I like finding seats in the gate areas where I can stretch out,” he had recommended. “You can even catch up on the news. Watch some TV!”

Yet, after a few days at DIA Lizzy encountered difficulties. Repeatedly employing the airport schemes began to attract security notice. Consequently, she hopped on an airport shuttle that transported her to a Hampton Inn on the Interstate. When working across a hotel cluster, walking between them is a necessity. Lizzy exploited the Hampton Inn, Quality Inn, and two others before that strategy ceased to yield results, and her legs gave out.

Lizzy had been growing progressively weaker, but she attributed it to the cold and overall exhaustion from her ordeal. However, on January 8th, things started to unravel – significantly!

Checking her forehead with the back of her hand, just like Aunt Beebs had done so many times, Lizzy sensed warmth and realized she needed to monitor her temperature. She went to a Walmart, exploring the pharmacy aisles for a thermometer. Later, she ventured into the school supplies section and picked up a pair of scissors.

Inside the privacy of a bathroom stall, she opened the packaging, released the thermometer, and… “102 degrees! Oh my!” she exclaimed aloud in the empty restroom. I need something to bring down the fever, she thought to herself. Checking her purse, she found less than three dollars. That won’t be enough.

Feeling desperate, she combed through the pharmacy aisles once more and came across some Nyquil cold medicine. Glancing around nervously, she discreetly placed the bottle into her backpack and made her way toward the front door.

As soon as she set foot on the parking lot pavement, a security guard approached her, insisting that she open her backpack. Though she tried to protest, she soon found herself seated in the Security Office, waiting for the local Lakewood police.

In the past few weeks, this specific store had faced a series of thefts, leading them to implement a strict No Tolerance policy “as a deterrent, to set an example.” That afternoon, Lizzy ended up in the booking process, and they were requesting identification, asking for her name – which, to this moment, she had refused to share.

Her mind was whirling through the limited options available to her. She could, naturally, provide her real name, Magdalene Elizabeth Gilmore. However, that would mean being sent back to Maryland, to her aunt, the very person she was attempting to protect. No, that wouldn’t work, she thought to herself.

She could use the name Dianna Manchester, but that would cause numerous issues for her best friend. Dianna had done so much to assist her in escaping, in running away, and Lizzy couldn’t bring any troubles to her doorstep.

“What’s your name?” the officer shouted, trying to jar the truth from her. Pressured, she started to say “Mag… De.. Lane…” but stopped herself.

“Maggie Lane?” the officer repeated. “Did you say Maggie Lane?”

“Yes,” Lizzy replied with more assurance. Adding a bit more detail, she said, “I am Margaret Lane, but I go by Maggie.”

No matter how hard he tried, the officer couldn’t extract any additional information from her. He couldn’t learn where she was from, whether she had family, or where she was currently living. Lizzy kept quiet, leaving the authorities with only one option: to send her to the county juvenile jail.

Over the next couple days, Lizzy faced a double blow. Firstly, she was placed under the care of Child Protective Services, where she remained for about two weeks. Secondly, her heart sank upon discovering that the much-anticipated Flying Wallendas circus act had excluded Denver from its tour schedule.

After ten days, Lizzy was placed with a foster family, where she lived for more than a year. The Coopers were a kind couple, and Maggie—her name for the rest of her life—knew better than to cause them any problems.

One particularly enjoyable activity was the monthly outings to different local parks designed for children. On March 19, 2009, Mrs. Cooper took Maggie to Bear Creek Lake Park and delighted her with a canoe rental.

Later, they treated themselves to double-dip chocolate cones at an ice cream parlor on their route home. In a daring moment, taking advantage of Mrs. Cooper’s distraction with parking meter details, Lizzy discreetly dropped a postcard into the blue mailbox on the corner.

In the following month, the courts came to a final decision regarding Margaret Lane. She was to be taken out of the Coopers’ care and transferred to the Denver Children’s Home, an institution with a long history dating back to 1876. Maggie would now call the notable landmark at 1501 Albion Street her home.